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The fad Matilda faw him fall;
O fpare his life, the cry'd,

Lord Buchan's daughter begs his life,
Let her not be deny❜d.

Her well-known voice the hero heard,
He rais'd his death-clos'd eyes,
And fix'd them on the weeping maid,
And weakly thus replies;

In vain Matilda begs the life,
By Death's arreft deny'd;

My race is run.-Adieu, my love,
Then clos'd his eyes and dy'd.

The fword yet warm from his left fide
With frantic hand the drew;

I come, Sir James the Rofs, fhe cry'd,
I come to follow you.

She lean'd the hilt against the ground,
And bared her fnowy breaft,
Then fell upon her lover's fword,
And funk to endless reft.

Then by this fatal Tragedy,

Let parents warning take;

And ne'er entice their children dear,
Their fecret vows to break.

The POET's PRAYER; by the late Dr. DUNKIN.

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F e'er in thy fight I found favour, Apollo,

Defend me from all the difafters, which follow:

From the knaves and the fools, and the fops of the time,
From the drudges in profe, and the triflers in rhime;
From the patch-work, and toils of the royal fack-bibber,
Those dead birth-day odes, and the farces of Cibber;
From fervile attendance on men in high places,
Their worships and honours, and lordships and graces;
From long dedications to patrons unworthy,
Who hear, and receive, but will do nothing for thee;
From being carefs'd, to be left in the lurch,
The tool of a party, in ftate, or in church;
From dull thinking blockheads, as fober as Turks,
And petulant bards, who repeat their own works;
From all the gay things of a drawing-room show,
The fight of a belle, and the smell of a beau :
From bufy back-biters, and tatlers and carpers,
And fcurvy acquaintance with fidlers and harpers;

From

From old politicians, and coffee-house lectures,
The dreams of a chymift, and fchemes of projectors;
From the fears of a jail, and the hopes of a penfion,
The tricks of a gamefter, and oaths of an enfign;
From fhallow free-thinkers, in taverns difputing,
Nor ever confuted, nor ever confuting;

From the conftant good fare of another man's board,
My lady's broad hints, and the jets of my lord;
From hearing old chymifts prelecting de oleo,
And reading of Dutch commentators in folio;
From waiting, like Gay, whole years at Whitehall;
From the pride of great wits, and the envy of fmall;
From very fine ladies with very fine incomes,
Which they finely lay out on fine toys and fine, trincums;
From the pranks of ridottoes, and court-mafquerades,
The fnares of young jilts, and the fpite of old maids;
From a faucy dull ftage, and fubmitting to share.
In an empty third night, with a beggarly play'r;
From Curl, and fuch printers, as would have me curft
To write fecond parts, let who will write the first;
From all pious patriots, who would, to their best,
Put on a new tax, and take off an old teft;
From the faith of informers, the fangs of the law,
And the great rogues, who keep all the leffer in awe;
From a poor country-cure, that living interment,
With a wife, and no profpect of any preferment;
From fcribbling for hire, when my credit is funk,
To buy a new coat, and to line an old trunk;

From 'fquires, who divert us with jokes at their tables,
Of hounds in their kennels, and nags in their ftables;

From the nobles and commons, who bound in ftrict league are,
To fubfcribe for no book, yet fubfcribe to Heidegger;
From the cant of fanatics, the jargon of fchools,

The cenfures of wife men, and praifes of fools;
From critics, who never read Latin and Greek,

And pedants, who boaft they read both all the week;
From borrowing wit, to repay it like Budgel,
Or lending, like Pope, to be paid by a cudgel:
If ever thou didst, or wilt ever befriend me,
From thefe, and fuch evils, Apollo, defend me ;
And let me be rather but honeft with no-wit,
Than a noify, nonfenfical, half-witted poet,

EPISTLE

EPISTLE to a YOUNG GENTLEMAN, on his leaving Eton-School; from a Volume of POEMS, lately published by Dr. ROBERTS.

