And when obedient Wature knows his will,
A dy, a grape-tone, or a hair, can kill.

For refilets Proferpine for ever treads
In paths unfeen, o'er our devoted heads;
And on the spacious land, and liquid main,
Spreads now diftafe, or darts afflictive pain
Variety of deaths confirm her endless reign.
On curft Piava's banks the Goddess flood,
Shew'd her dire warrant to the rifing flood
When what I long muft love, and long must

mourn,

With fatal fpeed was urging his return;
In his dear country, to difperie his care,
And arm himfelf by reft for future war;
To chide his anxious friends officious fears,
And-promife to their joys his elder years:

Oh deltin'd head! and oh! fevere decree!
Nor native country thou, nor friend, fhalt fee;
Nor war haft thou to wage; nor year to come:
Impending death is thine, and inftant doom.
Hark! the imperious Goddess is obey'd
Winds murmur;
fnows defcend; and waters
fpread.

Oh! kinfman, friend-Oh! vain are all the cries.
Of human voice, ftrong Destiny replies:
Weep, you on earth; for he shall fleep below:
Thence none return, and thither all muft go.

Whoe'er thou art, whom choice or business
leads

To this fad river, or the neighbouring meads;
If thou may't happen on the dreary fhores
To find the object which this verfe deplores,
Cleanfe the pale corpfe with a religious hand
From the polluting weed and common fand;
Lay the dead Hero graceful in a grave
(The only honour he can now receive),
And fragrant mould upon his body throw,
And plant the warrior-laurel o'er his brow:
Light lie the earth, and flourish green the bough.)

So may juft Heaven fecure thy future life
From foreign dangers and domestic ftrife!
And, when th' infernal judge's difmal power
From the dark ura fhall throw thy dellin'd hour;
When, yielding to the fentence, breathless thou
And pale fhalt lie, as what thou burieft now;
May fome kind friend the pitcous objc& fee,
And equal rites perform to that, which once was

thee!

With thy fair afpe& ftill illuftrate heaven;
Kindly preferve what thou haft greatly given:
Thy influence for thy Anna we implore:
Prolong one life; and Britain asks no more.
For virtue can no ampler power exprefs,
Than to be great in war, and good in peace:
For thought no higher wifh of blifs can frame,
Than to enjoy that virtue ftill the fame.
Entire and fure the monarch's rule must prove,
Who founds her greatnefs on her fubje&ts love;
Who does our homage for our good require,
And orders that which we fhould firft defire:
Our vanquish'd wills that pleafing force ovey,
Her goodness takes our liberty away,
And haughty Britain vields to arbitrary sway.

Let the young Auftrian then her terrors bear,
Great as he is, her delegate in war:

Let him in Thunder Ipeak to both his Spains,
That in thefe dreadful ifles a woman reigns:
While the bright queen does on her fubje&ts fhower
The gentle bleffing of her fotter power;
Gives facred morals to a vicious age,
To temples zeal, and manners to the ftage;
Bids the chafte Mufe without a blush appear;
And Wit be that which Heaven and the may hear.
Minerva thus to Perfeus lent her shield:
Secure of conqueft, fent him to the field:
The hero acted what the queen ordain'd;
So was his fame complete, and Andromeda un
chain'd.

Mean time, amidst her native temples fate
The Goddels, ftudious of her Grecian's fate,
Taught them in laws and letters to excel,
In ang justly, and in writing well.
Thus whift the did her various power dispose,
The world was freed from tyrants, wars, and

From the loft field a hundred standards brought Must be the work of Chance, and Fortune's fault:

Bavaria's Itars must be accus'd, which fhone,
That fatal day the mighty work was done
With rays oblique upon the Gallic fun :

Some Dæmon, envying France, mifled the fight;

And Mars miftook, though Louis order'd right.

