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The men you know are gone'. And now sup- If undistinguish'd loyalty prevails pose,

Where nature shrinks, and strong affection fails, Before our lords and masters are rechose,

On China's tenets charge the fond niistake, We take th' advantage of an empty town, And spare his errour for his virtue's sake. And choose a house of commons of our own? From nobler motives our allegiance springs, What think ye, cannot we make laws? -and then For Britain knows no right divine in kings; Cannot we too unmake them, like the men ? From freedom's choice that boasted right arose, O place us once in good St. Stephen's pews, And through each line from freedom's choice it We'll show them women have their public use.

flows, Imprimis, they shall marry; not a man

Justice, with mercy join'd, the throne maintains;
Past twenty-five, but what shall wear the chain. And in his people's hearts—our monarch reigns.
Next we 'll in earnest set about reclaiming;
For, by my life and soul, we 'll put down gaming:
We 'll spoil their deep destructive midnight play ;
The laws we make, we 'll force them to obey;

Unless we let them, when their spirits fag,
Piddle with us, ye know, at quinze and brag.

TO THE SCHOOL FOR LOVERS, “I hope, my dearest,” says some well-bred spouse,

AS IT WAS INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN, 1762. “ When such a bill shall come before your house, That you 'll consider inen are men-at least Success makes people vain.—The maxim 's true, That you 'll not speak, my dear."-Not speak? - We all confess it-and not over new. the beast!

(these- | The veriest clown who stumps along the streets, Wbat, would you wound my honour?--Wrongs like and doffs his hat to each grave cit he meets, For this, sir, I shall bring you on your knees. Some twelve months hence, bedaub'd with livery -Or, if we 're quite good-natur'd, tell the man,

lace, We 'll do hiin all the service that we can.

Shall thrust his saucy flambeau in your face. Then for ourselves, what projects, what designs ! Not so our bard: though twice your kind applause We'll tax, and double tax, their nasty wines; Has, ou this fickle spot, espous'd his cause; But duty-free import our blonds and laces,

He owns, with gratitude, th' obliging debt; French hoops, French silks, French cambrics, and Has twice been favour'd, and is modest yet. - French faces.

Plain tragedy, his first adventurous care, In short, my scheine is not completed quite, Spoke to your hearts, and found an echo there. But I may tell you more another night.

Plain comedy to night, with strokes refin'd, So come again, come all, and let us raise

Would catch the coyest features of the mind; Such glorious trophies to our country's praise, Would play politely with your hopes and fears, That all true Britons shall with one consent And sometimes smiles provoke, and sometimes tears. Cry out, “ Long live the female parliament !" Your giant wits, like those of old, may climb

Olympus high, and step o'er space and time;
May stride, with seven-leagu'd boots, from shore to


And, nobly by transgressing, charm you more. TO THE ORPHAN OF CHINA,

Alas! our author dares not laugh at schools,

Plain sense confines his humbler Muse to rules. SPOKEN BY MR. HOLLAND, 1759.

Form'd on the classic scale his structures rise,

He shifts no scenes to dazzle and surprise.
Exouch of Greece and Rome. Th’exhausted store in one poor garden's solitary grove,
Of either nat on now can charm no more:

Like the primeval pair, his lovers rove;
Ev'n adventitious helps in vain we try,

And in due time will each transaction pass,
Our triumphs languish in the public eye;

-Unless some hasty critic shakes the glass.
And grave processions, musically slow,
Here pass unheeded—as a lord mayor's show.

On eagle wings the poet of to night
Soars for fresh virtues to the source of light,

To China's eastern realms; and boldly bears
Confucius' morals to Britannia's ears.

Accept th' imported boon; as echoing Greece
Receiv'd from wand'ring chiefs her golden fleece ;

Nor only richer by the spoils become, [home.
But praise th’advent'rous youth who brings them Success makes people vain-The maxim 's true
One dubious character, we own, he draws,

We all confess it-and not over new. A patriot zealous in a monarch's cause !

