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Nor bribes nor threat’ning's could his zeal abate
To serve his country, and avert her fate.
Firm to her laws and liberties he stood,
Submitting private views to public good.
Who could obsequious with the current swim,
Whigs might be call'd, but tories were to him.
Persons or parties he no longer knew,
When swerving once from honest, juft, and true.
Oft has he ftem'd the rage of impious times,
When patriot virtues bore the brand of crimes.
To check proud tyrants born, and factions awe;
But most devoted to good kings and law.
Twice his dear country was on ruin's brink,
Resolv'd to save her, or with her to fink,
His brave attempts successful twice he saw,
Once in wise BRUNSWICK, once in great
No bolder champion in religion's cause ;
None fought more battles, nor with more applause.
To arms he flew as danger press’d her home,
And snatch'd the hopeless prey from France and Rome.
But as from conscience pure, religion springs,
He freedom press'd in uneffential things.
Coercive laws, he rightly understood,
Might make men hypocrites, but never good.
All genuine virtue is by nature free;
And will, when forc'd, no longer virtue be.
Who justly would his eloquence declare,
Himself mutt WHARTON's fertile genius share.
conceive it? see how o'er the sands
Fair Thames advances where Augufta ftands.
Gentle he flows, but with resistless force,
Not like the rapid Rhone's impetuous course;
Tho' deep, so clear are his transparent streams,
His bottom rising to his surface seems.
Full is his spreading current, but restrain'd.
And still within its flow'ry banks contain'd.
Alternate wealth his two extremes unfold,
Downwards he fends us bread, and upwards gold.
Flow, sweetest river! still thy course prolong!
Thus deep and clear, thus gentle, full and strong,
That distant ages may the image fee
Of Wharton's flowing eloquence in thee.
So shall no torrents soil thy crystal stream,
Thou patriot's emblem, and thou poet's theme !
Ye nobles who surround the British throne,
Reflect its luftre, and improve your own;
You who resemble, in rich robes of state,
That majefty august on which you wait,
Witness how often his decisive fense,
His wit, his art, and copious eloquence,
Have fingly won the question to his fide,
Made Oxford blush, and St. John drop his pride;
Whilst every ear was with his accents charm'd,
breast was with his ardour warm'd:
Faction was touch'd and felt the secret force,
Dumb, and convicted, but without remorse,
Envy with rage contending in her face,
To see his triumph and her just disgrace.
Nor less in council did his weight appear,
The ableft statesman, as the brightest peer.
Thou mighty prince, who from perfidious power
Didst speed to save us in a timely hour;
Whilft beauty join'd with valour form'd thy train,
grace our court, and raise our martial vein ;
Whose rising beams made drooping Credit thrive,
Religion spring, fair Liberty revive :
Say, if thy chosen minifters, who fate
With thee to guide the great machine of ftate,
A more consummate character could boast,
Than that which Britain in her WHARTON loft.
Oh! had kind heaven (if prayers were not too late)
Another luftrum added to his date,
How would his head, his heart, his hand confpire,
To punish traitors as their crimes require !
To crush rebellion, bridle factious rage,
And quell the monsters of an impious age !
[ow would his bosom beat with joy to see,
Great George! the British legend true in thee !
To see thee o'er the vanquish'd dragon ride,
And free thy kingdoms from his rage and pride!
Whilft peace and plenty spread their golden wings
Around the best of men, the best of kings,
And every tide shall waft into thy ports
Wealth from all lands, and homage from all courts.
But fou'reign heav'n, whose ways are ever wife,
11 Just drew the glorious dawn before his eyes;
And for his happier son reserv'd the fight
Of Brunswick's power in its meridian light.
GEORGE fhall in him prove honour, courage, truth,
And find the father in the pregnant youth.
Thus the great leader of the Hebrew bands,
Through opening billows and o'er burning fands,
From Egypt's yoke, and haughty Pharaoh's chains,
To Canaan's fruitful hills, and flow'ry plains,
From Pisgah's height the promis'd land defcry'd;
More was forbid; he saw, rejoic'd, and dy'd,
French SONG, By the late WILLIAM SOMERVILE, Efq;
Venge moy d'une ingrate maitrelle,
Dieu du vin, j'implore bon yurelle.
IND relief in all my pain,
Jolly Bacchus! hear my pray’ry
Vengeance on th' ingrateful fair!
In thy smiling cordial bowl,
Drown the sorrows of my soul,
All thy deity employ,
Gild each gloomy thought with joy,
|| He died a few months after the acceffion of GEORGE T.
Jolly Bacchus! fave, oh fave
From the deep devouring grave,
A poor, despairing, dying swain.
Lash thy tigers do not stay,
I'm undone if thou delay.
If I view those eyes once more,
Still shall love, and still adore,
And be more wretched than before.
See the glory round her face !
See her move!
With what a grace!
Ye Gods above !
Is the not one of your immortal race ?
Fly, ye winged Cupids, fly,
Dart like lightning thro' the sky:
You'd ye in marble temples dwell,
The dear one to my arms compel;
Bring her in bands of myrtle tied,
Bid her forget, and bid her hide
All her scorn and all her pride.
Wou'd ye that your flave repay
A smoaking hecatomb each day,
The beauteous Goddess I adore,
O restore, with all her charms,
The faithless vagrant to my arms,