So shall my life forget to move;
Unless each day the fair I love
Shall new repeated vigour give

With smiles, and make me fit to live.
Tell her, when far from her I stray,
How oft I chide thy slow delay;
But when beneath her smiles I live,
Bless'd with all joys the gods can give,
How often I reprove thy haste,

And think each precious moment flies too fast.

BELPHEGOR,

A FABLE.

FROM MACHIAVEL.

...........Fugit indignata sub umbras. Virg.

TH' infernal monarch once, as stories tell,
Review'd his subjects from all parts of Hell;
Around his throne unnumber'd millions wait,
He scarce believ'd his empire was so great;
Still as each pass'd, he ask'd with friendly care
What crime had caus'd their fall, and brought
them there:

Scarce one he question'd, but reply'd the same,
And on the marriage noose lay'd all the blame;
Thence ev'ry fatal errour of their lives
They all deduce, and all accuse their wives.

Then to his peers and potentates around,
Thus Satan spoke; Hell trembled with the sound.
"My friends, what vast advantages would flow
To these our realms? could we but fully know
The form and nature of these marriage chains,
That send such crowds to our infernal plains:
Let some bold patriot then, who dares to show
His gen'rous love to this our state below,
For his dear country's good the task essay,
And animate awhile some human clay;
Ten years in marriage bonds he shall remain,
Enjoy its pleasures, and endure its pain,
Then to his friends return'd, with truth relate
The nature of the matrimonial state." [prov'd:
He spoke; the list'ning crowds his scheme ap-
But who so much his prince or country lov'd,
As thus, with fearless heart, to undertake
This hymeneal trial, for their sake?

At length with one consent they all propose That fortune shall by lot the task impose; The dreaded chance on bold Belphegor fell, Sighing h' obey'd, and took his leave of Hell.

First in fair Florence he was pleas'd to fix, Bought a large house, fine plate, a coach and six; Dress'd rich and gay, play'd high, drank hard, and whor'd,

And liv'd, in short, in all things like a lord:
His feasts were plenteous, and his wines were strong,
So poets, priests, and pimps, his table throng,
Bring dedications, sermons, whores, and plays,
The Devil was ne'er so flatter'd in his days:
The ladies too were kind, each tender dame
Sigh'd, when she mention'd Roderigo's name;
For so he 's call'd: rich, young, and debonnair,
He reigns sole monarch of the longing fair;
No daughter, sure, of Eve could e'er escape
The Devil, when cloth'd in such a tempting shape.
One nymph at length, superior to the rest,
Gay, beautiful, and young, inspir'd his breast;

[state,

Soft looks and sighs his passion soon betray'd,
Awhile he woos, then weds the lovely maid.
I shall not now, to grace my tale, relate,
What feasts, what balls, what dresses, pomp and
Adorn'd their nuptial day, lest it should seem
As tedious to the reader as to him,
Who, big with expectation of delight,
Impatient waited for the happy night;
The happy night is come, his longing arms
Press close the yielding maid in all her charms,
The yielding maid, who now no longer coy
With equal ardour loves, and gives a loose to joy:
Dissolv'd in bliss more exquisite than ail
He e'er had felt in Heav'n, before his fall,
With rapture clinging to his lovely bride,
In murmurs to himself Belphegor cry'd, [fears!
"Are these the marriage chains? are these my
Oh, had my ten but been ten thousand years!"

But ah, these happy moments last not long!
For in one month his wife has found her tongue;
All thoughts of love and tenderness are lost,
Their only aim is who shall squander most;
She dreams of nothing now but being fine,
Whilst he is ever guzzling nasty wine;
She longs for jewels, equipage, and plate,
And he, sad man! stays out so very late!
Hence ev'ry day domestic wars are bred,
A truce is hardly kept while they 're abed;
They wrangle all day long, and then at night,
Like wooing cats, at once they love and fight.
His riches too are with his quiet flown,
And they once spent, all friends of course are gone;
The sum design'd his whole ten years to last,
Is all consum'd before the first is past:
Where shall he hide? ab, whither must he fly?
Legions of duns abroad in ambush lie,
For fear of them, no more he dares to roam,
And the worst dun of all, his wife 's at home.

