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Vivitur parvo bene, cui paternum

4 Alas! he is not half so bless'd
Splendet in mensâ tenui salinum;

As those who 've liberty and rest,
Nec leves somnos timor aut cupido

And dine on beans and bacon.
Sordidus aufert.

5 Why should we then to London run,
Quid brevi fortes jaculamur ævo

And quit our cheerful country sun
Multa ? quid terras alio calente

For bus'ness, dirt, and smoke? 5 Sole mutamus? patriæ quis exul

Can we, by changing place and air,
Se quoque fugit?

Ourselves get rid of, or our care?

In troth, 't is all a joke. 6 Scandit æratas vitiosa naves Cura ; nec turmas equitum relinquit,

6 Care climbs proud ships of mightiest force,

And mounts behind the general's horse,
Ocyor cervis, et agente nimbus
Ocyor Euro.

Outstrips hussars and pandours;
Far swifter than the bounding hind,

Swifter than clouds before the wind,
7 Lætus in præsens animus quod ultra est
Oderit curare, et amara lento

Or Cope' before th' Highlanders.
Temperet risu. Nihil est ab omni

7 A man, when once he's safely chose, 8 Parte beatum.

Should laugh at all his threat'ning foes,

Nor think of future evil: 9 Abstulit clarum cita mors Achillem;

Each good has its attendant ill; 10 Longa Tithonum minuit senectus;

8 A seat is no bad thing, but still
Et mihi forsan, tibi quod negårit,

Elections are the devil.
Porriget hora.

9 Its gifts, with hand impartial, Heav'a . 11 Te greges centum, Siculæque circùm

Divides : to Orford it was giv'n
Mugiunt vaccæ; tibi tollit hinni-

To die in full-blown glory; 12 Tum apta quadrigis equa; te bis Afro

10 To Bath indeed a longer date, Murice tinctæ.

But then with unrelenting hate

Pursu'd by Whig and Tory. Vestiunt lanæ : 13 mihi parva rura et 14 Spiritum Graiæ tenuem Camænæ

11 The gods to you with bounteous hand Parca non mendax dedit, et malignum

Have granted seats, and parks, and land; Spernere vulgus.

Brocades and silks you wear;
With claret and ragouts you treat,
12 Six neighing steeds with nimble feet

Whirl on your gilded car.
13 To me they 've given a small retreat,
Good port and mutton, best of meat,

With broad-cloth on my shoulders,
A soul that scorns a dirty job,
14 Loves a good rhyme, and hates a mob,

I mean who a' n't freeholders.

I General Cope, in the year 1745, had made a very precipitate retreat, before the rebel army, froin Preston Panns to Edinburgh.

IMITATED.

TO THE SAME.

HORATII LIB. IV. OD. VIII,

1. Donarem pateras grataque commodus,

Censorine, meis æra sodalibus:
Donarem tripodas, præmia fortium
Grajorum; 2 neque tu pessima munerum
Ferres, divite me scilicet artium,

Quas aut Parrhasius protulit aut Scopas 3 Hic saxo, liquidis ille coloribus

Solers nunc hominein ponere, nunc deum.

1 Did but kind fate to me impart

Wealth equal to my gen'rous heart,
Some curious gift to ev'ry friend,

A token of my love, I'd send;
2 But still the choicest and the best

Should be consign’d to friends at Wrest.
An organ, which, if right I guess,
Would best please lady marchioncss,
Should first be sent by my cominand,
Worthy of her inspiring band :
To lady Bell of nicest mould
A coral set in burnish'd gold :

To you, well knowing what you like,
3 Portraits by Lely or Vandyke,

A curious bronze, or bust antique.

TO THE HON. MISS YORKE...CHLOE TO STREPHON.

609 con Sed non hæc mihi vis: nec tibi talium

4 Bit since these gifts exceed my power, Res est aut animus deliciarum egens.

And you, who need not wish for more, Gaudes carminibus, carmina possumus

Already bless'd with all that 's fine,
Donare, 5 et pretium dicere muneri.

Are pleas'd with verse, though such as mine;
As poets usd in ancient times,

I'll make my presents all in rhymes;
5 And, lest you should forget their worth,

Like them I'll set their value forth.

