In heaven he fings; on earth your Mufe fupplies
Th'important lofs, and heals our weeping eyes.
Correctly great, fhe melts each flinty heart,
With equal genius, but fuperior art.
Hail, happy pair! ordain'd by turns to blefs,
And fave a fiuking nation in diftrefs.
By great examples to reform the crowd,
Awake their zeal, and warm their frozen blood.
When Brutus ftrikes for liberty and laws,
Nor fpares a father in his country's caufe;
Juftice levere applauds the cruel deed,
A tyrant fuffers, and the world is freed,
But when we fee the godlike Cato bleed,
The nation weeps; and from thy fate, oh Rome!
Learns to prevent their own impending doom.
Where is the wretch a worthlefs life can prize,
When Senates are no more, and Cato dies?
Indulgent forrow, and a pleafing pain,
Fleaves in each breaft, and beats in every vein.
Th' expiring patriot animates the crowd,
Bold they demand their ancient rights aloud,
The dear-bought purchafe of their father's blood.
Fair Liberty her head majestic rears,
Ten thoufaud bleflings in her bofom bears;
Screne fhe fmiles, revealing all her charms,
And calls her free-born youth to glorious arms.
Faction'srepell'd, and grumbling leaves her prey,)
Forlorn fhe fits, and dreads the fatal day,
When eaftern gales fhall fweep her hopes away.
Such ardent zeal your Mufe alone could raife,
Alone reward it with immortal praise.
Ages to come fhall celebrate your fame,
And refcued Briton blefs the poet's name.
So when the dreaded powers of Sparta fail'd,
Tyrtæus and Athenian wit prevail'd,
Too weak the laws by wife Lycurgus made,
And rules fevere without the Mufes' aid:

He touch'd the trembling ftrings, the poet's fong
Reviv'd the faint, and made the feeble strong;
Recall'd the living to the duty plain,
And to a better life reflor'd the flain.
The victor-host amaz'd, with horror view'd
Th' affembling troops, and all the war renew'd;
To more than mortal courage quit the field.
And to their foes th' unfinish'd trophies yield.

Inimitably great!

Bow low, ye bards, at his exalted throne,
And lay your labours at his feet;
Capacious foul! whofe boundless thoughts furvey
Heaven, hell, earth, fea;

Lo! where the embattled gods appear,

The mountains from their feats they tear, And flake th' empyreal heavens with impious war, Yet, nor fhall Milton's ghoft repine

At all the honours we beftow

On Addifon's deferving brow,

By whom convinc'd, we own his work divine, Whofe fkilful pen has done his merit right, And fet the jewel in a fairer light.

Enliven'd by his bright Effay

Each flowery fcene appears more gay,
New beauties fpring in Eden's fertile groves,
And by his culture Paradife improves.
Garth, by Apollo doubly bless'd,
Is by the god entire poffefs'd:

Ae, unwilling to depart,
Begs life from his prevailing fkill;
Youth, reviving from his art,
Borrows its charms and power to kill:
But when the patriot's injur'd fame,
His country's honour, or his friends,
A more extenfive bounty claim,
With joy the ready Mufe attends,
Immortal honours the bestows,
A gift the Mufe alone can give;

She crowns the glorious victor's brows,
And bids expiring virtue live.

Nymphs yet unborn fhall melt with amorousflamet
That Congreve's lays infpire;

And Philips warm the gentle fwains

To love and foft defire.

Ah! fhun, ye fair, the dangerous founds,
Alas! each moving accent wounds,
The fparks conceal'd revive again
The god reftor'd, refumes his reign,
In killing joys and pleafing pain.

Thus does each bard in different garb appear,
Each Mufe has her peculiar air,
And in propriety of drefs becomes more fair;
To each, impartial Providence

Well-chofen gifts beftows,

He varies his munificence,

And in divided ftreams the heavenly bleffing flows.

