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And all her silver trumps employ,

While on the shores the billows beat, And thou restrain thy tuneful hand,

Yet still my grateful Muse is ree, And thou an idle list'ner stand

To tune her warmest strains to thee, Amidst the general joy?

And lay them at thy feet. Forbid it, all ye powers above,

Goodness is ever kindly prone That human hearts can try,

To feign what fate denies, Forbid it gratitude and love,

And others want of worth t'atone, And every tender tye :

Finds in herself supplies: Was it not he, whose pious cares

Thus dignity itself restrains, Upheld me in my earliest years,

By condescension's silken reins, And cheerd me from his ample store,

While you the lowly Muse upraise; Who animated my designs,

When such the theme, so mean the bard, In Roman and Athenian mines,

Not to reject is to reward, To search for learning's ore?

To pardon is to praise.
The royal band, my lord, shall raise

To nobler heights thy name,
Who praises thee, shall meet with praise

Ennobled in thy fame.
A disposition form’d to please,

To Harriot all accomplish'd fair,
With dignity endear'd by ease,

Begin, ye Nine, a grateful air; And grandeur in good nature lost,

Ye Graces, join her worth to tell, Have more of genuine desert,

And blazon what you can't excel!. Have more the merit of the heart,

Let Flora rifle all her bow'rs, Than arts and arms can boast.

For fragrant shrubs, and painted flow'rs, Can I forget fair Raby's' towers,

And, in her vernal robes array'd, How awful and how great!

Present them to the noble maid. Can I furget such blissful bowers,

Her breath shall give them new perfume, Such splendour in retreat!

Her blushes shall their dyes outbloom; Where me, ev'n me, an infant bard,

The lily now no more shall boast Cleveland ? and Hope 3 indulgent heard.

Its whiteness, in her bosom lost. (Then, Fame, I felt thy first alarms)

See yon delicious woodbines rise Ah, much lov'd pair !-tho' one is filed,

By oaks exalted to the skies, Still one compensates for the dead,

So view in Harriot's matchless mind In merit and in charms.

Humility and greatness join'd. O more than compensation, sure !

To paint her dignity and ease, O blessings on thy life!

Form'd to command, and form’d to please, Loog may the three-fold bliss endure,

In wreaths expressive be there wove In daughters, sons, and wife!

The birds of Venus and of Jove.
Hope, copyist of her mother's mind,

There where th’immortal laurel grows,
Is loveliest, liveliest of her kind,
Her soul with every virtue teems,

And there, where blooms the crimson rose,

Be with this line the chaplet bound, By none in wit or worth outdone,

That beauty is with virtue crown'd. With eyes, that shining on the Sun,

Defy his brightest beams. Hark! Charity's cherubic voice Calls to her numerous poor,

ODE TO THE EARL OF NORTHUM. And bids their languid hearts rejoice,

And points to Raby's door ;
With open heart and open hands,
There, Hospitality-she stands,

A nymph, whom men and gods admire,
Daughter of heavenly Goodness she,
Her sister's Generosity,

Whate'er distinguish'd patriots rise,
And Honour is her sire.

The times and manners to revise,

And drooping merit raise,
What though, my lord, betwixt us lie

The song of triumph still pursues
Full many an envious league,

Their footsteps, and the moral Mujo
Such vast extent of sea and sky,

Dwells sweetly on their praise.
As even the eye fatigue;
Though interposing Ocean raves,

It is a task of true delight,
And heaves his Heaven-assaulting waves, The ways of goodness to recite,

And all her works refind;
His lordship's seat in the county of Durham. Though modest greatness under rato
. Her late grace of Cleveland.

Its lustre; 'ris as fix'd as fate, * The honourable Mrs. Hope.

Says truth with music join'de



All hail to this auspicious morn,

The parallel will own ;
When we, for gallant Warkworth born,

O let our voice and hearts combine,
Our gratulations pay :

O let us, fellow warblers, joiu,
Though Virtue all the live-long year,

Our patroness to crown.
Refuse her eulogy to hear,

When heavy hung thy flagging wing,
She must attend to day.

