« AnteriorContinuar »
When lawless passion seiz'd th' imperial | Fix'd in Hibernia's hemisphere to rule, dame11,
And shed your influence o'er each knave and
Brothels were only found, to quench the flame;
Whilst the sad summons of a mortar's knell
By names celestial, mortal females call;
Say, if in Eastbury's 21 majestic towers,
Lost in this darling luxury of ease,
Yet, Thompson! say (whose gift it is to save,
Shall Egypt's plague 25 the virgin cheek invade,
Yet, when reviving patients set you free,
Come then, my friend! if friendship's name
Come! bring me all I want, that all in you.
Here all in one harmonious prospect blend, And landscapes rise, scarce Lambert's can mend.
No wreaths I court, no subsidies I claim,
Each gay-plum'd hour, upon its downy wings,
Here oft, on contemplation's pinions bore,
Thames, made immortal by her Denham's strains, [plains; Meand'ring glides through Twick'nham's flow'ry While royal Richmond's cloud-aspiring wood Pours all its pendent pomp upon the flood. By Rome's proud dames let storied Tiber flow, And all Palladio grace the banks of Po; Here nature's charms in purer lustre rise, Nor seek from wanton art her vain supplies.
Lo! Windsor, rev'rend in a length of years, Like Cybele, her tow'r-crown'd summit rears; And Hampton's turrets, with majestic pride, Reflect their glories in the passing tide: There British Henries gave to Gallia law; Here bloom'd the laurels of a great Nassau 28. O! could these scenes one monarch more but please:
No frozen climates, no tempestuous seas,
But chief-with awful step, O! let us stray, Where Britain's Orpheus tun'd his sacred lay, Whose grove enchanted from his numbers grew, And proves, what once was fabled, now is true. Here oft the bard with Arbuthnot retir'd; Here flow'd the verse his healing art inspir'd30; Alike thy merit like thy fame should rise, Could friendship give, what feeble art denies : Though Pope's immortal verse the gods refuse, Accept this off'ring from an humbler Muse. Weak though her flight, yet honest still her strain, And what no minister could ever gain ; Pleas'd if the grateful tribute of her song, Thy merit, Thompson! shall one day prolong.
In marshal'd slaves let hungry princes trade, And Britain's bullion bribe their venal aid31; Let brave Boscawen trophied honours gain, And Anson wield the trident of the main. Safe, in the harbour of iny Twick'nam 32 bower, From all the wrecks of state, or storms of power; themselves, as he has never polluted his ancient British pedigree with any modern Anti-British principles.
27 A landscape-painter, much celebrated. 28 William the Third.
29 Duke of Argyle, celebrated as a warrior and
30 Pope's Epistle to Arbuthnot.
31 Alluding to a modern kind of military traffic, which consists in the exchange of British gold for German valour; and by which means, it is presumed, our politicians intend the native want of either party shall be reciprocally supplied.
32 He had a neat villa, in the style of a chateau,
Thus flow, and thus for ever flow! my days, Unaw'd by censure, or unbrib'd by praise; No friend to faction, and no dupe to zeal ; Foe to all party, but the public weal. Why then, from every venal bondage free, Courts have no glitt'ring shackles left for me: My reasons, Thompson! prithee ask no more; Take them, as Oxford's Flaccus sung before 33. My ease and freedom if for aught I vend, Would not you cry, to Bedlam, Bedlam, friend! But to speak out-shall what could ne'er engage My frailer youth, now captivate in age? What cares can vex, what terronrs frightful be, To him whose shield is hoary sixty-three 34? When life itself so little worth appears, That ministers can give no hopes, or fears; Although grown grey within my humbler gate, I ne'er kiss'd hands, or trod the rooms of state; Yet not unhonour'd have I liv'd, and blest With rich convenience, careless of the rest; What boon more grateful can the gods bestow On those avow'd their favourite sons below?”
on the north side of Twickenham Common, sacred to the muses. It was afterwards inhabited by the lady Bridget Tallmach, daughter of the late lord Northington.