If we look back on ages paft and gone,
When infant Time his race begun,
The diftant view fill leffens to our fight,
Obfcur'd in clouds, and veil'd in fhades of night.
The Mufe alone can the dark scenes difplay,
Enlarge the profpect, and difclofe the day.
'Tis the the records of times paft explores,
And the dead hero to new life reftores,
To the brave man who for his country died,
Erects a lafting pyramid,

Supports his dignity and fame,
When mouldering pillars drop his name.
In full proportion leads her warrior forth,
Difcovers his neglected worth,

Brightene

Brightens his deeds, by envious ruft o'ercast, T'improve the prefent age, and vindicate the past. Did not the Mufe our crying wrongs repeat, Ages to come no more fhould know Of Lewis by oppreffion great

Than we of Nimrod now :

The meteor fhould but b'aze and die,
Depriv'd of the reward of endless infamy.
Ev'n that brave chief, who fet the nations free,

The greatest name the world can boast,
Without the Mufe's aid fhall be

Sunk in the tide of time, and in oblivion loft.
The fculptor's hand may make the marble live,
Or the bold pencil trace

The wonders of that lovely face,
Where every charm, and every grace,
That man can wifh, or heaven can give,
In happy union join'd, confess
The hero born to conquer, and to blefs.
Yet vain, alas! is every art,

Till the great work the Muse compleat,
And everlafting fame impart.

That foars aloft, above the reach of fate.
Hail, happy bard! on whom the gods bestow
A genius equal to the vast defign,

Whofe thoughts fublime in cafy numbers flow,
While Marlborough's virtues animate each line.
How shall our trembling fouls furvey
The horrors of each bloody day;
The wreaking carnage of the plain
Incumber'd with the mighty flain,
The ftrange variety of death,

And the fad murmurs of departing breath?
Scamander's ftreams fhall yield to Danube's flood, 7
To the dark bofom of the deep pursued
By fiercer flames, and ftain'd with nobler blood.
The gods fhall arm on either fide,
Th' important quarrel to decide;

The grand event embroil the realms above,
And faction revel in the court of Jove;

While heaven, and earth, and fea, and air,

Shall feel the mighty fhock and labour of the war.

Virtue conceal'd obfcurely dies,

Loft in the mean disguise

Of abject floth, deprefs'd, unknown.

Rough in its native bed the unwrought diamond lies,

Till chance, or art, reveal its worth;

And call its latent glories forth; But when its radiant charms are view'd, Becomes the idol of the crowd, And adds new luftre to the monarch's crown. What British harp can lie unftrung, When Stanhope's fame demands a song? Upward, ye Mufes, take your wanton flight, Tune every lyre to Stanhope's pra.se, Exert your most triumphant lays,

Nor fuffer fuch heroic deeds to fink in endless night.

The golden Tagus fhall forget to flow,
And Ebro leave its channel dry,

Ere Stanhope's name to time thall bow,
And loft in dark oblivion lie.

Where fhall the Mufe begin her airy flight?

Where first direct her dubious way;
Loft in variety of light,

And dazzled in excefs of day?
Wifdom and valour, probity and truth,

At once upon the labouring fancy throng,
The conduct of old age, the fire of youth,
United in one breaft perplex the poet's fong.
Thofe virtues which difpers'd and rare
The gods too thriftily bestow'd,
And fcatter'd to amufe the crowd,
When former heroes were their care;
T'exert at once their power divine,
In thee, brave chief, collected fhine.
So from each lovely bloomi g fact
Th' ambitious artift ftole a grace.
When in one finish'd piece he ftrove
To paint th' all-glorious Queen of Love,
Thy provident unbiafs'd mind
Knowing in arts of peace and war,
With indefatigable care,

Labours the good of human kind: Erect in dangers, modeft in fuccefs, Corruption's everlasting bane, Where injur'd merit finds redress, And worthlefs villains wait in vain. Though fawning knaves befiege thy gate, And court the honeft man they hate; Thy fteady virtue charges through, Alike unerring to fubdue,

As when on Almanara's plain the scatter'd fquadrons flew.