INCE now a nobler scene awakes thy care,

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Since manhood dawning, to fair Granta's towers,
Where once in life's gay fpring I loved to roam,
Invites thy willing fteps; accept, dear youth.
This parting train; accept the fervent prayer
Of him, who loves thee with a paffion pure
As ever friendship drop'd in human heart,
The prayer, that he who guides the hand of youth
Thro' all the puzzled and perplexed round
Of life's meandring path, upon thy head
May shower down every blefling, every joy,

Which health, which virtue, and which fame can give,
Yet think not, I will deign to flatter thee;

Shall he, the guardian of thy faith and truth,
The guide, the pilot of thy tender years,
Teach thy young heart to feel a spurious glow
At undeferved praife? Perish the flave
Whofe venal breath in youth's unpractis'd ear
Pours poifon'd flattery, and corrupts the foul
With vain conceit; whose base ungenerous art
Fawns on the vice, which fome with honest hand
Have torn for ever from the bleeding breast.

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Say, gentle youth, remember'it thou the day
When o'er thy tender shoulders first I hung
The golden lyre, and taught thy trembling hand
To touch the accordant ftrings? From that bleft hour
I've seen thee panting up the hill of fame;
Thy little heart beat high with honeft praise,
Thy cheek was flush'd, and oft thy sparkling eye
Shot-flames of young ambition. Never quench
That generous ardour in thy virtuous breast.
Sweet is the concord of harmonious founds,
When the foft lute, or pealing
The well attempered ear; fweet is the breath
Of honeft love, when nymph and gentle fwain
Waft fighs alternate to each others heart:
But nor the concord of harmonious founds
When the foft lute, or pealing organ ftrikes
The well-attemper'd ear: nor the fweet breath
Of honeft love, when nymph and gentle fwain
Waft fighs alternate to each others heart,
So charm with ravishment the raptured fenfe.
VOL. XVII.

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As does the voice of well-deferved report
Strike with sweet melody the conscious foul.
On every object thro' the giddy world
Which fashion to thy dazzled eye presents,
Fresh is glofs of newness; look, dear youth,
Oh look, but not admire: O let not these
Rafe from thy noble heart the fair records
Which youth and education planted there :
Let not affection's full impetuous tide,
Which riots in thy generous breast; be check'd
By felfifh cares; nor let the idle jeers

Of laughing fools make thee forget thy felf.
When didft thou hear a tender tale of woe,
And feel thy heart at reft? Have I not feen
In thy fwoln eye the tear of fympathy,

The milk of human kindness? When didft thou
With envy rankling, hear a rival prais'd?

When didst thou flight the wretched? when despise
The modeft humble fuit of poverty ?

Thefe virtues ftill be thine; nor ever learn
To look with cold eye on the charities

Of brother, or of parents; think on those
Whose anxious care thro' childhood's flippery path
Suftain'd thy feeble steps; whofe every with
Is wafted ftill to thee; remember thofe,
Even in thy heart while memory holds her feat.
And oft as to thy mind thou shalt recall
The sweet companions of thy earliest years,
Mates of thy fport, and rivals in the ftrife
Of every generous art, remember me.'

ODE for his MAJESTY's Birth-day, June 4, 1774

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Shines thro' tears, at once that prove,

Grief, and joy, and filial love.

II.

Difcord! ftop that raven voice,
Left the nations round rejoice.
Tell it not on Gallia's plain,

Tell it not on Ebro's ftream,
Tho' but tranfient be the pain,
Like fome delufive dream:
For foon fhall Reason, calm and fage,
Detect each vile feducer's wiles,
Shall footh to peace mistaken rage,
And all be harmony and fmiles;
Smiles repentant, fuch as prove
Grief, and joy, and filial love.

III.

O prophetic be the Mufe!
May her monitory flame
Wake the foul to noble views,

And point the path to genuine fame !
Juft fubjection, mild commands,

Mutual intereft, mutual love,

Form indiffoluble bands,

Like the golden chain of Jove.

Clofely may they all unite!

-And fee, a gleam of luftre breaks

From the fhades of envious night

—And hark, 'tis more than Fancy speaks

They bow, they yield, they join the choral lay,

And hail, with us, our Monarch's natal day..

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