Quite tir'd at length with such a wretched life, He flies one night at once from debts and wife;. But ere the morning dawn his flight is known; And crowds pursue him close from town to town: He quits the public road, and wand'ring strays Through unfrequented woods, and pathless ways; At last with joy a little farm he sees, Where liv'd a good old man, in health and ease; Matthew his name: to him Belphegor goes, And begs protection from pursuing foes, With tears relates his melancholy case, Tells him from whence he came, and who he was, And vows to pay for his reception well, When next he should receive his rents from Hell: The farmer hears his tale with pitying ear, And bids him live in peace and safety there; Awhile he did; no duns, no noise, or strife, Disturb'd him there;-for Matt had ne'er a wife. But ere few weeks in this retreat are past Matt too himself becomes a dun at last; Demands his promis'd pay with heat and rage, Till thus Belphegor's words his wrath assuage. "My friend, we devils, like English peers,"he cry'd, "Though free from law, are yet by honour ty'd; Though tradesmen's cheating bills I scorn to view, I pay all debts that are by honour due; And therefore have contriv'd long since a way, Beyond all hopes thy kindness to repay; We subtile spirits can, you know, with ease Possess whatever human breasts we please, With sudden frenzy can o'ercast the mind, Let passions loose, and captive reason bind:

Thus I three mortal bosoms will infest,
And force them to apply to you for rest;
Vast sums for cure they willingly shall pay,
Thrice, and but thrice, your pow'r I will obey."

He spoke, then fled unseen, like rushing wind,
And breathless left his mortal frame behind :
The corpse is quickly known, and news is spread
That Roderigo 's in the desert dead;
His wife in fashionable grief appears,
Sighs for one day, then mourns two tedious years.
A beauteous maid, who then in Florence dwelt,
In a short time unusual symptoms felt;
Physicians came, prescrib'd, then took their fees,
But none could find the cause of her disease;
Her parents thought 't was love disturb'd her rest,
But all the learn'd agreed she was possess'd;
In vain the doctors all their art apply'd,
In vain the priests their holy trump'ry try'd;
No pray'rs nor med'cines could the demon tame,
Till Matthew heard the news, and hast'ning came :
He asks five hundred pounds; the money 's pay'd;
He forms the magic spell, then cures the maid:
Hence chas'd, the Dev'l to two rich houses flies,
And makes their heirs successively his prize,
Who both, by Matthew's skill reliev'd from pains,
Reward his wondrous art with wondrous gains.
And now Belphegor, having thrice obey'd,
With reason thinks his host is fully pay'd;
Next free to range, to Gallia's king he flies,
As dev'ls ambitious ever love to rise;
Black hideous scenes distract his royal mind,
From all he seeks relief, but none can find,
And vows vast treasures shall his art repay,
Whoe'er can chase the strange disease away:
At length, instructed by the voice of fame,
To Matthew sends; poor Matt reluctant came ;

He knew his pow'r expir'd, refus'd to try,
But all excuses fail'd; he must, or die;
At last despairing he the task essay'd,
Approach'd the monarch's ear, and whisp'ring said:
"Since force, not choice, has brought thy servant

here,

Once more, Belphegor, my petition hear,
This once at my request, thy post resign,
And save my life, as once I rescu'd thine."

Cruel Belphegor, deaf to his request,
Disdain'd his pray'rs, and made his woes a jest;
With tears and sighs he beg'd, and beg'd again,
Still the ungrateful fiend but mock'd his pain;
Then turning round he told th' expecting court,
This dev'l was of a most malignant sort;
And that he could but make one trial more,
And if that fail'd, he then must give him o'er :
Then placing num'rous drums and trumpets round,
Instructed when he mov'd his hand to sound,
He whisper'd in his patient's ear again,
Belphegor answer'd, all his arts were vain :
He gives the sign, they sound; th' outrageous din
Startles the king, and frights the Dev'l within;
He asks what 't is, and vows that in his life

*

He ne'er had heard the like-except his wife;
'By Heav'n's! 't is she," Matt cries, "you'd best
be gone,

She comes once more to seize you for her own;"
Belphegor, frighted, not one word replies,
But to th' infernal shades for refuge flies;
There paints a dreadful sketch of marry'd lives,
And feelingly confirms the charge on wives:
Matthew, o'erpay'd with honours, fame, and fees,
Returns to bless'd obscurity and ease,
With joy triumphant lo paan sings,

And vows to deal no more with dev'ls or kings.