Vain are th' attacks of force or art, Where Cæfar's arm defends a Cato's heart.

Oh! could thy generous foul difpenfe Through this unrighteous age its facred influence Cou'd the bafe crowd from thy example learn To trample on their impious gifts with fcorn, With fhame confounded to behold

A nation for a trifle fold,

Dejected fenates fhouid no more Their champion's abfence mourn, Contending boroughs fhould thy name return; Thy bold Philippicks fhould reftore

Britannia's wealth, and power, and fame.
Nor liberty be deem'd an empty name,
While tyrants trembled on a foreign fhore.
No fweiling titles, pomp, and ftate,
The trappings of a magiftrate,
Can dignify a five, or make a traitor great.
For, carelels of external fhew,
Sage Nature dictates whom t'ob.y,
And we the ready homage pay,
Which to fuperior gifts we owe.
Merit like thine repuls'd an empire gains,
And virtue, though negl&ed, reigns.
The wretch is indigent and poor,
Who brooding fits o'er his ill getten store;
Trembling with guilt, and haunted by his fin,
He feels the rigid judge within.

But they arone are blefs'd, who wifely know
T'enjoy the little which the gods bestow,
Proud of their glorious wants, difdain
To barter honeity for gain;

No other ill but tharc they fear,
And forn to purchase lile too dear:
X 2

Profu'ely

Profufely lavifh of their blood,

For their dear friends or country's good, If Britain conquer, can rejoice in death. And in triumphant fhours refign their breath.

TO DR. MACKENZIE. THOU, whofe penetrating mind, Whole heart benevolent, and kind, Its ever prefent in distress; Glad to preserve, and proud to blefs: Oh! leave not Arden's faithful grove, On Caledonian hills to rove. But hear our fond united prayer, Nor force a county to despair

Let homicides in Warwick-lane, With hecatombs of victims flain, Butcher for knighthood, and for gain; While thou purfueft a nobler aim, Declining interest for fame. Wheree'er thy Maker's image dwells, In gilded roofs, or smoky cells, The fame thy zeal: o'erjoy'd to fave Thy fellow-creature from the grave: For well thy foul can understand The poor man's call is God's command; No frail, no tranfient good, his fee; But heaven, and blefs'd eternity. Nor are thy labours here in vain. The pleasure over-pays the pain. True happiness (if understood) Confifts alone, in doing good; Speak, all ye wife, can God bestow, Or man a greater pleasure know? See where the grateful father bows! His tears confefs how much he owes : His fon, the darling of his heart, Reftor'd by your prevailing art; His houfe, his name, redeem'd by you, His ancient honours bloom anew. But oh what idioms can exprefs The vaft tranfcendant happiness The faithful hufband feels? his wife, his better half, recall'd to life: See, with what rapture! fee him view The fhatter'd frame rebuilt by you! See health rekindling in her eyes! See baffled death give up his prize! Tell me, my friend, canft thou forbear, In this gay fcene to claim a fhare? Does not thy blood more swiftly flow? Thy heart with fecret tranfports glow? Health, life, by heaven's indulgence fent, And thou the glorious inftrument !

Safe in thy art, no ills we fear, Thy hand fhall plant El.fium here; Pale Sickness fhall thy triumphs own, And ruddy health exalt her throne. The fair, renew'd in all her charms, Shall fly to thy protecting arms; With gracious files repay thy care, And leave her lovers in defpair. While multitudes applaud and bless Their great afylum in distress,

My humble Mufe, among the crowd,
Her joyful Pœans fings aloud.
Could I but with Mæonian flight
Sublimely foar through fields of light,
Above the itars thy name fhould fhine,
Nor great Machaon's rival thine!
But father Phoebus, who has dene
So much for thee his favourite fon,
His other gifts on me beftows
With partial hands, nor hears my vows:
Oh! let a grateful heart supply,
What the penurious powers deny!