When thy young Mufe invok'd the tuneful
Nine,

To fay how Louis did not pafs the Rhine;
What work had we with Wagenheim, Arnheim,
Places that could not be reduc'd to rhyme!
And, though the Poet made his laft efforts,
Wurts-who could mention in heroics-Wurts;
But, tell me, hadft thou reafon to complain
Of the rough triumphs of the latt campaign?
The Danube refcued, and the Empire fay'd,
Say, is the majesty of verfe retriev'd?
And would it prejudice thy fofter vein,
To fing the princes, Louis and Eugene?
Is it too hard in happy verie to place

The Vans and Vanders of the Rhine and Maefe ?
Her warriors Anna fends from Tweed and

Thames,

That France may fall by more harmonious

names?

Ganft thou not Hamilton or Lumley bear? Would Ingoldfby or Palmes offend thy ear? And is there not a found in Marlborough's name, Which thou and all thy brethren ought to claim, Sacred to verfe, and fure of endless tame?

Cutts is in metre fomething harsh to read;
Place me the valiant Gouran in his stead:
Let the intention make the number good:
Let generous Sylvius fpeak for honelt Wood,
And though tough Churchill fcarce in verfe will
ftand,

So as to have one rhyme at his command;
With eafe the bard, reciting Blenheim's plain,
May close the verie, remembering but the Dane,

I grant, old friend, old foe (for fuch we are
Alternate as the chance of peace and war),
That we poetic folks,, who mult reftrain
Our meafur'd fayings in an equal chain,
Have troubles utterly unknown to those,
Who let their fancy loofe in rambling prose:

For inftance now, how hard is it for me
To make my matter and my verfe agree!
"In one great day on Hochtiet's fatal plain,

French and Bavarians twenty thousand flain: "Push'd through the Danube to the fhofes of Styx

"Squadrons eighteen, battalions twenty-fix: Officers captive made, and private men, "Of these twelve hundred, of those thousands

ten,

Tents, ammunition, colours, carriages, Cannon, and kettle drums!"-sweet numbers these!

"En vain, peur te louer. &c." Ep. 4.

But is it thus you English bards compofe
With Runic lays thus tag infipid profe?
And, when you thould your Hero's deeds re-
hearse,

Give us a commiffary's lift in verfe?

Why, faith! Defpreaux, there's fenfe in what you lay :

I told you where my difficulty lay:

So valt, fo numerous, were great Blenheim's fpoils,

They fcorn the bounds of verfe, and mock the
Mufe's toils.

To make the rough recital aptly chime,
Or bring the fun of Gallia's lots to rhyme,
'Tis mighty hard what Poet would ellay

To count the streamers of my lord mayor's day ?,
To number all the feveral dishes dreit
By honest Lamb, laft coronation feast?
Or make Arithmetic and Epic meet,

And Newton's thoughts in Dryden's style repeat?

Should call afpiring Gods to blefs her choice,
And to their favourite ftrains exalt their voice,
Arms and a Queen to fing; who, great and good,
From peaceful Thames to Danube's wondering
flood

Sent forth the terror of her high commands,
To fave the nations from invading hands,
To prop fair Liberty's declining caufe,
And fix the jarring world with equal laws.

The queen fhould fit in Windfor's facred grove,
Attended by the Gods of War and Love:
Beth fhould with equal zeal her fmiles implore,
To ha her joys, or to extend her power.

The valiant fovereign calls her general forth;
'Neither recites her bounty, nor his worth:
She tells him, he must Europe's fate redeem,
And by that labour merit her esteem:
She bids him wait her to the facred hall;
Shows him prince Edward, and the conquer'd
Gaul:

Fixing the bloody cross upon his breast,
Says, he muft die, or fuccour the distress'd;
Placing the Saint an emblem by his fide,

She tells him, Virtue arm'd muft conquer lawlefs Pride.

The Hero bows obedient, and retires: The queen's commands exalt the warrior's fires; His fteps are to the filent woods inclin'd, The great defign revolving in his mind; When to his fight a heavenly form appears : Her hand a palm, her head a laurel wears.