33 See conclusion of Dr. King's apology.
34 Though the translator's virtue is not yet secured by this palladium of his grand climacteric, yet he flatters himself he shall at least be able to rival our truly Roman author, in the practice of his heroic indifference, however short he may fall of him in his elegant description of it.
36 Libera si pretio quantôvis otia vendam, Cui non insanus videar? Sed apertius audi : Quæ juvenem, infirmumque animi captare nequibant,
Illa senem capiant? aut quæ terrere perîcla
Si mihi non dextram tetigisse, aut limina regum
The cruse of the widow, you very well know,
The more you draw out, still-the more left behind.
The prodigal here without danger may spend ; That ne'er can be lavish'd, to Heaven. we lend; And the miser his purse-strings may draw with out pain,
For what miser won't give-when giving is gain? Derry down.
The gamester, who sits up whole days and whole nights,
To hazard his health and his fortune at White's; Much more to advantage his bets he may make, Here, set what he will, he will double his stake. Derry down. The fair-one, whose heart the four aces control, Who sighs for sans-prendre, and dreams of a vole, [drille, Let her here send a tithe of her gains at quaAnd she'll ne'er want a friend-in victorious spadille.
Let the merchant, who trades on the perilous sea,
Whom no courtier can flatter,no patriot can blame; But, our president's here-or I'd tell you his
WHEN Bacchus, jolly God, invites
Whilst all around, with jocund glee,
OCCASIONED BY LADY POMFRET'S PRESENT OF SOME ANTIQUE STATUES TO OXFORD; THE STREETS WHEREOF WERE FOOLISH LY SAID TO BE PAVED WITH JACOBITES.
Ir Oxford's stones, as Blaco writes,
Yet, sprung from lands of liberty, These stones can sure no Tories be, Or friends to the Pretender; And Pitt himself can ne'er devise, That Whiggish stones should ever rise Against our faith's defender.
TO DR. KING.
OFT have I heard, with clam'rous note,
BUTTERFLY AND BEE.
SEE! Flavia, see! that flutt'ring thing,
And hives the precious store.
So you, with coy, coquettish art,
Insensible and free: Love's balmy blessing would you try, No longer sport a Butterfly, But imitate the Bee.
DROPT IN MR. GARRICK'S TEMPLE OF SHAKE-
WHILE here to Shakespeare' Garrick pays
Preferr'd the pray'r-the marble god
While thus the grateful statue speaks, A blush o'erspreads the suppliant's cheeks"What!-Half this wreath, wit's mighty chief?
O grant," he cries, "one single leaf; That far o'erpays his humble merit, Who's but the organ of thy spirit."
Phœbus the gen'rous contest heardWhen thus the god address'd the bard: "Here, take this laurel from my brow, On him your mortal wreath bestow ;Each matchless, each the palm shall bear, la Heav'n the bard, on Earth the play'r."
DIANA, hunting on a day,
When next the archer through the grove,
And Cupid's pow'r defy'd.
1 The statue of Shakespeare, in the temple dedicated to the bard by Mr. Garrick, in his delightful garden at Hampton, was the work of that able and ingenious master, Roubiliac.
Soon as he ey'd the rebel maid; "Now know my pow'r !' enrag'd, he said; Then levell'd at her heart:
Full to the head the shaft he drew; But harmless to her breast it flew, For, lo!-'twas Dian's dart.
Exulting, then the fair-one cry'd,
DEATH AND THE DOCTOR. "TWIXT Death and Schomberg, t'other day, A contestdid arise; Death swore his prize he'd bear away; The Doctor, Death defies.
Enrag'd to hear his pow'r defy'd,
Death drew his keenest dart ; But wond'ring saw it glance aside, And miss the vital part.
SPOKEN BY MR. POWELL, AT THE OPENING OF TH? THEATRE ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN, ON MON DAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1767.
As when the merchant, to increase his store,
In journal-squibs we lightning's blast espy,
Spite of these terrours,still some hopes we view, Hopes ne'er can fail us-since they're plac'd -in you,
Your breath the gale, our voyage is secure,
Where candour takes th' endeavour for the deed. For Brentford's state two kings could once suffice;
In our's, behold! four kings of Brentford rise;
But should we ever tyrants prove-dethrone us.