THE WIFE.

IMPERIAL Jove (as poets fung of old)
Was coupled to a more imperial fcold,
A jealous, termagant, infulting jade,
And more obfervant than a wither'd maid:
She watch'd his waters with unweary'd eyes,
And chac'd the god through every fly difguife,
Out-brav'd his thunder with her louder voice,
And shook the poles with everlafting noise.
At midnight revels when the goflips met,
He was the theme of their eternal chat:
This afk'd what form great Jove would next de-

vife,

And when his godship would again Taurife?
That hinted at the wanton life he led
With Leda, and with baby Ganymede:
Scandals and lies went merrily about,
With heavenly lambs-wool and nectarial stout.
Home the returns erect with luft and pride,
At bed and board alike unfatisfy'd;

The hen-peck'd God her angry presence flies,
Or at her feet the paffive thunderer lies,

:

In vain ftill more the raves, ftill more fhe ftorms,
And heaven's high vaults echo her loud alarms:
To Bacchus, merry blade, the god repairs,
To drown in nectar his domeftic cares,
The Fury thither too pursues the chace,
Palls the rich juice, and poifons every glass;
Wine, that makes cowards brave, the dying
Strong,

Is a poor cordial 'gainst a woman's tongue.
To arms to arms! th' impetuous Fury cries,"
The jolly God th' impending ruin flies:
His trembling tigers hide their fearful heads,
Scar'd at a fiercenefs which their own exceeds;
Bottles aloft like bursting bombs refound;
And smoking spout their liquid ruin round;
Like ftorms of hail the fcatter'd fragments fly,
Bruis'd bowls and broken glafs obfcure the fky;
Tables, and chairs, and ftools together hurl'd,
With univerfal wreck check all the nether world.
Such was the clamour, fuch great Jove's fur-
prize,

When by gigantic hands the mountains rife,
To wreft his thunder, and invade the fkies.
Who could not envy Jove's eternal life,
And with for godhead clogg'd with such a wife?
If e'er it be my wayward fate to wed,
Avert, ye powers, a Juno from my bed!

Lot

Let her be foolish, ugly, crooked, old,
Let her be whore, or any thing but fcold!
With prayers inceffant for my lot I crave
The quiet cuckold, not the hen-peck'd flave;
Or give me peace on earth, or give it in the
grave !

In Memory of the Rev. Mr. MOORE.
Fhumble birth, but of more humble mind,7
By learning much, by virete more refind,
A fair and equal friend to all mankind.
Parties and fects, by fierce divifions torn,
Forget their hatred, and content to mourn;
Their hearts unite in undiffembled woe,

And in one common firean their forrows flow.
Each part in life with equal grace he bore,
Obliging to the rich, a father to the poor.
From finful riots filently he fled,

Bat came unbidden to the fick man's bed.
Manners and men he knew, and when to prefs
The poor man's caufe, and plead it with fuccefs.
No penal laws he stretch'd, but won by love
His hearers' hearts, unwilling to reprove.
When four rebukes and harther language fail, Į
Could with a lucky jeft, or merry tale,
O'er stubborn fouls in Virtue's caufe prevail,
Whene'er he preach'd, the throng attentive stood,
Feafted with manna, and celestial food:
He taught them how to live and how to die;
Nor did his actions give his words the lye.

Go, happy foul, fublimely take thy flight Through fields of ather, in long tracks of light, The gueft of angels, range from place to place, And view thy great Redeemer face to face.

Just God eterna' fource of power and love! Whom we lament on earth, give us above; Oh! grant us our companion and our friend, In blifs without alloy, and without end!

EPITAPH

Upon HUGH LUMBER, Husbandman.

IN Cottages and homely cells,

True Piety neglected dwells;

Till call'd to heaven, her native feat,
Where the good man alone is great :
'Tis then his humble duft fhall rife,
And view his Judge with joyful eyes;
While haughty tyrants fhrink afraid,'
And call the mountains to their aid.