The veriest clown, who stumps along the streets, Nice is the task the varying hand to guide, And doff's his hat to each grave cit he meets, And teach the blending colours to divide ; Some twelve months hence, bedaub’d with livery Where, rainbow-like, th’ encroaching tints invade

Jace, Each other's bounds, and mingle light with shade. Shall thrust his saucy flambeau in your face. If then, assiduous to obtain his end,

Not so our bard--though twice your kind apYou find too far the subject's zeal extend ;


Has, on this fickle spot, espous'd his cause: * This epilogue was spoken at the time of a ge- He owns, with gratitude th' obliging debt; neral election.

Has twice been favour'd, and is modest yet. VOL. XVII.



Your giant wits, like those of old, may climb No spot, no blemish, the fair frame deforms, Olympus high, and step o'er space and time; No avarice taints, no naughty passion warms May stride, with seven-leagu'd boots from shore to Your firmer hearts. No love of change in you: shore,

E'er taught desire to stray...............
And, nobly by transgressing, charm you more.
Alas! our author dares not laugh at schools-

Plain sense confines his humbler Muse to rules:

All this is true. He shifts no scenes, But here I stopp'd him short-Yet stay; the men, perchance, may call it sneer, “ Not change your scenes ?” said I-" I'm sorry And some few ladies think you not sincere. for 't:

For your petition, whether wrong or right,
My constant friends above, around, below, Whate'er it be, withdraw it for to night.
Have English tastes, and love both change and show: Another time, if I should want a spouse,
Without such aids, ev’n Shakspeare would be flat- I may myself report it to the house:
Our crowded pantomimes are proofs of that. At present, let us strive to mend the age;
What eager transport stares from every eye, Let justice reign, at least upon the stage.
When pullies rattle, and our Genii fly!

Where the fair dames, who like to live by rule,
When tin cascades like falling waters gleam; May learn two lessons from the Lovers' School;
Or through the canvass—bursts the real stream, While Cælia's choice instructs them how to choose,
While thirsty Islington laments in vain

And my refusal warns them to refuse.
Half her New River rollid to Drury Lane.
Lord, sir,” said I, “ for gallery, boxes, pit,
I'll back my Harlequin against your wit”-
Yet still the author, anxious for his play,

Shook his wise head—“What will the critics say?"

TO ALMIDA. “ As usual, sir-abuse you all they can !"“ And what the ladies ?"-" He's a charming

SPOKEN EY MR. REDDISH, 1771, man ! A charming piece!-One scarce knows what it | Cortics be dumb—to night a lady sues.

From soft Italia's shores, an English Muse, But that's no matter-where there 's such sweet Though fate there binds her in a pleasing chain, scenes!”

Sends to our stage the offspring of her brain:
Still he persists--and let himentre nous True to her birth she pants for British bays,
I know your tastes, and will indulge them too. And to her country trusts for genuine praise.
Change you shall have ; so set your hearts at ease: From infancy well read in tragic lore,
Write as he will, we 'll act it as you please. She treads the path her father trod before;

To the same candid judges trusts her cause,
And hopes the same indulgence and applause.

No Salic law here bars the female's claim,

Who pleads hereditary right to fame.

Of love and arms she sings, the mighty two, TO THE SCHOOL FOR LOVERS.

Whose powers uniting must the world subdue;

Of love and arms! in that heroic age, SPOKEN BEFORE THE DANCE, BY MRS. YATES AND MR.

Which knew no poet's, no historian's page; PALMER,

But war to glory form’d the unletter'd mind, MODELY, 1762.

And chivalry alone taught morals to mankind;
Nor taught in vain: the youth who dar'd aspire

To the pice bonours of a lover's fire,
Well, ladies, am I right, or am I not?

Observ'd with duteous care each rigid rule, Should not this foolish passion be forgot ;

Each stern command of labour's patient school; This Auttering something, scarce to be expressid,

Was early train'd to bear the sultry beams Which pleads for coxcombs in each female breast? Of burning suns, and winter's fierce extremes; How mortified he look'd !--and looks so still.

Was brave, was temperate: to one idol fair (Turning to Modely.

His vows he breath'd, his wishes center'd there: He really may repent-perhaps he will.

Honour alone could gain her kind regard ;
Honour was virtue, beauty its reward.