6 Non incisa notis marmora publicis,

Per quæ spiritus et vita redit bonis
Post mortem ducibus; non celeres fugæ,
Rejectæque retrorsum Annibalis minæ;
Non incendia Carthaginis impiæ,
Ejus qui domitâ nomen ab Africa
Lucratus rediit, clarius indicant

Laudes, quam Calabræ Pierides: neque, 7 Si chartæ siieant quod bene feceris,

Mercedem tuleris. 8 Quid foret Iliæ
Mavortisque puer, taciturnitas
Obstaret meritis invida Romuli?
Ereptum Stygiis fluctibus Æacum
Virtus et favor et lingua potentium
Vatum divitibus consecrat insulis.

6 Not monumental brass or stones,

The guardians of heroic bones,
Not victories won by Marlbro's sword,
Nor titles which these feats record,
Such glories o'er the dead diffuse,

As can the labours of the Muse.
7 But if she should her aid deny,

With you your virtues all must die,
Nor tonglies unborn shall ever say

How wise, how good, was lady Grey.
8 What now had been th'ignoble doom

Of him who built imperial Rome?
Or him, deserving ten times more,
Who fed the hungry, cloth'd the poor,
Clear'd streams, and bridges laid across,
And built the little church of Ross?
Did not th' eternal powers of verse
From age to age their deeds rehearse.

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Say, would you use that very pow'r

You from her fondness claim, To ruin, in one fatal hour,

A life of spotless fame?

THE CHOICE.

Ah ! cease, my dear, to do an ill,

Because perhaps you may;. But rather try your utmost skill

To save me, than betray.

Be von yourself my virtue's guard,

Defend, and not pursue;
Since 't is a task for me too hard

To fight with love and you.

A SONG.

Cease, Sally, thy charms to expand,

All thy arts and thy witchcraft forbear, Hide those eyes, hide that neck and that hand,

And those sweet flowing tresses of hair.

Oh! torture me not, for love's sake,

With the smirk of those delicate lips, With that head's dear significant shake,

And the toss of the hoop and the hips.

Oh! sight still more fatal! look there

O'er her tucker what murderers peep! So—now there 's an end of my care,

I shall never more eat, drink, or sleep.

Hap I, Pygmalion like, the pow'r
To make the nymph I would adore;
The model should be thus design'd,
Like this her form, like this her mind.

Her skin should be as lilies fair,
With rosy cheeks and jetty hair;
Her lips with pure vermilion spread,
And soft and moist, as well as red;
Her eyes should shine with vivid light,
At once both languishing and bright;
Her shape should be exact and small,
Her stature rather low than tall;
Her limbs well turn'd, her air and mien
At once both sprightly and serene ;
Besides all this, a nameless grace
Should be diffus'd all o'er her face;
To make the lovely piece complete,
Not only beautiful, but sweet.

This for her form: now for her mind;
I'd have it open, gen'rous, kind,
Void of all coquettish arts,
And vain designs of conquering hearts,
Not sway'd by any views of gain,
Nor fond of giving others pain;
But soft, thongh bright, like her own eyes,
Di-creetly witty, gayiy wise.

I'd bave her skill'd in ev'ry art
That can engage a wand'ring heart;
Know all the sciences of love,
Yet ever willing to improve;
To press the hand, and roll the eye,
And drop sometimes an amorous sigb;
To lengthen out the balny kiss,
And heighten ev'ry tender bliss;
And yet I'd have the charmer be
By nature only taught. -or me.

I'd have her to strict honour ty'd,
And yet without one spark of pride;
In company well dres: 'd and fine,
Yet not ambitious to outshine;
In private always neat and clean,
And quite a stranger to the spleen;
Well-pleas'd to grace the park and play,
And dance sometimes the night away,
But oft'ner fond to spend her hours
In solitude and shady bow'rs,
And there, beneath some silent grove,
Delight in poetry and love.

Some sparks of the poetic fire
I fain would bare her soul inspire,
Enough, at least, to let her know
What joys from love and virtue flow;
Enough, at least, to make her wise,
And fops and fopperies despise;
Prefer her books, aud her own Muse,
To visits, scandal, chat, and news;
Above her sex exalt her mind,
And make her more than womankind.