THE HIP.

To WILLIAM COLMORE, Efq.

The Day after the great Meteor, in March 1715.

Tas diévalorn,

HIS difmal morn, when eat winds blow,

With face moft forrowfully grim,
And head opprefs'd with wind and whim,
Grave as an owl, and just as witty,
To thee I twang my doleful ditty;

And in mine own dull rhymes would find
Mufic to foothe my restlefs mind:

But oh! my friend, I fing in vain,
No doggrel can relieve my pain;
Since thou art gone my heart's defire,
And heaven, and earth, and fea conspire,
To make my miferies compleat;
Where fhall a wretched hip retreat?
What shall a drooping mortal do,
Who pines for funshine and for you?
If in the dark alcove I dream,
And you, or Phillis, is my theme,
While love or friendship warm my foul,
My fins are burning to a coal.
If rais'd to fpeculations high,

I gaze the flors and fpangled iky,
With heart devout and wondering eye,
Amaz'd I view frange globes of light,
Moteors with horrid luttre bright,
Myuilty trembling foul affright.
To mother earth's prolific bed,
Penfive I floop my giddy head,
From thence too all my hopes are fled, ·
Nor flowers, nor grafs, nor fhrubs appear,
To deck the fmiling infant year;
But blafts my tender bloffoms wound,
And defolation reigns around.

If fea-ward my dark thoughts I bend,
O! where will my misfortunes end?
My loyal foul diftracted meets
Attainted dukes, and Spanish fleets.
Thus jarring elements unite.

Pregnant with wrons, and arm'd with spight,
Succeffive mifchiefs every hour
On my devoted head they pour.
Whate'er I do, wherec'er Igo,
'Tis ftil an endlefs fcene of woe.
'Tis thus difconfolate I mourn,
I faint, I die, till thy returu ; `
'Till thy brifk wit and humorous vein,
Reftore me to myself again.
Let others vainly feek for ease,
From Galen and Hippocrates,

I fcorn fuch naufeous aids as thefe.

Hafte then, my dear, unbrib'd attend,
The beft elixir is a friend.

TO A LADY,

Who made me a prefent of a Silver Pen.
AIR-ONE, accept the thanks I owe,
'Tis all a grateful heart can do.

If e'er my foul the Mufe inspire
With raptures and poetic fire,
Your kind munificence I'll praise,
To you a thoufand altars rafe:
Jove fhall defcend in golden rain,
Or die a fwan; but fing in vain.
Phoebus the witty and the gay,
Shall quit the chariot of the day,
o baik in your fuperior ray.
Your charms fball every god fubdue,
And every goddess envy you.
Add this but to your bounty's store,
This one great boon, afk no more:

O gracious

* An invafion from Spain was then expected.

O gracious nymph, be kind as fair, Nor with difdain negle& my prayer, So fhall your goodness be confefs'd, And I your flave entirely blefs'd; This pen no vulgar theme fhall ftain, The noblest palm your gift thall gain, To write to you, nor write in vain.

PRESENTING TO A LADY A WHITE ROSE AND A RED ON THE TENTH OF JUNE.

IF this pale rofe offend your fight,

It in your bofom wear;

'Twill blush to find itfelf le's white,
And turn Lancaftrian there.

But, Celia, fhould the red be chofe,
With gay vermilion bright;

'Twould ficken at each blush that glows,
And in defpair turn white.

Let politicians idly prate,

Their Babels build in vain; As uncontrolable as fate,

Imperial Love fhall reign.

Each haughty faction fhall obey,
And whigs and tories join,
Submit to your despotic sway,

Confefs your right divine.
Yet this, my gracious monarch, own,
They 're tyrants that opprefs;
'Tis mercy muft fupport your throne,
And 'tis like heaven to blefs.

W

THE BOWLING-GREEN.

