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See all things take a diff'rent turn!
The very critics sweetly mourn,
And leave their satire's pois'nous fting,
In plaintive elegies to fing:
With folemn threnody and dirge
Conduct you to Elyfium's verge.
At Westminster the furplic'd dean
The sad but honorable fcene
Prepares. The well-attended herse
Bears you amid the kings of verse.
Each rite observ'd, each duty paid,
Your fame on marble is display'd,
With fymbols which your genius fuit,
The mask, the buskin, and the flute :
The laurel crown aloft is hung:
And o'er the sculptur'd lyre unftrung
Sad allegoric figures leaning
(How folks will gape to find their meaning !)
And a long epitaph is spread,
Which happy you will never read.
But hold-The change is fo inviting
I own, I tremble while I'm writing.
Yet, WHITEHEAD, 'tis too soon to lose you :
Let critics flatter or abuse

O! teach us, e'er you change the scene
To Stygian banks from Hippocrene,
How free-born bards should strike the strings,
And how a Briton write to kings.

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Verses on the Prospect of planting Arts and


By the late Dr. BERKELEY, Bishop of CLOYNE.


HE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime,

Barren of every glorious theme, In diftant lands now waits, a better time,

Producing subjects worthy fame:

In happy climes, where from the genial sun

And virgin earth such fcenes ensue,
The force of art by nature seems outdone,

And fancied beauties by the true :

In happy climes the seat of innocence,

Where nature guides and virtue rules, Where men shall not impose for truth and sense

The pedantry of courts and schools:

There shall be sung another golden age,

The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage,

The wiseft heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;

Such as the bred when fresh and young, When heav'nly flame did animate her clay,

By future poets shall be sung.

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Westward the course of empire takes its way;

The four first acts already past,
A fifth Jhall close the drama with the day;

Time's noblest offspring is the last.

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ELIEVE me, Mason, 'tis in vain

Thy fortitude the torrent braves ;
Thou too must bear th' inglorious chain ;'

The world, the world will have its flaves.
The chosen friend, for converse sweet,
The small, yet elegant retreat,
Are peaceful unambitious views

Which early fancy loves to form,
When aided by th' ingenuous Muse,
She turns the philosophic page,
And fees the wife of every age
With Nature's dictates warm.

But ah! to few has Fortune given

The choice, to take or to refuse;
To fewer still indulgent Heaven

Allots the very will to chuse.
And why are varying schemes preferid?
Man mixes with the common herd,

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By custom guided to pursue

Or wealth, or honors, fame, or ease;
What others with he wishes too,
Nor, from his own peculiar choice,
'Till strengthen’d by the public voice,
His very pleasures please.

How oft, beneath some hoary shade

Where Cam glides indolently flow,
Haft thou, as indolently laid,

Prefer'd to Heav'n thy fav’rite vow: “ Here, here forever let me stay, “ Here calmly loiter life away, « Nor all those vain connections know

" Which fetter down the free-born mind
« 'The slave of interest, or of fhew;
“ Whilst yon gay tenant of the grove,
“ The happier heir of Nature's love,
“ Can warble unconfin'd.”

Yet sure, my friend, th' eternal plan

By truth unerring was design'd;
Inferior parts were made for man,

But man himself for all mankind.
Then by th' apparent judge th' unseen;
Behold how rolls this vaft machine
To one great end, howe'er withstood,


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Directing its impartial course.
All labour for the general good.
Some ftem the wave, fome till the foil,
By choice the bold, th' ambitious toil,
The indolent by force.

That bird, thy fancy frees from care,

With many a fear, unknown to thee,
Muft rove to glean his scanty fare

From field to field, from tree to tree :
His lot, united with his kind,
Has all his little joys confin'd;
The Lover's and the Parent's ties

Alarm by turns his anxious breast;
Yet, bound by fate, by inftinct wise,
He hails with songs the rising morn,
And pleas'd at evening's cool return
He fings himself to ret.

And tell me, has not nature made

Some stated void for thee' to fill,
Some fpring, some wheel which asks thy aid

To move, regardlefs of thy will ?
Go then, go feel with glad surprize
New bliss from new connections rise ;
"Till, happier in thy wider sphere,

Thou quit thy darling schemes of ease;
Nay, glowing in the full career
Ev'n with thy virtuous labours more ;
Nor 'till the toilsome day is o'er

Expect the night of peace.

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