Me, fhe begins, the fairest child of Jove, Below for ever fought, and bless'd above; Me, the bright fource of wealth, and power, and fame

(Nor need I fay, Victoria is my name);

Me the great father down to thee has fent :
He bids me wait at thy diftinguish'd tent,
To execute what Anna's with would have:
Her fubje&t thou, I only am her flave,

Dare then, thou much belov'd by smiling Fate,
For Anna's fake, and in her name be great:
Go forth, and be to distant nations known
My future favourite, and my darling fon :
At Schellenbergh I'll manifeft fuftin
Thy glorious caufe; and spread my wings
again,

Confpicuous o'er thy helm, in Blenheim's plain.
The goddess faid, nor would admit reply;
But cut the liquid air, and gain'd the fky.

His high commiflion is through Britain knows, And thronging armies to his standard run; He marches thoughtful, and he speedy fails: (Blefs him, ye feas! and profper him, ye gales!) Belgia receives him welcome to her fhores; And William's death with leffen'd grief deplores:

His prefence only must retrieve that lofs;
Marlborough to her must be what William was.
So when great Atlas, from these low abodes
Recall'd, was gathered to his kindred gods;
Alcides, refpited by prudent Fate,
Suftain'd the ball, nor droop'd beneath the weight.

Secret and fwift behold the Chief advance; Sees half the empire join'd and friend to France: The British general dooms the fight; his fword Dreadfui he draws; the captains wait the word. Anne and St George the charging hero cries: Shrill echo from the neighbouring wood replies Anne and St. George-At that aufpicious fign The standards move; the adverse armies join. Of eight great hours, Time measures out the

The eagle, by the British lion's might Unchain'd and free, directs her upward flights Nor did the e'er with stronger pinions foar From Tyber's bank, than now from Danube's fhore.

Fir'd with the thoughts which thefe ideas raife,

And great ambition of my country's praife; The English Mufe fhould like the Mantuan rife,

Scornful of earth and clouds, fhould reach the skies,

With wonder (though with envy ftill) pursued by human eyes.

But we must change the ftyle-juft now I said,
I ne'er was mafter of the tuneful trade;
Or, the fmall genius which my youth could boast,
In profe and bufinefs lies extinct and loft:
Blefs'd, it I may fome younger Muse excite;
Point out the game, and animate the flight;
That, from Marfeilles to Calais, France may
know,

As we have conquerors, we have poets too;
And either laurel does in Britain grow;
That, though among ourselves, with too much
heat,

We fometimes wrangle, when we should debate
(A confequential ill which freedom draws;
A bad effect, but from a noble cause ;)
We can with universal zeal advance,
To curb the faithlefs arrogance of France;
Nor ever fhall Britannia's fons refufe
To answer to thy Mafter or thy Muse;
Nor want juft fubject for victorious strains,
While Marlborough's arm eternal laurels gains;
And where old Spenfer fung, a new Eliza
reigns.

I.

LORDS, knights, and 'fquires, the nume

That wear the fair Mifs Mary's fetters, Were fummon'd by her high command, To shew their paffions by their letters,

II.

My pen among the rest I took,

Left thofe bright eyes that cannot read Should dort their kindling fires, and look The power they have to be obey d. III.

Nor quality, nor reputation,

Forbid me yet my fame to tell; Dear five years old befriends my paffion, And I may write till the can fpell

IV.

For, while fhe makes her filk-worms beds
With all the tender things I fwear;
Whilt all the house my paffion reads,
In papers round her baby's hair ;
V.

She may receive and own my flame,

For, though the ftricteft prudes fhould know
it,

She'll pats for a moft virtuous dame,
And I for an unhappy poet.
VI.

Then too, alas! when the fhall tear
The lines fome younger rival fends;
She'll give me leave to write, I fear,
And we shall still continue friends.
VII.

For, as our different ages move,

'Tis fo ordain'd, (would Fate but mend it!) That I fhall be past making love,

When the begins to comprehend it.

Y

Work.

A

armis.

THE CAMELEON.

S the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own;
But borros irom his neighbour's hue
His white or black, his green or blue;
And ftruts as much in ready light,
Which credit gives him upon fight,
As if the rainbow were in tail
Settled on him and his heirs male;
So the young 'fquire, when first he comes
From country fchool to Will's or Tom's,
And equally, in truth, is fit

To be a statesman, or a wit ;
Without one notion of his own,
He faunters wildly up and down,
Till fome acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the gang;
They jeft, reply, difpute, harangue:
He acts and talks, as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him.
Thus, merely as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances.