And shall not British breasts, in beauty's cause,

Adopt to night the manners which she draws? Will, Araminta?-Ladies, be so good,

Male writers we confess are lawful prize, Man's made of frail materials, flesh and blood. Giants and monsters that but rarely rise ! We all offend at some unhappy crisis,

With their enormous spoils your triumphs grace, Have whims, caprices, vanities, -and vices. Attack, conformd, exterminate the race; Your happier sex by Nature was design'd, But when a lady tempts the critic war, Her last best work, to perfect human kind. Be all knights errant, and protect the fair.



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THE VISION OF SOLOMON. Gigantic phantom ! in her face appear'd

Terrific charms, too tierce for mortal eyes;

Aw'd and amaz'd her very smiles we fear'd, 'Twas night, and sleep with gently waving wand As though storms lurk'd beneath the smooth dig. Sat softly brooding o'er that monarch's brow,

guise. Whose waking nod could Judah's realms command, But when she frowns, tremendous thunders roar, Or deal destruction to the frighted foe,

Stern Desolation reigns, and kingdoms float in gore. Great David's son-But at this tranquil hour, No dreams of state disturb'd his peaceful bed,

Her Wealth succeeds—and scarce his tott'ring head To nobler heights his thoughts unfetter'd soar,

Sustains the glittring ore's incumbent weight, And brighter visions hover round his head.

O'er his old limbs were tatter'd garments spread, Let meaner kings by mortals guard their state:

A well-fix'd staff directs his double feet. Around his sacred couch aërial legates wait.

Thus mean himself appear'd, but all around

What crowds unnumber'd hail the passing seer! “ Hail, best belov'd !” superior to the rest

Power, as he came, bow'd lowly to the ground, One bending angel cry'd with heav'nly voice,

And own'd with rev'rence a superior there. " Earth, seas, and air stand to thy view confest,

“ Rise, David's son, thy utmost wish extend, And God's own mandate ratifies thy choice.

See to thy sceptre Wealth, the world's great moChoose then from these-say, shall thy pow'r extend

narch, bend." Where suns scarce warm this Earth's remotest

shore? Shall India's lords beneath thy sceptre bend, Fame next approach'd, whose clarion's martial Whilst their black troops stand silent and adore?

sound To thee, sole lord, shall Earth her stores unfold, Bids conqu’ring laurels flourish ever green, Pour all her gems to thee, and mines that flame And gentle Peace with olive chaplets crown'd, with gold?

And Plenty, goddess of the sylvan scene;

These Pleasure join'd, loose flow'd her radiant hair, “ Shall Ocean's waves, obedient to thy call,

Her flying fingers touch'd the trembling lyre, As erst to Moses, rang'd in order stand,

“Come, Mirth,” she sung, “ your blooming wreaths While crowds once inore admire the floating wall,

prepare, And treasures open on the glitt'ring sand?

Come, gay Delight, and ever young Desire, Or shall Pame's breath inspire each softer air,

Let days, let years, in downy circles move The just and good to distant worlds resound,

Sacred to sprightly Joy, and all-subduing Love." While Peace, fair goddess, leads the smiling year, Swells the glad grain, and spreads the harvest round,

The mingled train advanc'd ; to close the rear, Bids Jordan's stream extend its azure pride,

As lost in thought, appear'd a pensive maid, Pleas'd with reflected fruits that tremble in the Bright was her aspect, lovely yet severe, tide ?"

In virgin white her decent limbs array'd,

She mov'd in sober state; on either side The cherub spoke—when Power majestic rose, A beanteous handmaid friendly aid bestow'd,

A Tyrian tinctur'd robe she dragg'd behind, Fair Virtue here, her view from Earth to guide; Whose artful folds at ev'ry turn disclose

There Contemplation rais'd her golden rod. Sceptres and crowns that flutter'd in the wind. Hail, Wisdom, hail! I see and bless the sight,

First-born of Heav'n, pure source of intellectual " See 2 Chron. chap. i. verses 7-12.



On her the monarch fix'd his eager eyes,
On her alone, regardless of the crowd,

FRAGMENT OF A POEM '" Let vulgar souls” he cry'd,“ your trifles prize,

Mortals that dare of misery be proud.
Hence then : I burn for more ingenuous charms, O

EVER mine! whate'er my fate portends
Nature's true beauties with more lustre shine ;
Then take me, Wisdom, take me to thy arms,

Of absence, passions, business, fortune, friends;

Whether in wide-spread scarf, and rustling gown, O snatch me from myself, and make me thme: All Heav'n calls good, or man felicity,

My borrow'd rhet'ric soothes the saints in town, Peace, Plenty, Health, Content, are all compris'd Gay damsels smile, and tir'd churchwardens sleep.