1 From the commencement of the Spanish war in 1739, to the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, signed October 7, 1748, the land-tax was raised from two shillings to four shillings. In 1749 it was lowered to three shillings, at which rate it was continued till 1752, when Mr. Pelham, at that time the minister, reduced it to two shillings, at which rate it continued till the time of his death in 1754. This was one, amongst others, of those popular measures which gilded the evening of this minister's life, and rendered his death an object of public lamentation. To this event we owe this happy imitation, wrote soon after the land-tax act of that year passed, E.

A SIMILE.

CORINNA, in the country bred,
Harbour'd strange notions in her head,
Notions in town quite out of fashion;
Such as that love's a dangerous passion,
That virtue is the maiden's jewel,
And to be safe, she must be cruel.

Thus arm'd she 'ad long secur'd her honour
From all assaults yet made upon her,
Had scratch'd th' impetuous captain's hand,
Had torn the lawyer's gown and band,
And gold refus'd from knights and 'squires
To bribe her to her own desires:
For, to say truth, she thought it hard
To be of pleasures thus debarr'd,
She saw by others freely tasted,

So pouted, pin'd, grew pale, and wasted:
Yet, notwithstanding her condition,
Continu'd firm in opposition.

At length a troop of horse came down,
And quarter'd in a neighb'ring town;
The cornet he was tall and young,
And had a most bewitching tongue.

They saw and lik'd: the siege begun :
Each hour he some advantage won.
He ogled first;-she turn'd away ;-
But met his eyes the following day:
Then her reluctant hand he seizes,
That soon she gives him, when he pleases:
Her ruby lips he next attacks:-
She struggles; -in a while she smacks:
Her snowy breast he then invades ;-
That yields too after some parades;
And of that fortress once possess'd,
He quickly masters all the rest.
No longer now, a dupe to fame,
She smothers or resists her flame,
But loves without or fear or shame.
So have I seen the Tory race
Long in the pouts for want of place,
Never in humour, never well,
Wishing for what they dar'd not tell,
Their heads with country-notions fraught,
Notions in town not worth a groat,
These tenets all reluctant quit,
And step by step at last submit
To reason, eloquence, and Pitt.

At first to Hanover a plum

Was sent:-They said-A trivial sum,
But if he went one tittle further,

They vow'd and swore they 'd cry out murder:
Ere long a larger sum is wanted;

They pish'd and frown'd-but still they granted:
He push'd for more, and more agen-
Well-Money's better sent than men:
Here virtue made another stand.-
No-not a man shall leave the land.
What?-not one regiment to Embden?
They start-but now they 're fairly hem'd in:
These soon, and many more are sent ;—
They 're silent-silence gives consent.
Our troops, they now can plainly see,
May Britain guard in Germany:
Hanoverians, Hessiaus, Prussians

Are paid, t' oppose the French and Russians:
Nor scruple they with truth to say,
They 're fighting for America:
No more they make a fiddle-faddle
About an Hessian horse or saddle;
No more of continental measures,
No more of wasting British treasures;
Ten millions and a vote of credit.-

'T is right-he can't be wrong who did it:
They 're fairly sous'd o'er head and ears,
And cur'd of all their rustic fears.

PASSAGE IN OSSIAN VERSIFIED.

THE deeds of ancient days shall be my theme;
O Lora, the soft murmurs of thy stream,
Thy trees, Garmallar, rustling in the wind,
Recall those days with pleasure to my mind.
See'st thou that rock, from whose heath-cover'd

crown,

Melvina, three old bended firs look down?
Green is the plain which at its feet is spread,
The mountain-flower there shakes its milk-white
Two stones, memorials of departed worth, [head;
Uplift their moss-cap'd heads, half sunk in earth;
The mountain deer, that crop the grass around,
See the pale ghosts who guard the sacred ground,
Then starting fly the place, and at a distance bound.

ON SEEING THE.

EARL OF CHESTERFIELD AT A BALL,

AT BATH..

WRITTEN IN 1770.

In times by selfishness and faction sour'd,
When dull importance has all wit devour'd;
When rank, as if t' insult alone design'd,
Affects a proud seclusion from mankind;
And greatness, to all social converse dead,
Esteems it dignity to be ill-bred :—
See! Chesterfield alone resists the tide,
Above all party, and above all pride,

Vouchsafes each night these brilliant scenes to grace,
Augments and shares th' amusements of the place;