If haply he the fect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their mysterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace;
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have faid the week before;
His wifdom fets all Europe right,
And teaches Marlborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet

With folks who have more wealth than wit;
He loves cheap port, and double bub ;
And fettles in the Hum-drum club :
He learns how ftocks will fall or rife;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation;
And lays that learning fpoils a nation.

But if, at firft, he minds his hits,

And drinks champaign among the wits;
Five deep he toafts the towering laffes;
Repeats you veries wrote on glaffes;
And lies with those he never faw.
Is in the chair; preferibes the law;

MERRY ANDREW.

At Southwark, therefore, as his tricks he

fhow'd,

To please our mafters, and his friends the crowd;
A huge neat's-tongue he in his right-hand held,
His left was with a good black-pudding fill'd.
With a grave look, in this odd equipage,
The clownish mimic traverses the stage,
Why how now, Andrew ! cries his brother droll;
To-day's conceit, methinks, is fomething dull:
Come on, fir, to our worthy friends explain,
What does your emblematic worship mean?
Quoth Andrew, Honeft English let us speak :
Your emble (what dye call 't) is heathen

Greek.

To tongue or pudding thou haft no pretence:
Learning thy talent is, but mine is fenfe.
That buy fool I was, which thou art now;
Defirous to correct, not knowing how
With very good defign, but little wit,
Blaming or praifing things, as I thought fit.
I for this conduct had what I defervid;
And, dealing honeftly, was almoft ftarv'd.
But, thanks to my indulgent ftars, I eat;
Since I have found the fecret to be great.
O, dearest Andrew, fays the humble droll,
Henceforth may I obey, and thou control;
Provided thou impart thy ufeful skill.
Bow then, fays Andrew; and, for once, I will.
Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says;
Sleep very much; think little; and talk lefs;
Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor

EAR Thomas, didft thou never pop

Derhy head into a tinman's shop?

There, Thomas, didft thou never fee
(Tis but by way of fimile)

A fquirrel fpend his little rage,
In jumping round a rolling cage;
The cage, as either fide turn'd up,
Striking a ring of bells at top?

Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
The foolish creature thinks he climbs;
But here or there, turn wood or wire,
He never gets two inches higher.

So fares it with thofe merry blades,
That frifk it under Pindus' fhades.
In noble fong, and lofty odes,
They tread on ftars, and talk with gods;
Still dancing in an airy round,

Still pleas'd with their own verfes' found;
Brought back, how faft foe'er they go,
Always afpiring, always low.

Vol. IV.

THE FLIES.

AY, fire of infects, mighty Sol,

SAX

(A fly upon the chariot pole Cries out) what blue bottle alive Did ever with fuch fury drive? Tell, Beelzebub, great father, tell, (Says t'other, perch'd upon the wheel), Did ever any mortal fly

Raife fuch a cloud of duft as I ?

My judgment turn'd the whole debate: My valour fav'd the finking state. So talk two idle buzzing things; Tofs up their heads, and ftretch their wings. But, let the truth to light be brought, This neither fpoke, nor t'other fought; No merit in their own behaviour: Both rais'd, but by their party's favour.

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE

FRENCH.

IN grey-hair'd Celia's wither'd arms
As mighty Lewis lay,
She cry'd, If I have any charms
My deareft, let's away!
For you, my love, is all my fear,

Hark how the drums do rattle;
Alas, fir! what fhould you do here
In dreadful day of battle?
Let little Orange ftay and fight,

For danger's his diverfion;
The wife will think you in the right,
Not to expofe your perfon;
Nor vex your thoughts how to repair
The ruins of your glory;"

You ought to leave fo mean a care
To thofe who pen your story.
Are not Boileau and Corneille paid
For panegyrick writing?
They know how heroes may be made,
Without the help of fighting.
When foes too faucily approach,

'Tis beft to leave them fairly; l'ut fix good horfes in your coach, And carry me to Marly."

Let Bouflers, to fecure your fame,

Go take fome town, or buy it, Whilft you, great fir, at Notre-dame, Te Deum fing in quiet!"