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Is coming to your homely cot,
Praise bim, arch-angelic band, To call you to a nobler lot;
Ye that in his presence stand; I, Fortune, promise wealth and pow'r,
Praise him, ye that watch and pray,
Michael's myriads in array.
Praise him, Sun at each extreme,
Orient streak, and western beam;
Moon and stars of mystic dance, *** From first invention's highest sphere,
Silv'ring in the blue expanse. I, queen of imag'ry, appear;
Praise him, O) ye heights that suar And throw myself at Reason's feet,
Heav'n and Heav'n for evermore; Upon a weighty point to treat.
And ye streams of living rill You dwell alone, and are tuo grave;
Higher yet and purer still. You make yourself too much a slave;
Let them praise his glorious name, Your shrewd deductions run a length,
From whose fruitful word they came; 'Till all your spirits waste their strength:
And they first began to be Your fav’rite logic is full close;
As he gave the great decree. Your morals are to much a dose;
Their constituent parts he founds You ply your studies 'till you risk
For duration without bounds; Your senses--you should be more briska
And their covenant has seal'd,
Which shall never be repeal'd.
Praise the Lord on earth's domains;
Praise, ye mutes, that sea contains; I'll lead you from this hole and ditch,
They that on the surface leap, To gay conception's top-most pitch;
And the dragons of the deep. To those bright plains, where crowd in swarms
Batt'ring hail, and fires that glow, The spirits of fantastic forms;
Streaming vapours, plumy snow; To planets populous with elves;
Wind and storm, his wrath incuir'd
Wing’d and pointed at his word.
Mountains of enormous scale,
Every hill and every vale; By dragons drawn, above the stars;
Fruit trees of a thousand dies, To colours of Arabian glow;
Cedars that perfume the skies ! And to the heart-dilating show
Beasts that haunt the woodland maze, Of paintings, which surmount the life:
Nibbling Pocks and droves that graze; At once your tut'ress, and your wife."-
Reptiles of amphibious breed, "Soft, soft,” (says Reason) “ lovely friend;
Feather'd millions form’d for speed.
Kings, with Jesus for their guide,
Peopled regions far and wide; But whensoe'er your raptures rise,
Heroes of their country's cause, l'll try to come with my supplies;
Princes, judges of the laws. To muster up my sober aid,
Age and childhood, youth and maid, What time your lively pow’rs invade;
To his name your praise be paid; To act conjointly in the war
For his word is worth alone
Far above bis crown and throne.
Ile shall dignify the crest
Of his people, rais'd and blest ; Or any thing, but bind and tye
While we serve with praise and pray'rs,
All in Christ his saints and heirs.
ODE TO LORD BARNARD,
ON HIS ACCESSION TO THAT TITLE.
Sis licet felix ubicunque mavis,
NEW VERSION OF THE PSALMS.
HALLELUJAH! kneel and sing Praises to the heav'nly King; To the Gud supremely great, Hallelujah in the height.
Melromene, who charm'st the skies,
Queen of the lyre and lute,
And thou, sweet Muse, be mute?
And all her silver trumps employ,
While on the shores the billows beat, And thou restrain thy tuneful hand,
Yet still my grateful Muse is ree, And thou an idle list'ner stand.
To tune ber warmest strains to thee, Amidst the general joy?
And lay them at thy feet. Forbid it, all ye powers above,
Goodness is ever kindly prone That human hearts can try,
To feign what fate denies, Forbid if gratitude and love,
And otbers want of worth t'atone, And every tender tye :
Finds in herself supplies: Was it not he, whose pious cares
Thus dignity itself restrains, Upheld me in my earliest years,
By condescension's silken reins, And cheer'd me from his ample store,
While you the lowly Muse upraise; Who animated my designs,
When such the theme, so mean the bard, In Roman and Athenian mines,
Not to reject is to reward, To search for learning's ore?
To pardon is to praise.
To nobler heights thy name,
ODE TO LADY HARRIOT.
To Harriot all accomplish'd fair, With dignity endeard by ease,
Begin, ye Nine, a grateful air; And grandeur in good nature lost,
Ye Graces, join her worth to tell, Have more of genuine desert,
And blazon what you can't excell. Have more the merit of the heart,
Let Flora rifle all her bow'rs, Than arts and arms can boast.
For fragrant shrubs, and painted flow'rs, Can I forget fair Raby's' towers,
And, in her vernal robes array'd, How awful and how great!
Present them to the noble maid. Can I forget such blissful bowers,
Her breath shall give them new perfume, Such splendour in retreat!
Her blushes shall their dyes outbloom; Where me, ev'n me, an infant bard,
The lily now no more shall boast Cleveland 2 and Hope 3 indulgent beard.
Its whiteness, in her bosom lost, (Then, Fame, I felt thy first alarms)
See yon delicious woodbines rise Ah, much lov'd pair !-tho’ one is fled,
By oaks exalted to the skies, Still one compensates for the dead,
So view in Harriot's matchless mind In merit and in charms.
Humility and greatness join'd. O more than compensation, sure !
To paint her dignity and ease, O blessings on thy life!