When thou could'st neither move nor sing. All hail to that transcendant fair,

Of spirits void and rest ;
That crown'd thy wishes with an heir,

A lovely nymph her aid apply'd,
And bless'd her native land :

She gave the bliss to Heav'n allied,
Still shoots thy undegenerate line,

And cur'd thee on ber breast Like oak from oak, and pine from pine,

Me too the kind indulgent maid, As goodly and as grand.

With gen'rous care and timely aid, O how illustrious and divine

Restor'd to mirth and health; Were all the heroes of thy line,

Then join'd to her, O may I prove 'Gainst Rome's ambitious cheat!

By friendship, gratitude and love, Born all these base insidious arts,

The poverty of wealth.
Which work the most in weakest hearts,

To dare and to defeat !
Live then in triumph o'er deceit,

MARTIAL. Book 1, Ep. 26.
That with new honours we may greet

When Brutus' fall wing'd fame to Porcia The house of arms and arts,

brought, 'Till blest experience shall evince


Those arms her friends conceal'd, her passion How fairly you present that prince, Who's sovereign of our hearts.

She soon perceiv'd their poor officious wiles,

Approves their zeal, but at their folly smiles. In pity to our sister isle

What Cato taught, Heaven sure cannot deny, With sighs we lend thee for a while ;

Bereav'd of all, we still have pow'r to die. O be thou soon restor'd,

Then down her throat the buruing coal conveyed, Tho' Stanhope, Hallifax were there,

“Go now, ye fools, and hide your swords," she We never had a man to spare

said, Our love could less afford.



From the Latin of Petronius Ascanius.
Tue sweets of evening charm the mind,
Sick of the sultry day;


HEN, wanton fair, the snowy orb you throw, The body then no more confin'd,

I feel a fire before unknown in snow, Put exercise with freedom join'd,

E'en coldest snow I find has pow'r to warm When Phæbus sheathes his ray.

My breast, when flung by Julia's lovely arm.

Ti elude love's powerful arts I strive in vain, While all-serene the summer Moon

If ice and snow can latent fires contain Sends glances thro' the trees,

These frolics leave; the force of beauty prove ; And Philomel begins her tune,

With equal passion cool my ardent love.
Asteria too shall belp her soon

With voice of skilful ease.
A nosegay, every thing that grows,
And music, every sound

To lull the Sun to his repose ;
The skies are coloured like the rose
With lively streaks around.

THE WHOLESALE CRITIC AND THE Of all the changes rung by tiine

None half so sweet appear,

As those when thoughts themselves sublime,
And with superior natures chime

Hail to each ancient sacred shade
In fancy's highest sphere.

Of those, who gave the Muses aid,
Skill'd verse mysterious to unfold,
And set each brilliant thought in gold.

Hail Aristotle's honour'd shrine,
ODE TO A VIRGINIA NIGHTIN- And, great Longinus, hail to thine ;

Ye too, whose judgments ne'er could fail,

Hail Horace, and Quintilian hail ; WHICH WAS CURED OF A FIT IN THE BOSOM OF A And, dread of every Goth and Hun, YOUNG LADY, WHO AFTERWARDS

Hail Pope, and peerless Addison.

Alas! by different steps and ways AUTHOR IN A DANGEROUS ILLNESS.

Our modern critics aim at praise, Sweet bird! whose fate and mine agree, And rashly in the learned arts, As far as proud humanity

They judge by prejudice and parts;


For crampt by a contracted soul,

Shall man to man afford derision, How shou'd they comprehend the whole ? But for some casual division;

I know of many a deep-learn'd brother, To malice, and to mischief prope, Who weighs one science by another,

From climate, canton, or from zone, And makes 'mongst bards poetic schism,

Are all to idle discord bent, Because he understands the prism;

These Kentish men—those men of Kent; Thinks in acuteness he surpasses,

And parties and distinction make, Prom knowledge of the optic-glasses.

For parties and distinction's sake. There are some critics in the nation,

Souls sprung from an etherial flame, Profoundly vers'd in gravitation ;

However clad, are still the same ; Who like the bulky and the great,

Nor should we judge the heart or head, And judge by quantity and weight.

