The fabric finish'd, to fecure the fame,
He ftyl'd it Royal, from the fov'reign's name
Here by fucceffive worthies, well was taught
All that enlightens, and exalts the thought.
With labour planted, and improv'd with care,
Long, every cherish'd fcience flourish'd fair.
Thus, without cloud, ferene the feafons roll'd:
Thus, learning faw renew'd the age of gold.
But now the years revolving backward ran,
And a dark series of worfe time began.
Vile avarice, in Gordon's † form, arofe;
Arts, unefteem'd, were govern'd by their foes;
Zeal, pious to a crime, reform'd the age,
And Gothic purity, and priefly rage.

Then fell, to low contempt, th' inftructing trade,
And every mufe's portion was unpaid!

Now, a lone wafte the mufe's feat appears,
By focial foes defac'd, and length of years.
Y'er her declining roofs, with mofs o'erspread,
ee! Time flow-creeping, walks with hoftile
Silent, and fure, with unremitting toil, [tread:
de thakes each wall, and moulders every pile.
Ruin hangs hov'ring o'er the deftin'd place;
And folitary filence comes apace!

Learning beheld with all a father's fear,
And mourn'd the total defolation near;
He saw the mufes ftretch the wing to fly,
And
fpoke his filent forrow in a figh!

From heav'n, in that fad hour, commiffion'd came
Fair Charity, in heaven the foremost name.
Compaffion flew before her, fweetly bright;
And her meek eyes effulg'd unclouded light.
"Hear, and rejoice, the fmiling power begun,
Full of my deity, thy beft lov'd fon +;
Thy injur'd rights, regardful, fhall affert,
and nobly take his fuffering parent's part.

He, thy firft favourite, and thy dearest friend,
Shall bid thy walls arife, thy roofs afcend.
I fee, all charm'd, I fee the future frame,
Arifing, emulate its ancient name!

I fee thy long loft pomp fhine out again, And every mufe, returning, claim her reign! "Nor ends the bounty here; by him beflow'd, Learning's rich ftores fhall thy museum load "Whate'er, deep-hid philofphy has found; "Or the mufe fung, with living laurel crown'd; "Or hiftory defcry'd, far-looking fage! "In the dark doubtfulnefs of diftant age: [bin'd, "Thefe, thy well chofen treafures, there comUnwafting, fhall enrich the youthful mind: "But teach thy fons the gentle arts of peace; "Let faction lofe his rule, and difcord ceafe, Rivals, alone, in love, and doing well,

"Be their fair emulation to excell.

"Then fhall encourag'd arts fuccefsful thrive, "And all the glory of thy name revive!".

Ere all our learning in a libel lay.
And all our talk, in politics or play!
The statesman oft would footh his toils with wit,
What Spenfer fung, and nature's Shakspeare writ;
Or to the laurell'd grove, at times, retire,
There, woo the mnie, and wake the moving lyre.
As fair examples, like afcending morn,
The world at once enlighten and adorns ;
From them diffus'd, the gentle arts of peace
Shot brightening o'er the land, with fwift increase:
Rough nature foften'd in grace and ease;
Sente grew polite, and science fought to please.
Recliev'd from yon rude fcene of party din,
Where open bafenefs vies with fecret fin,
And fafe embower'd in Woburn's airy groves,
Let us recall the times our tafte approves;
Awaken to our aid the mourning mufe;
Through every bolom tender thought infufe;
Melt angry faction into moral fenfe,
And to his guests a Bedford's foul difpenfe.

And now, while fpring extends her filing reign,
Green on the mountain, flowery in the plain;
While genial nature breathes, from hill and dale,
Health, fragrance, gladness, in the living gale;
The various foftness, stealing through the heart
Impreflions fweetly focial, will impart.
When fad Eudocia pours her hopeless woe,
The tear of pity will unbidden flow!
When erring Phocyas, whom wild paffions blind,
Holds up himfelf, a mirror for mankind;
An equal eye on our own hearts we turn,
Where frailties lurk, where fond affections burn:
And, confcious, nature is in all the fame,
We mourn the guilty, while the guilt we blame !

EPILOGUE TO THE BROTHERS,

A TRAGEDY, BY DR. YOUNG.

