To the Right Hon. HENRY PELHAM, Efq;

HE humble Petition of the worshipful company of
Poets and News-writers,

TH

SHEWETH,

THAT your honour's petitioners (dealers in rhymes, And writers of fcandal, for mending the times) By loffes in bus'ness, and England's well-doing, Are funk in their credit, and verging on ruin.

That these, their misfortunes, they humbly conceive, Arife not from dulnefs, as fome folks believe,

But from rubs in their way, that your honour has laid,
And want of materials to carry on trade.

That they always had form'd high conceits of their use,
And meant their last breath should go out in abuse;
But now (and they speak it with forrow and tears)
Since your honour has fate at the helm of affairs,

No party will join 'em,

To heed what they fay,

no faction invite

or to read what they write ; Sedition, and Tumult, and Difcord are fled,

And Slander fcarce ventures to lift

up

her head

In short, publick bus'nefs is fo carry'd on,
That their country is fav'd, and the patriots undone.

To perplex 'em ftill more, and fure famine to bring (Now fatire has loft both its truth and its sting) If, in fpite of their natures, they bungle at praife, Your honour regards not, and nobody pays.

YOUR Petitioners therefore most humbly entreat
(As times will allow, and your honour thinks meet)
That measures be chang'd, and fome caufe of complaint
Be immediately furnish'd, to end their restraint;
Their credit thereby, and their trade to retrieve,
That again they may rail, and the nation believe.
Or else (if your wisdom shall deem it all one)
Now the parliament's rifing, and bus'ness is done,
That your honour would please, at this dangerous crifis,
To take to your bofom a few private vices,

By which your petitioners, haply, might thrive,
And keep both themselves and contention alive.
In compaffion, good Sir! give 'em fomething to fay,
And your honour's petitioners ever shall pray..

Senate-Houfe at Cambridge July 1, 1749,

By Mr. MASON, Fellow of Pembroke-Hall.

Set to Mufick by Mr. Boyce, Composer to his Majefty.

Recitative. TERE all thy active fires diffuse,

Recitative. H

Thou genuine British Muse;
Hither defcend from yonder orient sky,

Cloth'd in thy heav'n-wove robe of harmony.

Air I.

Come, imperial queen of fong;
Come with all that free-born grace,

Which lifts thee from the fervile throng,
Who meanly mimic thy majestic pace;
That glance of dignity divine,

Which speaks thee of celestial line;
Proclaims thee inmate of the sky,
Daughter of Jove and Liberty.
II.

Recitative. The elevated foul, who feels

Thy aweful impulfe, walks the fragrant ways
Of honeft unpolluted praise :

He with impartial justice deals

The blooming chaplets of immortal lays :
He flies above ambition's low career;

And nobly thron'd in Truth's meridian sphere,
Thence, with a bold and heav'n-directed aim,

Full on fair Virtue's fhrine he pours the

Air II.

III.

rays

of fame.

Goddess! thy piercing eye explores
The radiant range of Beauty's ftores,
The steep afcent of pine-clad hills,
The filver flope of falling rills,
Catches each lively-colour'd grace,
The crimson of the wood-nymph's face,
The verdure of the velvet lawn,

The purple in the eastern dawn,

Or all thofe tints, which rang'd in vivid glow

Mark the bold sweep of the celeftial bow.

R 4

IV. Recitative.

IV.

Recitative. But chief fhe lifts her tuneful tranfports high,

When to her intellectual eye

The mental beauties rife in moral dignity ♦

The facred zeal for Freedom's cause,
That fires the glowing Patriot's breast;
The honeft pride that plumes the Hero's creft,
When for his country's and the steel he draws;
Or that, the calm, yet active heat,

With which mild Genius warms the Sage's heart,
To lift fair Science to a loftier feat,

Or ftretch to ampler bounds the wide domain of art. Air III. Thefe, the beft bloffoms of the virtuous mind, She culls with taste refin'd;

From their ambrofial bloom

With bee-like skill fhe draws the rich perfume,
And blends the fweets they all convey,

In the foft balm of her mellifluous lay.

V.

Recitative. Is there a clime, where all these beauties rife In one collected radiance to her eyes?

Is there a plain, whofe genial foil enhales

Glory's invigorating gales,

Her brightest beams where Emulation spreads,
Her kindlieft dews where Science sheds,
Where every stream of Genius flows,
Where ev'ry flower of Virtue glows?
Thither the Mufe exulting flies,
There fhe loudly cries

Chorus I.