Or makes in country pews soft matrons weep, in thee?"

Whether to ease consign'd, my future day,
One downy circle, sportive rolls away;

Or deep in Cambria, or the wilds of Kent,

I drag out life, and learn from ills content:

Still be thy friendship like a genius there,

Zest of the joy, and solace of the care.


Ere yet to Heav'n my infant thought could reach,

Ere praise its Maker by the powers of speech,
Taught by thy care, by thy example mor'd,

I rais'd my waking eyes, ador'd and lov'd.

For this, and this my more than life, receive So from his common-place, where Churchill stringe That poor return which I with blushes give, Into some motley form his damn'd good things; For ah! the trilling tribute of a lay

The purple patches every where prevail, Is all my humble gratitude can pay !

But the poor work has neither head nor tail. Hear then my fervent wish, though cloth'd in

.... song,

Churchill had strength of thought, had power to (Ye pow'rs confirm it, ere it quit my tongue !)

paint, From this blest day, inay fate propitious shine, Nor felt from principles the least restraint; Each earthly bliss, that Heav'n calls good, be thine, From Hell itself his characters he drew, May adverse clouds, like empty mists decay, And christen’d them by every name he knew: And time declining shed a purer ray,

For 't was from hearsay he pick'd up his tales, To gild the ev'ning of thy well-spent day.

Where false and true by accident prevails: And when (yet ne'er let that sad hour appear,

Hence I, though older far, have liv'd to see While my poor breast draws in this vital air) Churchill forgot, an empty shade like me. Thy fainting frame sinks on the bed of death, May no sharp pangs attend thy fleeting breath; That I'm his fee, ev'n Churchill can 't pretend, No care on care, like restless billows roll,

But-thank my stars—he proves I am no friend: To break the calm of thy departing soul.

Yet, Churchill, could an honest wish succeed, Full in thy sight let choirs of angels spread I'd prove myself to thee a friend indeed; Their radiant plumes, and hover round thy head: For had I power like that which bends the spheres Then one soft sigh thy issuing soul convey

To music never heard by mortal ears, (While thy great loss and mine points out the way') Where in his system sits the central Sun, To scenes of bliss, and realms of endless day. And drags reluctant planets into tune,

So would I bridle thy eccentric soul, · Had I thought it fair to make more alterations In reason's sober orbit bid it roll: from the MS. thar such very trifling ones, as I be- Spite of thyself, would make thy rancour cease, lieved the young author would himself have done, Preserve thy present fame and future peace, if, immediately after he had composed it, he had And teach thy Muse no vulgar place to find revised it for the press, I should, in order to make In the full morat chorus of mankind. the concluding part of the speech refer to the preceding visionary personages, have printed the last line thus : Ev'n Power, and Wealth, and Fame, are all com

A PATHETIC APOLOGY pris'd in thee.

M. * This line, as I think, alludes to the recent loss FOR ALL LAUREATS, PAST, PRESENT, AND TO of his father, that loss being only parenthetically

COME. touched upon, from a delicate apprehension, as it

WRITTEN SOME YEARS BEFORE HIS DEATH. should seem, of too much affecting his surviving parent. If this supposition be admitted, the au

Veniant ad Cæsaris aures ! thor's age, when he wrote it, could not have exceeded fifteen or sixteen years. I need not hint to Ye silly dogs, whose half-year lays the poetical reader, that he seems to have had Attend like satellites on Bays; Mr. Pope's verses to Mrs. Martha Blount, on her And still, with added lumber, load birth-day, in his eye, when he wrote this little Each birth-day and each new-year ode, poem: his imitation, however, is by no means ser- Why will ye sirive to be severe vile.

M. In pity to yourselves forbear;

Nor let the sneering public see,

Your oft repeated madrigals, What numbers write far worse than he.