To woman, fure, the most severe affliction
Is, from thefe fellows, point-blank contradiction.
Our bard, without-I wish he would appear---
Ud! I would give it him---but you fhall hear-.-

Good Sir! quoth I---and curtfey'd as I fpoke---
Our pit, you know, expects and loves a joke---
'Twere fit to humour them: for, right or wrong,
True Britons never like the fame thing long.
To-day is fair---they ftrut, huff, fwear, harangue :---
To-morrow's foul--they fneak afide, and hang,
Is there a war---peace! peace! is all their cry:
The peace is made---then, blood! they'll fight

and die.

Gallants, in talking thus, I meant no treason: I would have brought, you fee, the man to reafon. But with fome folks, 'tis labour loft to strive: A reasoning mule will neither lead nor drive, He hum'd, and haw'd; then, waking from his dream Cry'd, I must preach to you his moral fcheme. A fcheme, forfooth! to benefit the nation? Some queer, odd whim of pious propagation! †

*The fiege of Damafcus was acted at Woburn, by the Duke of Bedford, the Earl of Sandwich, and fome other perfons of diftinction, in the month of May, 1743.

The profits arising from this play were intended to be given, by the Author, to the Society for propagating Chriftian Knowledge,

WHEN this decifive night, at length, appears,
The night of every author's hopes and fears,
What shifts to bribe applause, poor poets try!
In all the forms of wit they court and lie:
Thefe meanly beg it, as an alms; and those,
By boastful blufter dazzle and impose.

Nor poorly fearful, nor fecurely vain,
Ours would, by honeft ways, that grace obtain;
Would, as a free-born wit, be fairly try'd:
And then--let candour, fairly too, decide.
He courts no friend, who blindly comes to praise ;
He dreads no foe---but whom his faults may raise.
Indulge a generous pride, that bids him own,
He aims to please, by noble means alone;
By what may win the judgment, wake the heart,
Infpiring nature, and directing art;

By fcenes, fo wrought, as may applause command More from the judging head, than thundering hand.

Important is the moral we would teach... Oh may this ifland practise what we preach--Vice in its first approach with care to shun; The wretch, who once engages, is undone. Crimes lead to greater crimes, and link fo straight, What first was accident, at laft is fate: Guilt's hapless fervant finks into a slave; And virtue's laft fad ftrugglings cannot fave.

"As fuch our fair attempt, we hope to fee "Our judges,---here at leaft---from influence free: "One place,---unbias'd yet by party-rage,-"Where only honour votes---the British stage. "We ask for juftice, for indulgence fue: "Our laft beft licence muft proceed from you."

IMPROMPTU,

EPIGRAM,

On a certain Lord's paffion for a finger. NERINA's angel-voice delights; Nerina's devil-face affrights: How whimfical her Strephon's fate, Condemn'd at once to like and hate! But be the cruel, be the kind, Love! ftrike her dumb, or make him blind.

A SIMILE IN PRIOR,

APPLIED TO THE SAME PERSON

DEAR Thomas didft thou fever pop
Thy head into a tin-man's ihop?
There, Thomas, didit thou never see---
'Tis but by way of fimile---
A fquirrel fpend its little rage,
In jumping round a rolling cage?
Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks it climbs;
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
It never gets two inches higher.

So fares it with this little peer,
So bufy and fo buffling here;
For ever flirting up and down,
And friking round his cage, the town.
A world of nothing in his chat,

Of who faid this, and who did that:
With fimiles, that never hit;
Vivacity, that has no wit;

Schemes laid this hour, the next forfaken;
Advice oft afk'd, but never taken:
Still whirl'd, by every rifing whim,
From that to this, from her to him;
And when he hath his circle run,
He ends---just where he first begun.

ON AN AMOROUS OLD MAN.
STILL hovering round the fair at fixty-four,
Unfit to love, unable to give o'er;
A flesh-fly, that just fiutters on the wing,
Awake to buz, but not alive to fting;
Brifk where he cannot, backward where he can;
The teazing ghost of the departed man.
ON I. H. ESQ.

THE youth had wit himself, and could afford
A witty neighbour his good word.

with a very young Child.

WHY, on this leaft of little miffes,
Did Celia wafte so many kiffes ?

Quoth Love, who stood behind and fmil'd,
She kifs'd the father in the child.

EPIGRAM,

On feting two perfons pass by in very different equipages.

IN modern, as in ancient days,

See what the mufes have to brag on:
The player in his own poft-chaife;
The poet in a carrier's waggon!

