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With careless eye looks at 'emBut bolder he, himself who coops In his own little bark, nor stoops, To heed the quizzing of the troops, Led by the EARL of CHATHAM.

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In vain shall Neptune's prudent tide,
Old Kent from Picardy divide,
SIR WILLIAM's boat in painted pride,
Has made their shores embrace.
His bosom fraught with conquering zest,
Has half the continent imprest,
All Hungary below his breast,
And Flushing in his face.

What wonders all the papers fill!
With rockets now the foe we kill,
We burrow under Highgate Hill,
Each day outdoes the other.
See thro' Pall Mall each lovely lass,
By night illuminated pass,

While WINSOR lights with flames of gas
Home to King's-place-his mother.

In parachute by way of change,
With Garnerin in air we range
Surpassing all the wonders strange,

That e'er Munchausen told us,

Great Jupiter! for mercy's sake,
Me to a cooler planet take,

For at this rate we soon shall make
The world too hot to hold us!

HORACE IN LONDON.

BOOK I. ODE V.

Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ, &c.

SAY, Lucy, what enamour'd spark,
Now sports thee thro' the gazing park,
In new barouche or tandem;

And, as infatuation leads,

Permits his reason and his steeds

To run their course at random.

Fond youth, those braids of ebon hair,
Which, to a face already fair,
Impart a lustre fairer ;

Those locks which now invite to love,
Soon unconfin'd and false shall prove,
And changeful as the wearer.

Unpractis'd in a woman's guile,

Thou think'st, perchance, her halcyon smile
Portends unruffled quiet:

That, ever charming, fond, and mild,
No wanton thoughts, or passions wild,
Within her soul can riot.

Alas! how often shalt thou mourn,
(If nymphs like her, so soon forsworn,
Be worth a moment's trouble,)
How quickly own, with sad surprise,
The paradise that bless'd thine eyes,
Was painted on a bubble.

In her accommodating creed,
A Lord will always supersede
A Commoner's embraces }

His Lordship's love contents the fair,
Until enabled to ensnare

A nobler prize-his Grace's.

Unhappy are the youths who gaze,
Who feel her beauty's maddening blaze,
And trust to what she utters !
For me, by sad experience wise,
At rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes,
My heart no longer flutters.

Chamber'd in Albany, I view
On every side a jovial crew

Of Benedictine neighbours;
I sip my claret, read the news,
I own no mistress but the Muse,
And she repays my labours.

And should some brat her love bespeak, (Tho' illegitimate and weak

As these unpolish'd verses ;)

A father's joys shall still be mine,
Without the fear of parish fine,

Bills, beadles, quacks, or nurses.

WALCHEREN EXPEDITION;

OR, THE ENGLISHMAN'S LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF HIS COUNTRYMEN.

I.

YE brave, enduring Englishmen,
Who dash thro' fire and flood,
And spend with equal thoughtlessness
Your money and your blood,
I sing of that black season,
Which all true hearts deplore,
When ye lay,

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"Twas in the summer's sunshine
Your mighty host set sail
With valour in each longing heart
And vigour in the gale;

The Frenchman dropp'd his laughter,
The Fleming's thoughts grew sore,
As ye came

In your fame

To the dark and swampy shore.

III.

But foul delays encompass'd ye
More dang'rous than the foe,

As Antwerp's town and it's guarded fleet
Too well for Britons know;

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Lay still on the swampy shore.
IV.

In vain your dauntless mariners
Mourn'd ev'ry moment lost,
In vain your soldiers threw their eyes
In flame to the hostile coast;
The fire of gallant aspects

Was doom'd to be no more,
And your fame

Sunk with shame

In the dark and swampy shore.

V.

Ye died not in the triumphing
Of the battle-shaken flood,
Ye died not on the charging field
In the mingle of brave blood;
But 'twas in wasting fevers

For full three months and more,
Britons born,

Pierc'd with scorn,

Lay at rot on the swampy shore.
VI.

No ship came o'er to bring relief,

No orders came to save;

But DEATH stood there and never stirr'd, Still counting for the grave.

They lay down, and they linger'd,

And died with feelings sore,

And the waves

Pierc'd their graves

Thro' the dark and swampy shore.

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