Your Nancys of the hills or vales, His Muse, obliged by sack and pension,

While tip-toe misses and their beaux Without a subject, or invention

Catch the dear sounds in triple rows, Must certain words in order set,

And whisper, as their happiness, As innocent as a Gazette;

They know the author of the piece Must some half-meaning half disguise,

This vanity, my gentle brothers, And utter neither truth nar lies.

You feel; forgive it then in others, But why will you, ye volunteers

At least in one you call a dunce, In nonsense, tease us with your jeers,

The laureat's odes are sung but once, Who might with dullness and her erew

And then not heard—while your renown Securely slumber? Why will you

For half a season stuns the town Sport your dim orbs amidst her fogs ?

Nay, on brown paper, fairly spread, You 're not oblig'd-ye silly dogs!

With wooden print to grace its head, When Jove, as ancient fables sing,

Each barber pastes you on his wall; Made of a senseless log a king,

Each cobler chants you in his stall, The frogs at first their doubts express'd;

And Dolly, from her master's shop, But soon leap'd up, and smok'd the jest.

Encores you, as she twirls her mup. While every tadpole of the lake

Then “ ponder well, ye parents dear" Lay quiet, though they felt it quake,

Of works, which live a whole half year: They knew their nature's due degree,

And with a tender eye survey
Themselves scarce more alive than he;

The frailer offspring of a day,
They knew they could not croak like frogs, Whose glories wither ere they bloom,
Why will you try?ye silly dogs!

Whose very cradle is their tomb:
When the poor barber felt askance

Have ye no bowels, cruel men! The thunder of a Quixote's lance,

You who may grasp, or quit the pen, For merely bearing on his head

May choose your subject, nay, your time, Th' expressive emblem of his trade,

When genius prompts to sport in rhyme; The barber was a harmless log,

Dependent on yourselves alone, The hero was the silly dog

To be immortal, or unknown: What trivial things are cause of quarrel !

Does no compassion touch your breast Mambrino's helmet, or the laurel,

For brethren to the service prest? Alike distract an idiot's brain,

To laureats is no pity due, Unreal mockeries !” shadowy pain.

Encumber'd with a thousand clogs? Each lagreat (if kind Heav'n dispense

I'm very sure they pity you, Some little gleam of common sense)

Ye siliest of all silly dogs. Blest with oue hundred pounds per ann.

And that too tax'd, and but ill paid, With caution frames his frugal plan, Nor apes his brethren of the trade.

THE LYRIC MUSE TO MR. MASON, He never will to garrets rise For inspiration from the skies ;

ON THE RECOVERY OF THE RIGHT HON. THE BARL OF And pluck, as Hotspur would have done,

HOLDERNESSE FROM A DANGEROUS ILLNESS. “ Bright honour from the pale-fac'd Moon;"

(FROM DODSLEY'S COLLECTION, EDITION 1782.) He never will to cellars venture, To drag up glory from the centre;

Mason, snatch the votive lyre, But calmly steer bis course between

D'Arcy lives, and I inspire, Th' aerial and infernal scene;

'Tis the Muse that deigns to ask: -One hundred pounds! a golden mean!

Can thy band forget its task? Nor need he ask a printer's pains

Or can the lyre its strains refuse To fix the type, and share the gains :

To the patron of the Muse? Each morning paper is so kind

Hark, what notes of artless love To give his works to every wind.

The feather'd poets of the grove, Each evening post and magazine,

Grateful for the bowers they fill, Gratis adopts the lay serene.

Warble wild on Sion-hill'; On their frail barks his praise or blame

In tuneful tribute duly paid Floats for an hour, and sinks with them;

To the master of the shade! Sure without envy you might see

And shall the bard sit fancy-proof Such foundering immortality.

Beneath the hospitable roof, Why will ye then, amidst the bogs,

Where every menial face affords Thrust in your oar?-ye silly dogs!

Raptur'd thoughts that want but words? He ne'er desires his stated loan,

And the patron's dearer part, (I honestly can speak for one)

The gentle sharer of his heart, Should meet in print the public eye:

Wears her wonted charnis again? Content with Boyce's harmony,

Time, that felt affliction's chain, Who throws, on many a worthless lay,

Learns on lighter wings to move;
His music and his powers away.

And the tender pledge of love,
Are you not charm’d, when at Vauxhall,
Or Marybone, the syrens squall

'A country seat belonging to lord Holdernese

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