HERE fair Sabrina's wandering currents
flow,

A large fmooth plain extends its verdant brow,
Here every morn while fruitful vapours feed
The fwelling blade, and blefs the finoking mead,
A cruel tyrant reigns: like time, the swain
Whets his unrighteous fcythe, and fhaves the plain.
Beneath each flroke the peeping flowers decay,
And all th' unripened crop is fwept away,
The heavy roller next he tugs along,
Whifs his thort pipe, or roars a rural fong,
With curious eye then the prefs'd turf he views,
And every riding prominence fubdues.

Now when each craving ftomach was well flor'd, And Church and King had travel'd round the board,

Hither at Fortune's fhrine to pay their court,
With eager hopes the motley tribe refort;
Attornies fpruce, in their plate-button'd frocks,
And rofy parfons fat, and orthodox :

Of every feel, whigs, papifts, and high-flyers,
Cornuted aldermen, and hen-peck'd fquires:
Fox-hunters, quacks, fcribblers in verfe and profe,
And ha f-pay captains, and half-witted beaux;
On the green cirque the ready racers stand,
Difpos'd in pairs, and tempt the bowlers hand :

Fach polifh'd fphere does his round brother ow2,
The twins difunguifh'd by their marks are known.
As the ftrong rein guides the well-manag'd horse,
Here weighty lead infus'd directs their course.
Thefe in the ready road drive on with speed,
But thofe in crooked paths more artfully fucceed.
So the tall fhip that makes fome dangerous bay,
With a fide wind obliquely flopes her way.
Lo! there the filver tumbler fix'd on high,
The victor's prize, inviting every eye!
The champions, or confent, or chance divide,
While each man thinks his own the furer fide,
And the jack leads, the fkilful bowler's guide.

Bendo ftrip'd first, from foreign coafts he brought
A chaos of receipts, and anarchy of thought;
Where the tumultuous whims to faction prone,
Still juftled monarch reafon from her throne:
More dangerous than the porcupine's his quill,
Inur'd to flaughter, and fecure to kill.
Let loofe, just heaven! each virulent disease,
But fave us from fuch murderers as thefe :
Might Bendo live but half a patriarch's age,
Th'unpeopled world would fink beneath his rage:
Nor need t' appease the just creator's ire
A fecond deluge or confuming fire.

He winks one eye, and knits his brow fevere, Then from his hand launches the flying fphere: Out of the green the guiltlefs wood he hurl'd, Swift as his patients from this nether world : Then grinn'd malignant, but the jocund crowd Deride his fenfelefs rage, and fhout aloud.

Next, Zadoc, 'tis thy turn, imperious priest!
Still late at church, but early at a feaft.
No turkey-cock appears with better grace,
His garments black, vermilion paints his face;
His wattles hang upon his stiffen'd band.
His platter feet upon the trigger ftand,
He grafps the bowl in his rough brawny hand.
Then fquatting down, with his grey google eyes
He takes his aim, and at the mark it flies.
Zadoc pursues, and wabbles o'er the plain,
But shakes his ftrutting paunch, and ambles on in
vain ;

For, oh! wide-erring to the left it glides,
The inmate lead the lighter wood mifguides.
He fharp reproofs with kind intreaties joins,
Then on the counter fide with pain reclines;
As if he meant to regulate its course,
By power attractive, and magnetic force,
Now almoft in defpair, he raves, he storms,
Writhes his unwieldy trunk in various forms:
Unhappy Proteus! ftill in vain he tries

A thoufand fhapes, the bowl erroneous flics,
Deaf to his prayers, regardless of his cries.
His puffing checks with ring rage inflame,
And all his fparkling rubies glow with fhame.

Bendo's proud heart, proof against Fortune's

frown,

Refolves once more to make the prize his own;
Cautious he plods, furveying all the green,
And measures with his eye the space between
But, as on him 'twas a peculiar curfe,
To fall from one extreme into a worfe;
Confcious of too much vigour, now for fear
He should exceed, at hand he checks the sphere,
Soon