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War, he fung, is toil and trouble.
Honour, but an empty bubble;
Never ending, ftill beginning,

Fighting still, and still destroying,
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it worth enjoying :
Lovely Thais fits befide thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee.

The many rend the fkies with loud applaufe;
So Love was crown'd, but Mufic won the cause.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gaz'd on the fair,

Who caus'd his care;

And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and figh'd again.

At length, with love and wine at once oppreft,
The vanquish'd victor funk upon her breast.

The many rend the fkies with loud applaufe;
So Love was crown'd, but Mufic won the caufe.

Now ftrike the golden lyre again;

A louder yet-and yet a louder ftrain;
Break his bands of fleep afunder,

And roufe him, like a rattling peal of thunder.

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Hark, hark!—the horrid found.
Has rais'd up his head,

As awak'd from the dead:

And amaz'd he ftares around.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the furies arife,

See the fnakes that they rear,

How they hifs in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghaftly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

Thofe are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were flain,

And unburied remain

Inglorious on the plain.

Give the vengeance due

To the valiant crew:

Behold how they tofs their torches on high,
How they point to the Perfian abodes,

And glitt'ring temples of their hoftile gods!

The princes applaud with a furious joy;

And the king feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy,

Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey ;

And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.

Thus

Thus long ago,

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute,

Timotheus, to the breathing flute

And founding lyre,

Cou'd fwell the foul to rage, or kindle foft defire,

At laft divine Cecilia came,
Inventrefs of the vocal frame;

The fweet enthufiaft from her facred store.
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to folemn founds,,

With nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before.

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;

He rais'd a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down,

The

The JUGGLERS.

By GAY.

As recited by Mr. HENDERSON, at Freemasons Hall.

A

Juggler long through all the town

Had rais'd his fortune and renown; You'd think (fo far his art tranfcends) The devil at his fingers ends

Vice heard his fame, fhe read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior skill,

She fought his booth, and from the crowd.
Defy'd the man of art aloud.

Is this then he fo fam'd for flight?
Can this flow bungler cheat your fight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.

Provok'd, the Juggler cry'd, 'Tis done.

In science I fubmit to none.

Thus faid. The cups and balls he play'd;
By turns, this here, that there, convey'd.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.
His little boxes change the grain :
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he fhews all fair;
His fingers spread, and nothing there;

Then

Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his iv'ry eggs are told.

But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd fpectators hum applause.

Vice now stept forth, and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.

This magic looking-glafs, fhe cries,
(There hand it round) will charm your eyes.

Each eager eye the fight defir'd,

And ev'ry man himself admir'd.

Next, to a Senator addreffing;

See this bank-note; obferve the bleffing,
Breathe on the Bill. Heigh, pafs! "Tis gone.
Upon his lips a padlock fhone.

A fecond puff the magic broke;
The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.

Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor ftor'd,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody fwords are there.

A purfe fhe to a Thief expos'd;
At once his ready fingers clos'd.
He

opes his fift the treasure's fled;
He fees a halter in its ftead.

She bids Ambition hold a wand;
He grafps a hatchet in his hand.

A

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