Howe'er the youth, with forward air, Bows to the fage, and mounts the car: The lash resounds, the coursers spring, The chariot marks the rolling ring; And gath'ring crowds with eager eyes, And shouts, purfue him as he flies.
Triumphant to the goal return'd, With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd; And now along th' indented plain, The felf-fame track he marks again, Pursues with care the nice design, Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd; The youths with emulation glow'd; Ev'n bearded sages hail'd the boy, And all, but Plato, gaz'd with Joy; For he, deep-judging sage, beheld With pain the triumphs of the field; And when the charioteer drew nigh, And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye, Alas! unhappy youth, he cried, Expect no praise from me, (and figh'd,) With indignation I furvey Such skill and judgment thrown away, The time profufely squander'd there, On vulgar arts beneath thy care, If well employ'd, at less expense, Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense, And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate, To govern men, and guide the state.
WHERE London's column, pointing at the skies, Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies; There dwelt a Citizen of fober fame, A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;. Religious, punctual, frugal, and fo forth: His word would pass for more than he was worth. One folid dish his weekday meal affords, An added pudding folemniz'd the Lord's: Constant at Church, and 'Change; his gains were fure, His givings rare, save farthings to the poor.
The devil was piqued such saintship to behold, And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old: But Satan now is wiser than of yore, And tempts by making rich, not making poor. Rous'd by the Prince of Air the whirlwinds sweep The furge, and plunge his Father in the deep; Then fuil against his Cornish lands they roar, And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks, He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes: " Live like yourself," was foon my Lady's word; And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board. Afleep and naked as an Indian lay,
An honest factor stole a gem away:
He pledg'd it to the knight; the knight had wit, So kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit. Some Tcruple rofse, but thus he eas'd his thought, "I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat; " Where once I went to Church I'll now go twice- "And am so clear too of all other vice."
The tempter faw his time; the work he plied; Stocks and subscriptions pour on ev'ry fide, 'Till all the Dæmon makes his full defcent In one abundant show'r of cent per cent, Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole, Then dubs Director, and secures his foul. Behold Sir Balaam now a man of fpirit, Afcribes his gettings to his parts and merit; What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit, And God's good Providence, a lucky hit. Things change their titles, as our manners turn: His counting-house employ'd the Sunday morn: Seldom at Church ('twas such a busy life), But duly feat his family and wife.
There (so the Devil ordain'd) one Christmas tide My good old lady catch'd a cold and died.
A Nymph of quality admires our Knight, He marries, bows at Court, and grows polite : Leaves the dull Cits, and joins (to please the fair).. The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air. In Britain's Senate he a feat obtains, And one more penfioner St. Stephen gains. My Lady falls to play; fo bad her chance, He must repair it; takes a bribe from France; The House impeach him; Coningsby harangues; The Court forfake him, and Sir Balaam hangs. Wife, fon, and daughter, Satan! are thy own, His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the Crown: The Devil and the King divide the prize, And fad Sir Balaam curses God and dies.
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EDWIN AND EMMA.
Far in the windings of a vale,
Fast by a fhelt'ring wood, The safe retreat of health and peace, An humble cottage stood.
There beauteous EMMA flourish'd fair Beneath her mother's eye,
Whose only wish on earth was now To see her blest, and die.
The softest blush that nature spreads, Gave colour to her cheek; Such orient colour fimiles through Heav'n When May's sweet mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones scorn The charmers of the plains; That fun which bids their diamond blaze, To deck our lily deigns.
Long had the fir'd each youth with love, Each maiden with despair;
And though by all a wonder own'd, Yet knew not the was fair;
"Till EDWIN came, the pride of swains, A foul that knew no art,
And from whose eyes serenely mild, Shone forth the feeling heart. A mutual flame was quickly caught, Was quickly too reveal'd; For neither bosom lodg'd a wish, Which virtue keeps conceal'd.
What happy hours of heart-felt bliss Did love on both bestow!-
But blifs too mighty jong to laft, Where fortune proves a foe.
His fister, who, like Unvy form'd, Like her in mischief joy'd, To work them harm with wicked skill
Each darker art employ'd.
The father, too, a fordid man,
Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the rock
From whence his riches grew.
Long had he seen their mutual flame, And seen it long unmov'd; Then with a father's frown at last He sternly disapprov'd.
In EDWIN's gentle heart a war Of differing passions strove; His heart, which durst not disobey, Yet could not cease to love.
Denied her fight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept, To fnatch a glance, to mark the spot Where EMMA walk'd and wept. Oft too in Stanemore's wintry waste, Beneath the moonlight shade, In fighs to pour his soften'd foul, The midnight mourner stray'd.
His cheeks, where love with beauty glow'd,
A deadly pale o'ercaft;
So fades the fresh rose in its prime, Before the northern blaft.
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