Form'd to command, and form’d to please, Long may the three-fold bliss endure,
In wreaths expressive be there wove In daughters, sons, and wife!
The birds of Venus and of Jove.
There where th’immortal laurel grows,
And there, where blooms the crimson rose,
Be with this line the chaplet bound,
That beauty is with virtue crown'd.
ODE TO THE EARL OF NORTHUM. And bids their languid hearts rejoice,
IRELAND, PRESENTED ON THE BIRTH-DAY
Whate'er distinguish'd patriots rise, And Honour is her sire.
The times and manners to revise,
And drooping merit raise, What though, my lord, betwixt us lie
The song of triumph still pursues Full many ad envious league,
Their footsteps, and the moral Muse
Dwells sweetly on their praise.
It is a task of true delight,
And all her works refin'd;
Its lustre; 'tis as fix'd as fate, * The honourable Mrs. Hope.
Says truth with music joird.
ON HIS BEING APPOINTED LORD LIE! TENANT OF
OF LORD WARKWORTH.
All hail to this auspicious mom,
The parallel will own ; When we, for gallant Warkworth born,
O let our voice and hearts combine, Our gratulations pay :
O let us, fellow warblers, join, Though Virtue all the live-long year,
Our patroness to crown. Refuse her eulogy to hear,
When heavy hung thy flagging wing, She must attend to day.
When thou could'st neither move nor sing. All hail to that transcendant fair,
Of spirits void and rest ; That crown'd thy wishes with an heir,
A lovely nymph her aid apply'd, And bless'd her native land:
She gave the bliss to Heav'n allied, Still shoots thy undegenerate line,
Aud cur'd thee on her breast. Like oak from oak, and pine from pine,
Me too the kind indulgent maid, As goodly and as grand.
With gen'rous care and timely aid, O how illustrious and divine
Restor'd to mirth and health; Were all the heroes of thy line,
Then join'd to her, O may I prove 'Gainst Rome's ambitious cheat!
By friendship, gratitude and love, Born all these base insidious arts,
The poverty of wealth.
To dare and to defeat !
MARTI AL. Book 1, Ep. 26.
WHEN Brutus’ fall wing'd fame to Porcia The house of arms and arts, "Till blest experience shall evince
Those arms her friends conceal'd, her passion How fairly you present that prince, Who's sovereign of our hearts.
She soon perceiv'd their poor officious wiles,
Approves their zeal, but at their folly smiles. In pity to our sister isle
What Cato taught, Heaven sure cannot deny, With sighs we lend thee for a while;
Bereav'd of all, we still have pow'r to die. o be thou soon restor'd,
Theu down her throat the burning coal conveyed, Tho' Stanhope, Hallifax were there,
“Go now, ye fools, and hide your swords," she We never had a man to spare
said. Our love could less afford.
ON A LADY
THROWING SNOW-BALLS AT HER LOVER. TAE SWEETS OF EVENING.
From the Latin of Petronius Ascanius. The sweets of evening charm the mind, Sick of the sultry day;
When, wanton fair, the snowy orb you throw, The body then no more confin'd,
I feel a fire before unknown in snow,
E'en coldest snow I find has pow'r to warm
My breast, when fung by Julia's lovely arm.
Ti elude love's powerful arts I strive in vain, While all-serene the summer Moon
If ice and snow can latent fires contain
These frolics leave; the force of beauty prove ; And Philomel Legins her tune,
With equal passion cool my ardent love.
With voice of skilful ease.
THE WHOLESALE CRITIC AND THE Of all the changes rung by time
all to each ancient sacred sbade
Of those, who gave the Muses aid,
Hail Aristotle's honour'd shrine,
Ye too, whose judgments ne'er could fail,
Hail Horace, and Quintilian hail;
Hail Pope, and peerless Addison.
Alas! by different steps and ways AUTHOR IN A DANGEROUS ILLNESS.
Our modern critics aim at praise, Swert bird! whose fate and mine agree, And rashly in the learned arts, As far as proud humanity
They judge by prejudice and parts;
For crampt by a contracted soul,
Shall man to man afford derision, How shou'd they comprehend the whole?
But for some casual divisiou ; I know of many a deep-learn'd brother,
To malice, and to mischief prone, Who weighs one science by another,
From climate, canton, or from zone, And makes 'mongst bards poetic schism,
Are all to idle discord bent, Because he understands the prism;
These Kentish men—those men of Kent; Thinks in acuteness he surpasses,
And parties and distinction make, From knowledge of the optic-glasses.
For parties and distinction's sake. There are some critics in the nation,
Souls sprung from an etherial flame, Profoundly vers'd in gravitation ;
However clad, are still the same ; Who like the bulky and the great,
Nor should we judge the heart or head, And judge by quantity and weight.
By air we breathe, or earth we tread. Some who're extremely skill'd in building, Dame Nature, who, all meritorious, Judge by proportion, form, and gilding,
In a true Englishman is glorious; And praise with a sagacious look
Is lively, honest, brave and bonny, The architecture of a book.