$

An oath had made the ladies ftare, At them he duly drefs'd, but without paffion: His only miftrefs was the fashion.

Her verfe with fancy glitter'd, cold and faint; His profe, with fenfe, correctly quaint. Trifles he lov'd; he tafted arts:

At once a fribble, and a man of parts.

A FRAGMENT.

FAIR morn afcends: foft zephyr's wing O'er hill and vale renews the fpring: Where, fown profufely, herb and flower, Of balmy fwell, of healing power,

Their fouls in fragrant dews exhale,
And breathe fresh life in every gale.
Here, fpreads a green expanfe of plains,
Where, fweetly penfive, filence reigns;
And there, at utmost stretch of eye,
A mountain fades into the sky;
While winding round, diffus'd and deep,
A river rolls with founding fweep.
Of human art no traces near,
I feem alone with nature here!

Here are thy walks, O facred Health!
The monarch's blifs, the beggar's wealth;
The feasoning of all good below!
The fovereign friend in joy or woe!
O thou, moft courted, moft defpis'd,
And but in abfence duly priz'd!
Power of the foft and rofy face!
The vivid pulfe, the vermil grace,
The fpirits when they gayeft shine,
Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine!
Of fun of life whofe heavenly ray
Lights up and cheers our various day,
The turbulence of hopes and fears,
The ftorm of fate, the cloud of years,
Till nature, with thy parting light,
Reposes late in death's calm night:
Fled from the trophy'd roofs of state,
Abodes of fplendid pain and hate;

Fled from the couch, where, in fweet sleep,
Hot riot would his anguish steep,
But toffes through the midnight-shade,
Of death, of life, alike afraid;
For ever fled to fhady cell,

Where temperance, where the mufes dwell;
Thou oft art feen, at early dawn,
Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn:
Or on the brow of mountain high,
In filence feasting ear and eye,
With fong and profpect, which abound
From birds, and woods, and waters round.
But when the fun, with noon-tide ray,
Flames forth intolerable day;
While heat fits fervent on the plain,
With thirst and languor in his train:
All nature fickening in the blaze:
Thou, in the wild and woody maze,
That clouds the vale with unbrage deep,
Impendent from the neighbouring steep,
Wilt find betimes a calm retreat,
Where breathing coolness has her feat.
There, plung'd amid the shadows brown,
Imagination lays him down;
Attentive, in his airy mood,
To every murmur of the wood:
The bee in yonder flowery nook;
The chidings of the headlong brook;
The green leaf shivering in the gale;
The warbling hill, the lowing vale;
The diftant woodman's echoing stroke;
The thunder of the falling oak.
From thought to thought in vition led,
He holds high converfe with the dead;
Sages, or poets. See they rife!
And fhadowy fkim before his eyes.
Hark! Orpheus ftrikes the lyre again,
That foftens favages to men ;

Lo! Socrates, the fent of heaven,
To whom its moral will was given.
Fathers and friends of human kind,
They form'd the nations, or refin'd;
With all that mends the head and heart,
Enlightening truth, adorning art.

While thus I mus'd beneath the shade,
At once the founding breeze was laid:
And nature, by the unknown law,
Shook deep with reverential awe.
Dumb filence grew upon the hour;
A browner night involv'd the bower:
When iffuing from the inmoft wood,
Appear'd fair freedom's genius good.
O Freedom! fovereign boon of heaven ;
Great charter, with our being given;
For which the patriot, and the fage,
Have plann'd, have bled through every age!
High privilege of human race,

Beyond a mortal monarch's grace:
Who could not give, nor can reclaim,
What but from God immediate came?

CUPID AND HYMEN:

OR THE WEDDING-DAY.

THE rifing morn, ferenely still,
Had brightening spread o'er vale and hill.
Not thoie loofe beams that wanton play,
To light the mirth of giddy May;
Nor fuch red heats as burn the plain,
In ardent Summer's feverish reign:
But rays, all equal, foft and fober,
To fuit the fecond of October;
To fuit the pair, whofe wedding-day
This fun now gilds with annual ray.