D' you sing too? ah, mischievous thought!

Touch me, touch me not there any more; Who the Devil can 'scape being caught

In a trap that 's thus baited all o'er?

But why to advise shonld I try?

What nature ordains we must prove: You no more can belp charming, than I

Can help being charm’d, and in love.

A SONG.

When first I sought fair Cælia's love,

And ev'ry charm was new, I swore by all the gods above

To be for ever true.

But long in vain did I adore,

Long wept and sigh'd in vain, She still protested, vow'd, and swore,

She ne'er would ease my pain.

At last o'ercome she made me bless'd,

And yielded all her charms ; And I forsook her, when possess'd,

And fled to others' arms.

But let not this. dear Cælia, now

To rage thy breast incline; For wby, since you forgot your vow,

Should I remember mine?

TO A YOUNG LADY,

GOING TO THE WEST INDIES. For universal sway design'd

To distant realms Clorinda flies, And scorns, in one small isle confin'd,

To bound the conquests of her eyes.

From our cold climes to India's shore

But, fair-one, though these toils succeed, With cruel haste she wings her way,

Of conquest be not vain; 'To scorch their sultry plains still more,

Nor think o'er all the sealy breed And rob us of our only day.

Uopunish'd thus to reign. Whilst ev'ry streaming eye o'erflows

Remember, in a wat’ry glass With tender foods of parting tears,

His charms Narcissus spy'd, Thy breast, dear cause of all our woes,

When for his own bewitching face Alone unmov'd and gay appears.

The youth despair'd and dy'd. But still, if right the Muses tell,

No more then harmless fish insnare, The fated point of time is nigh,

No more such wiles pursue ; When grief shall that fair bosom swell,

Lest, whilst you baits for them prepare, And trickle from thy lovely eye.

Love finds out one for you.

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WRITTEN IN

Assur'd he meant Lucinda's charms,

To her th' infectious demon Nies; Her neck, her cheeks, her lips disarms, And of their lightning robs her eyes.

A LADY'S VOLUME OF TRAGEDIES. The Cyprian queen with cruel joy

Since thou, relentless maid, canst daily hear Beholds her rival's charms o'erthrown,

Thy slave's complaints without one sigh or tear, Nor doubts, like mortal fair, t'employ

Why beats thy breast, or thy bright eyes o’erflow Their ruins to augment her own.

At these imaginary scenes of woe?

Rather teach these to weep and that to heare, From out the spoils of ev'ry grace

At real pains themselves to thousands give; The goddess picks some glorious prize,

And if such pity to feigo'd love is due, Transplants the roses from her face,

Consider how much more you owe to true. And arms young Cupids from her eyes.

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Poor Jenny, am'rous, young, and gay,
Having by man been led astray,

To nunn'ry dark retir'd;
There liv'd, and look'd so like a maid,
So seldom eat, so often pray'd,

She was by all admir'd.

Long had the mind of man with curious art
Search'd Nature's wondrous plan through ev'ry part,
Measur'd each tract of ocean, earth, and sky,
And number'd all the rolling orbs on high;
Yet still, so learn'd, herself she little knew,
Till Locke's unerring pen the portrait drew.

So beauteous Eve a while in Eden stray'd,
And all her great Creator's works survey'd ;
By Sun, and Moon, she knew to mark the hour,
She knew the genus of each plant and flow'r;
She knew, when sporting on the verdant lawn,
The tender lambkin and the nimble fawn:
But still a stranger to her own bright face,
She gress'd not at its form, nor what she was;
Till led at length to some clear fountain's side,
She view'd her beauties in the crystal tide;
The shining mirror all her charms displays,
And her eyes catch their own rebounded rays.

The lady abbess oft would cry,
If any sister trod awry,

Or prov'd an idle slattern;
" See wise and pious Mrs. Jane,
A life so strict, so grave a mien,

Is sure a worthy pattern."

A pert young slut at length replies,
" Experience, madam, makes folks wise,

"T is that has made her such;
And we, poor souls, no doubt should be
As pious, and as wise, as she,

If we had seen as much."

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