In Monsieur, Taffy, Teague, and Sawney. Soon as the hops arriv'd from Kent,
Give prejudices to the wind, Forth to the quay the merchant went,
And let's be patriots of mankind. Went critically to explore
Bigots, avaunt, sense can't endure ye, The merit of the hops on shore.
But fabulists should try to cure ye. Close to a bag he took his standing,
A snub-nos'd dog to fat inclin'd And at a venture thrust his hand in;
Of the true hogan mogau kind, Then, with the face of a physician,
The favourite of an English dame, Their colour scann’d and their condition ; Mynheer Van Trumpo was his name: He trusts his touch, his smell, his eyes,
One morning as he chanc'd to range, The goods at once approves and buys.
Met honest Towzer on the 'Change; Catchup, so dextrous, droll, and dry,
“ And whom bave we got here, I beg," It happen's Catchup there was by,
Quoth he,--and lifted up his leg; Who like Iago', arch on all,
“ An English dog can't take an airing, Is Dothing, if not critical.
But foreign scoundrels must be staring. He with a sneer and with a shrug,
I'd have your French dogs and your Spanish, With eye of hawk, and face of pug,
And all your Dutch and all your Danish, Cry'd; “ Pellow, I admire thy fun,
By which our species is confounded, Thou most judiciously hast done,
Be hang'd, be poison'd, or be drowned; Who from ooe handful buyst ten ton.
No mercy on the race suspected, Does it not enter in thy crown,
Greyhounds from Italy excepted : Some may be mouldy, some be brown;
By them my dames ne'er prove big-bellied, The vacancies with leaves supplied,
For they, poor toads, are Farrinellied.
I say it, and will set my hand to't,
Cambden records it, and I'll stand to't. I know my chap and take his word.
"Tis true we have too much urbanity, On thee, thou caviller at large,
Somewhat o'ercharg'd with soft humanity; I here retort thy random charge,
The best things must find food for railing, Who, in an hypercritic rage,
And every creature has its failing." Judgest ten volumes by a page;
“ And who are you?” reply'd Van Trump, Whose wond'rous comprehensive view
(Curling his tail upon his rump) Grasps more than Solomon e'er knew;
Vaunting the regions of distraction, With every thing you claim alliance,
The land of party and of faction. Art, trade, profession, calling, science ;
In all fair Europe, who but we, You mete out all things by one rule,
For national economy ; And are an universal fool.
For wealth and peace, that have more charms, Though swoln with vanity and pride,
Than learned arts, or noisy arms? You're but one driv'ller multiplied,
You envy us our dancing bogs, A prig-that proves himself by starts,
With all the music of the frogs;
Join'd to the Tretchscutz's bonny loon,
For poets, and the Muses nine,
Oh! how we warble in our gizzards,
With X X's, HI H's and with Z Z's.
For fighting—now you think I'm joking; Agę we not all of race divine,
We love it better far than smoking. Alike of an immortal line?
Ask but our troops, from man to boy.
Who all surviv'd at Fontenoy. 10, gentle lady, do not put me to't,
'Tis true, as friends, and as allies, For I am nothing if not critical.
We're ever ready to devise;
Our loves, or any kind assistance,
“Wrong are you both," rejoins a quail,
Let us invert, in thy disguise, That odious nature, we despise." She ceas'd-the sable mantled dame With slow approach, and awful, came ; And frowning with sarcastic sneer, Reproach'd the female rioteer : " That nature you abuse, my fair, Was I created to repair, And contrast with a friendly shade, The pictures Heaven's rich pencil made; And with my sleep alluring dose, To give laborious art repose; To make both noise and action cease, The queen of secresy and peace. But thou a rebel, vile, and vain, Usurp'st my lawful old domain; My sceptre thou affect'st to sway, And all the various hours are day; With clamours of unreal joy, My sister, Silence, you destroy ; The blazing lamp's unnatural light My eye balls weary and affright; But if I am allow'd one shade, Whics no intrusive eyes invade, There all the atrocious imps of Hell, Theft, Murder, and Pollution dwell : Think then how much, thou toy of chance, Thy praise is likely worth tinhance; Blind thing that run'st without a guide, Thou whirlpool in a rushing tide, No more my fame with praise pollute, Bnt damn me into some repute.”
WHERE'S THE POKER?
FASHION AND NIGAT.
FABLE III. Quam multa prava atque injusta fiunt moribus.
TERENT. FAShton, a motley nymph of yore, The Cyprian queen to Porteus bore: Various herself in various climes, She moulds the manners of the times ; And turns in every age or nation, The chequer'd wheel of variegation ; True female that ne'er knew her will, Still changing, tho’immortal still, One day as the inconstant maid Was careless on her sofa laid, Sick of the Sun and tir'd with light, She thus invok'd the gloomy Night : “ Come_these malignant rays destroy, Thou screen of shame, and rise of joy, Come from thy western ambuscade, Queen of the rout and masquerade : Nymph, without thee no cards adrance, Without thee halts the loit'ring dance ; Till thou approach, all, all's restraint, Nor is it safe to game or paint ; 'The belles and beaux thy influence ask, Put on the universal mask.
Nothing but villainy, and thieving;