By air we breathe, or earth we tread. Some who're extremely skill'd in building, Dame Nature, who, all meritorious, Judge by proportion, form, and gilding,

In a true Englishman is glorious; And praise with a sagacious look

Is lively, honest, brave and bonny, The architecture of a book.

In Monsieur, Taffy, Teague, and Sawney. Soon as the hops arrir'd from Kent,

Give prejudices to the wind, Porth to the quay the merchant went,

And let's be patriots of mankind. Went critically to explore

Bigots, avaunt, sense can't endure ye, The merit of the hops on shore.

But fabulists should try to cure ye. Close to a bag he took his standing,

A snub-nos'd dog to fat inclin'd And at a venture thrust his hand in;

Of the true hogan inogau kind, Then, with the face of a physician,

The favourite of an English dame, Their colour scano'd and their condition;

Mynheer Van Trumpo was his name: He trusts bis touch, his smell, his eyes,

One morning as he chanc'd to range, The goods at once approves and buys.

Met honest Towzer on the 'Change; Catchup, so dextrous, droll, and dry,

“ And whom have we got here, I beg," It happen'd Catchup there was by,

Quoth he,-and lifted up his leg ; Who like lago', arch on all,

“ An English dog can't take an airing, Is nothing, if not critical.

But foreign scoundrels must be staring. He with a sneer and with a shrug,

I'd have your French dogs and your Spanish, With eye of hawk, and face of pug,

And all your Dutch and all your Danish, Cryd; “ Pellow, I admire thy fun,

By which our species is confounded, Thou most judiciously hast done,

Be hang'd, be poison'd, or be drowned; Who from one handful buyst ten ton.

No mercy on the race suspected, Does it not enter in thy crown,

Greyhounds from Italy excepted : Some may be mouldy, some be brown;

By them my dames ne'er prove big-bellied, The vacancies with leaves supplied,

For they, poor toads, are Farrinellied.
And some balf pick'd and some half dry'd?” Well, of all dogs it stands confess'd,
The merchant, who Tom Catchup knew, Your English bull dogs are the best;
(A merchant and a scholar too)

I say it, and will set my hand to't,
Said, “ What I've done is not absurd,

Cambden records it, and Pll stand to't. I know my chap and take his word. -

'Tis true we have too much urbanity, On thee, thou caviller at large,

Somewhat o'ercharg'd with soft humanity; I here retort thy random charge,

The best things must find food for railing, Who, in an hypercritic rage,

And every creature has its failing." Judgest ten volumes by a page;

“And who are you ?” reply'd Van Trump, Whose wond'rous comprehensive view

(Curling his tail upon his rump) Grasps more than Solomon e'er knew;

“ Vaunting the regions of distraction, With every thing you claim alliance,

The land of party and of faction. Art, trade, profession, calling, science ;

In all fair Europe, who but we, You mete out all things by one rule,

For national economy; And are an universal fool.

For wealth and peace, that have more charms, Though swoln with vanity and pride,

Than learned arts, or noisy arms? You're but one driviller multiplied,

You envy us our dancing bogs, A prig-ihat proves himself by starts,

With all the music of the frogs;
As many dolts—as there are arts."

Join'd to the Tretchscutz's bonny loon,
Who on the cymbal grinds the tune.

For poets, and the Muses nine,
THE ENGLISH BULL DOG, DUTCH Beyond comparison we shine :

Oh! how we warble in our gizzards,

With X X's, H H's and with Z Z's.

For fighting-now you think I'm joking; Aeg we not all of race divine,

We love it better far than smoking. Alike of an immortal line?

Ask but our troops, from man to boy,

Who all surviv'd at Fontenay. 10, gentle lady, do not put me to't,

'Tis true, as friends, and as allies, Por I am nothing if not critical.

We're ever ready to devise ;
OTHELLO, Act, 2, scene 5.

Our loves, or any kind assistance,

Let us invert, in thy disguise, That may be granted at a distance;

That odious nature, we despise." But if you go to brag, good bye l'ye,

She ceas'd—the sable mantled dame Nor dare to brave the High and Mighty." With slow approach, and awful, came;

“Wrong are you both,” rejoins a quail, And frowning with sarcastic sneer, Confin'd within its wiry jail :

Reproach'd the female rioteer: Frequent from realm to realm l're rang'd “ That nature you abuse, my fair, And with the seasons, climates chang'd.