Just then, where our good-natur'd Thames is
Some four short miles above St James's,
And deigns, with filver-ftreaming wave,
Th' abodes of earth-born pride to lave,
Aloft in air two gods were foaring;
While Putney-cits beneath lay fnoring,
Plung'd deep in dreams of ten per cent,
On fums to their dear country lent:
Two gods of no inferior fame,
Whom ancient wits with reverence name;
Though wifer moderns much difparage---
I mean the gods of love and marriage.
But Cupid firft, his wit to show,
Affuming a mere modern beau,
Whofe utmoft aim is idle mirth,
Look'd---just as coxcombs look on earth:
Then rais'd his chin, then cock'd his hat,
To grace this common-place chit-chat;

How! on the wing, by break of dawn!
Dear brother---there he forc'd a yawn---
To tell men, funk in fteep profound,
They muft, ere night, be gag'd and bound!
Who, having once put on thy chain,
'Tis odds, may ne'er fleep found again.
So fay the wits: but wifer folks
Still marry, and contemn their jokes:
They know, each better blifs is thine,
Pure nectar, genuine from the vine!
And Love's own hand that nectar pours,
Which never fails, nor ever fours;

Well, be it fo: yet there are fools,
Who dare demur to former rules;
Who laugh profanely at their betters,
And find no freedom plac'd in fetters;
But, well or ill, jog on through life
Without that fov'reign blifs, a wife.
Leave these at leaft, thefe fad dogs free,
To troll with Bacchus and with me;
And fup, in Middletex, or Surrey,
On coarse cold beef, and Fanny Murray.

Thus Cupid---and with fuch a leer,
You would have fworn 'twas Ligonier,
While Hymen foberly reply'd,
Yet with an air of confcious pride:

Juft come from yonder wretched scene,
Where all is venal, falfe, and mean,
(Looking on London as he fpoke)
I marvel not at thy dull joke;
Nor, in fuch cant, to hear thee vapour,
Thy quiver lin'd with South-fea paper;
Thine arrows feather'd, at the tail,
With India-bonds, for hearts on fale;
Their other ends too, as is meet,

Tipp'd with gold points from Lombard-street,
But could't thou for a moment quit
Thefe airs of fashionable wit,
And re-affume thy nobler name---
Look that way, where I turn my flame...
He faid, and held his torch inclin'd,
Which, pointed fo, ftill brighter shin’d---
Behold yon couple, arm in arm,
Whom I, eight years, have known to charm;
And, while they wear my willing chains,
A god dares (wear that neither feigns.
This morn that bound their mutual vow,
That bleft them first, and bleffes now,
They grateful hail! and, from the foul,
With thoufands o'er both heads may roll;
Till, from life's banquet, either guest,
Embracing, may retire to reft.
Come then, all aillery laid afide,
Let this their day ferenely glide:
With mine thy ferious aim unite,
And both fome proper guests invite;
That not one minute's running fand
May find their pleasures at a ftand.

At this fevere and fad rebuke,
Enough to make a coxcomb puke;
Poor Cupid, blushing, fhrugg'd and winc'd,
Not yet confenting, though convinc'd:
For 'tis your witling's greatest terror,
Ev'n when he feels to own his error.
Yet, with a look of arch grimace,
He took his penitential face:
Said, 'twas perhaps, the furer play,

To give your grave good fouls their way:
That, as true humour was grown fearce,
He chofe to fee a fober farce;
For, of all cattle and all fowl,
Your folemn-looking afs and owl
Rais'd much more mirth, he durft aver it,
Than thofe jack-puddings, pug and parrot.
He faid, and eastward fpread his wing,
From London fome few friends to bring.
His brother too, with fober cheer,
For the fame end did westward fteer:

But first, a penfive love forlorn,
Who three long weeping years has borne
His torch revers'd, and all around,
Where once it flam'd, with cyprefs bound,
Sent off, to call a neighbouring friend,
On whom the mournful train attend:
And bid him, this one day, at least,
For fuch a pair, at fuch a feast,
Strip off the fable veil, and wear
His once-gay look and happier air.

But Hymen, fpeeding forward ftill,
Obferv'd a man on Richmond-hill,
Who now first tries a country life;
Perhaps, to fit him for a wife.

But, though not much on this he reckon'd,
The paffing god look'd in and beckon'd:
He knows him rich in focial merit,
With independent tafte and spirit;
Though he will laugh with men of whim,
For fear fuch men fhould laugh at him.
But lo, already on his way,

In due obfervance of the day,
A friend and favourite of the nine,
Who can, but feldom cares to shine,
And one fole virtue would arrive at-
To keep his many virtues private.
Who tends, well pleas'd, yet as by ftealth,
His lov'd companions eafe and health:
Or in his garden, barring out
The noife of every neighbouring rout,
At penfive hour of eve and prime,
Marks how the various hand of time
Now feeds and rears, now ftarves and laughter,
His vegetable fons and daughters.