Was I created to repair, Mankind is not so void of grace,

And contrast with a friendly shade, But good I've found in every place :

The pictures Heaven's rich pencil made; I've seen sincerity in France,

And with my sleep alluring dose, Amongst the Germans complaisance ;

To give laborious art repose; In foggy Holland wit may reign,

To make both noise and action cease, I've known humility in Spain;

The queen of secresy and peace. , Free'd was I by a turban’d Turk,

But thou a rebel, vile, and vain, Whose life was one entire good work;

Usurp'st my lawful old domain ; And in this land, fair freedom's boast,

My sceptre thou affect'st to sway, Behold my liberty is lost.

And all the various hours are day; Despis'd Hibernia have I seen,

With clamours of unreal joy, Dejected like a widow'd queen;

My sister, Silence, you destroy ; Her robe with dignity long worn,

The blazing lamp's unnatural light And cap of liberty were torn;

My eye balls weary and affright; Her broken fife, and harp unstrung,

But if I am allow'd one shade, On the uncultur'd ground were flung;

Which no intrusive eyes invade, Down lay her spear, defild with rust,

There all the atrocious imps of Hell, And book of learning in the dust;

Theft, Murder, and Pollution dwell : Her loyalty still blameless found,

Think then how much, thou toy of chance, And hospitality renown'd :

Thy praise is likely worth tinkance; No more the voice of fame engross'd,

Blind thing that run'st without a guide, In discontent and clamour lost.

Thou whirlpool in a rushing tide, Ah ! dire corruption, art thou spread,

No more my fame with praise pollute,
Where never viper reard it's head?

But damn me into some repute."
And didst thy baleful influence sow,
Where herrlock nor the nightshade grow.
Hapless, disconsolate, and brave,
Hibernia! who'll Hibernia save?

Who shall assist thee in thy woe,
Who ward froin thee the fatal blow?

'Tis done, the glorious work is done,
All thanks to Heaven and Hartington,

The poker lost, poor Susan storm'd,
And all the rites of rage perform’d;

As scolding, crying, swearing, sweating,

Abusing, fidgetting, and fretting.

“ Nothing but villainy, and thieving;

Good Heavens! what a world we live in? Quam multa prava atque injusta fiunt moribus. If I don't find it in the morning,

TERENT. I'll surely give my master warning. Fashion, a motley nymph of yore,

He'd better far shut up his doors, The Cyprian queen to Porteus bore:

Than keep such good for nothing whores ; Various herself in various climes,

For wheresoe'er their trade they drive, She moulds the manners of the times;

We vartuous bodies cannot thrive.” And turns in every age or nation,

Well may poor Susan grunt and groan; The chequer'd wheel of variegation ;

Misfortunes never come alone, True female that ne'er knew her will,

But tread each other's heels in throngs, Still changing, tho’immortal still.

For the next day she lost the tongs : One day as the inconstant maid

The salt box, cullender, and pot, Was careless on her sofa laid,

Soon shar'd the same untimely lot. Sick of the Sun and tir'd with light,

In vain she rails and wages spent She thus invok'd the gloomy Night :

On new ones—for the new ones went. “ Come—these maliguant rays destroy,

There'd been, (she swore) some dev'l or witch in, Thou screen of shame, and rise of joy.

To rob or plunder all the kitchen. Come from thy western ambuscade,

One night she to her chamber crept; Queen of the rout and masquerade :

(Where for a month she had not slept ; Nymph, without thee no caids advance,

Her master being, to ber seeming, Without thee halts the loit'ring dance ;

A better playfellow than dreaming.) Till thou approach, all, all's restraint,

Curse on the author of these wrongs, Nor is it safe to game or paint ;

In her own bed she found the tongs, The belles and beaux thy influence ask,

(Hang Thomas for an idle joker!) Put on the universal mask.

In her own bed she found the poker;

With salt box, pepper box, and kettle,

Joyous to breakfast they sat round, With all the culinary metal.

Nor were asbam'd to eat a pound. Be warn'd, ye fair, by Susan's crosses,

These were the manners, these the ways, Keep chaste, and guard yourselves from losses ; In good queen Bess's golden days; For if young girls delight in kissing,

Each damsel ow'd her bloom and glee, No wonder, that the poker's missing.

To wholesome elbow-grease, and me,
But now they centre all their joys
In empty rattle traps and noise.

Thus where the fates send you, they send THE TEA POT AND SCRUBBING

Flagitious times, which ne'er will mend,

'Till some philosopher can find, BRUSH.

A scrubbing-brush to scour the mind.” FABLE V.



A TAWDRY tea-pot, a-la-mode,
Where art her utmost skill bestow'd,
Was much esteem'd for being old,
And on its sides with red and gold
Strange beasts were drawn, in taste Chinese,
And frightful fish, and hump-back trees.

High in an elegant beaufet,
This pompous utensil was set,
And near it, on a marble slab,
Forsaken by some careless drab,
A veteran scrubbing-brush was plac'd,
And the rich furniture disgrac'd.
The tea-pot soon began to fout,
And thus its venom spouted ont:
“ Who from the scullery or yard,
Brought in this low, this vile blackguard,
And laid in insolent position,
Among us people of condition?
Back to the helper in the stable,
Scour the close-stool, or wash-house table;
Or cleanse some horsing block, or plank,
Nor dare approach us folks of rank.
Turn-brother coffee pot, your spout,
Observe the nasty sripking lout,
Who seems to scorn my indignation,
Nor pays due homage to my fashion;
Take, silver sugar dish, a view,
And, cousin cream pot, pray do you.”
"Pox on you all,” replies old Scrub,
"Of coxcombs ye confederate club.
Full of impertinence, and prate,
Ye bate all things that are sedate.
None but such ignorant infernals,
Judge, by appearance, and externals:
Train'd up in toil and useful knowledge,
I'm fellow of the kitchen college,
And with the mop, my old associate,
The family affairs aegociale.-
Azn foe to filth, and things obscene,
Dirty by making others clean.-
Not shining, yet I cause to sbine,
My roughness makes my neighbours fine;
You're fair without, but foul within,
With shame impregnated, and sin;
To you each impious scandal's owing,
You set each gossip's clack a going.–
How Parson Tythe in secret sins,
And how Miss Dainty brought forth twins:
Hou dear delicious Polly Bloom,
Oxes all her sweetness to perfume;
Though grare at church, and cards can bet,
At once a prude and a coquette. -
Txas better for each British virgin,
When on roast beef, strong beer, and sturgeon,

What's honour, did your lordship say? My loril, I humbly crave a day.-'Tis difficult, and in my mind, Like substance, cannot be defin'd. It deals in numerous externals, And is a legion of infernals ; Sometimes in riot and in play, Tis breaking of the Sabbath day: When 'tis consider'd as a passion, I deem it lust and fornication. We pay our debts in honour's cause, Lost in the breaking of the laws : 'Tis for some selfish impious end, To murder the sincerest friend; But wou'd you alter all the clan, Turn out an honourable man. Why take a pistol from the shelf, And fight a duel with yourself.'Twas on a time, the Lord knows when, In Ely, or in Lincoln fen, A frog and mouse had long disputes, Held in the language of the brutes, Who of a certain pool and pasture, Shou'd be the sovereign and master. “Sir," says the frog, and damn'd his blood, “I hold that my pre ension's good; Nor can a brute of reason doubt it, For all that you can squeak about it." The mouse, averse to be o'erpower'd, Gave him the lie, and call'd him coward ; Too hard for any frog's digestion, To have his froghood call'd in question ! A bargain instantly was made, No mouse of honour could evade, On the next morn, as soon as light, With desperate bullrushes to fight; The morning came--and man to man, The grand monomachy began ; Need I recount how each bravado, Shone in montant and in passado; To what a height their ire they carry'd, How oft they thrusted and they parry’d; But as these champions kept dispensing, Finesses in the art of fencing, A furious vulture took upon her, Quick to decide this point of honour, And, lawyer like, to make an end on't, Devour'd both plaintiff and defendant Thus, often in our British nation, (I speak by way of application)

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