While these are on their way, behold!
Dan Cupid, from his London-fold,
Firft feeks and fends his new Lord Warden f
Of all the nymphs in Covent-Garden:
Brave as the fword he wears in fight;
Sincere, and briefly in the right;
Whom never minifter or king
Saw meanly cringing in their ring.
A fecond fee of fpecial note,
Plump Comus in a colonel's coat;
Whom we, this day, expect from far,
A jolly first-rate man of war;
On whom we boldly dare repofe,
To meet our friends, or meet our foes.
Or comes a brother in his ftead?
Strong-body'd too, and strong of head:
Who, in whatever path he goes,
Still looks right on before his nofe;
And holds it little lefs than treason,
To baulk his ftomach or his reafon.

*A. Mitchell, Efq. Minifier at the Court of Pruffia.

↑ The late General Skelton. He had juft then purchased a Houfe in Henrietta fireet.

The late Col. Caroline Scott; who though extremely corpulent, was uncommonly care; and who, to much skill, spirit, and bravery, ai az officer, joined the greatest gentleness of manner as a companion and friend. He died a facrifice to the public, in the fervice of the East-India Company, at Bengal, in the year 1755.

True to his mistress and his meat,

He eats to love, and loves to eat.

Laft comes a virgin-pray admire her!
Cupid himself attends, to fquire her:

A welcome guefs'd! we much had mift her;
For 'tis our Kitty, or his fifter.

But, Cupid, let no knave or fool

Snap up this lamb, to fhear her wool;
No teague of that unblushing band,
Juft landed, or about to land;

Thieves from the womb, and train'd at nurse,
To steal an heiress or a purse.
No fcraping, faving, faucy cit,
Sworn foe of breeding, worth, and wit;
No half-form'd infect of a peer,
With neither land nor confcience clear;
Who if he can, 'tis all he can do,
Juft fpell the motto on his landau.
From all, from each of thefe defend her;
But thou and Hymen both befriend her,
With truth, tafte, honour, in a mate,
And much good fenfe, and fome eftate.
But now, fuppofe th' affembly met,
And round the table cordial fet;
While in fair order, to their wish,
Plain neatness sends up every dish,
And Pleasure at the fide-board ftands,
A nectar'd goblet in his hands,
To pour libations, in due measure,

As reafon wills when join'd with pleasure➡
Let thefe white moments all be gay,
Without one cloud of dim allay:
In every face let joy be seen,
As truth fincere, as hope ferene:
Let friendfhp, love, and wit combine,
To flavour both the meat and wine,
With that rich relish to each fenfe,
Which they, and they alone, dispense;
Let mufic too their mirth prolong,
With warbled air and feftive fong:
Then, when at eve, the ftar of love
Glows with foft radiance from above,

And each companionable gueft
Withdraws, replenish'd, not oppreft,
Let each, well-pleas'd, at parting fay-
My life be fuch a wedding-day!

EPIGRAM:

WRITTEN AT TUNBRIDGE WELLS, M,DCC,L

WHEN Churchill led his legions on,
Succefs ftill follow'd where he fhone.
And are thofe triumphs, with the dead,
All from his houfe, for ever fled?
Not fo: by fofter furer arms,
They yet furvive in beauty's charms;
For, look on blooming Pembroke's face,
Even now he triumphs in his race.

AN ODE IN THE MASQUE OF ALFRED:
Sung by a Shepherdess who has lost her lover in
the wars.

A YOUTH, adorn'd with every art,
To warm and win the coldest heart,
In fecret mine poffeft.

The morning bud that faireft blows,
The vernal oak that straighteft grows,
His face and fhape expreft.

In moving founds he told his tale,
Soft as the fighings of the gale,

That wakes the flowery year.

What wonder he could charm with eafe,
Whom happy nature taught to please,,
Whom honour made fincere.

At morn he left me-fought-and fell!
The fatal evening heard his knell,

And faw the tears I shed:
Tears that must ever, ever fall;
For ah no fighs the paft recall,
No cries awake the dead!