Imágenes de páginas

ON THE DEATH OF QUEEN ANNE...THE INSTALMENT. 507 And each unfriendly stroke from fate we bore, Now in some foreign court he may sit down, Became our title to the regal store.

And quit without a blush the British crown. Thus injur'd trees adopt a foreign shoot,

Secure his honour, though he lose bis store, And their wounds blossom with a fairer fruit. And take a lucky moment to be

poor. Ye numbers, who on your misfortunes thrivd, Nor think, great sir, now firsi, at this late hour, When first i he dreadful blast of fame arriv'd, In Britain's favour, you exert your power; Say what a shock, what agonies you felt,

To us, far back in time, I joy to trace How did your souls with tender anguish melt! The numerous tokens of your princely grace. That grief which living Anna's love suppress’d, Whether you chose to thunder on the Rhine, Shook like a tempest every grateful breast. Inspire grave councils, or in courts to shine; A second fate our sinking fortunes tried !

In the more scenes your genius was display'd, A second time our tender parents died !

The greater debt was on Britannia laid: Heroes returning from the field we crown, They all conspir'd this migiity man to raise, And deify the haughty victor's frown.

And your new subjects proudly share the praise. His splendid wealth too rashly we admire,

All share; but may not we have leave to boast Catch the disease, and burn with equal fire: That we contemplate, and enjoy it most? Wisely to spend, is the great art of gain ;

This antient nurse of arts, indi ilg'd by fate And one reliev'd transcends a million slain.

On gentle Isis' bank, a calın retreat ; When time shall ask, where once Ramillia lay, For many rolling ages justly fum'd, Or Danube flow'd that swept whole troops away, Has through the world her loyalty proclaim'd; One drop of water, that refresh'd the dry,

And often pour'd (too well the truth is known!) Shall rise a fountain of eterual joy.

Her blood and treasure to support the throne ! But ah! to that unknown and distant date For England's church her latest accents strain'd; Is virtue's great reward push'd off by fate;

And freedom with his dving hand retain'd. Here random shafis in every breast are found, No wonder then her various ranks agree Virtue and inerit but provoke the wound.

In all the fervencies of zeal for thee. August in native worth and regal state,

What though thy birth a distant kingdom boast, Anna sate arbitress of Europe's fate;

And seas divide thee from the British coast? To distant realms did every accent fly,

The crown's impatient to enclose thy head : And nations watch'd each motion of her eye. Why stay thy feet? the cloth of gold is spread. Silent, nor longer awful to be seen,

Our strict obedience throngh the world shall tell How small a spot contains the mighty queen! That kin; 's a Briton, who can govern well! No throng of suppliant princes inark the place, Where Britain's greatness is compos'd in peace: The broken earth is scarce discern'd to rise,

THE INSTALMENT. And a stone tells us where the monarcia lies.

Thus end maturest honours of the crown! This is the last conclusion of renown!

So when with idle skill the wanton boy
Breathes through his tube; he sees, with eager joy,
The trembling bubble, in its rising small;

Quæsitam Merit s. Hor.
And by degrees expands the glittering ball.
But when, to full perfection blown, it flies

With invocations some their breasts inflame;
High in the air, and shrines in various dyes, I need no Muse, a Walpole is my theme.
The little monarch, with a falling tear,

Ye mighty dead, ye garter'd sons of praise! Sees bis world burst at once, and disappear. Our morning stars! our boast in former days! 'Tis not in sorrow to reverse our doom,

Which bovering o’er. your purple wings display, No groans unlock th' inexorable tomb!

Lur'd by the pomp of this distinguish'l day, Why then this fond indulgence of our woe! Stoop, and attend: by one, the knee be bound; What fruit can rise, or what advantage flow ! One, throw the mantle's crimson folos around; Yes, this advantage; from our deep distress By that, the sword on his proud thigh be plac'd; We learn how much in George the gods can bless. This, clasp the diamond-girdle round his waist; Had a less glorious princess left the throne, His breast, with rays, let just Godolphin spread; But half the hero had at first been shown :

Wise Burleigh plant the plumage on his head; An Anna falling all the king employs,

And Edward own, since first he fix'd the race, To vindicate from guilt our rising joys:

None press'd fair glory wiih a swifter pace. Our joys arise and innocently shine,

When fate would call some mighty genius forth auspicious monarch! what a praise is thine! To wake a drooping age to gollike worth,

Welcome, great stranger, to Britannia's throne! | Or aid soine favourite king's illustrious toil, Nor let thy country think thee all her own.

It bids his blood with generous ardour boil; Of thy delay how oft did we complain!

His blood, from virtue's celebrated source, Our hopes reach'd out, and met thee on the main. Pour'd down the steep of time, a lengthen'd course; With prayer we smooth the billows for thy fleet; That men prepar'd may just attention pay, With ardent wishes fill thy swelling sheet; Warn'd by the dawn to mark the glorious day, And when thy foot took place on Albion's shore, When all the scatter'd merits of his line We bending bless'd the Gorls, and ask'd no more. Collected to a point, intensely shine. What hand but thine should conquer and compose, See, Britain, see thy Walpole shine from far, Join those whom interest joins, and chase our foes? His azure ribbon, and his radiant star; Repel the daring youth's presumptuous aim, A star that, with auspicious beams, shall guide And by his rival's greatness give him fame? Thy vessel safe, through fortune's roughest tide.



If peace still smiles, by this shall commerce steer His genius ardent, yet his judgment clear, A finish'd course, in triumph round the sphere; His tongue is flowing, and his heart sincere, And, gathering tribute from each distant shore, His counsel guides, his temper cheers our isle, In Britain's lap the world's abundance pour. And, smiling, gives three kingdoms cause to smile."

If war's ordain'd, this star shall dart its beams Joy then to Britain, blest with such a son, Through that black cloud which rising from the To Walpole joy, by whom the prize is won; Thames,

Who nobly-conscious meets the smiles of fate ; With thunder, form’d of Brunswick's wrath, is sent True greatness lies in daring to be great. 'Po claim the seas, and awe the continent.

Let dastard souls, or affectation, run This shall direct it where the bolt to throw, To shades, nor wear bright honours fairly won; A star for us, a comet to the foe.

Such men prefer, misled by false applause, At this the Muse shall kindle, and aspire : The pride of modesty to virtue's cause. My breast, О Walpole, glows with grateful fire. Honours, which make the face of virtue fair, The streams of royal bounty, turn'd by thee, 'T is great to merit, and 't is wise to wear; Refresh the dry domains of poesy.

'T is holding up the prize to public view, My fortune shows, when arts are Walpole's care, Confirms grown virtue, and intiames the new; What slender worth forbids us to despair:

Heightens the lustre of our age and clime, Be this thy partial smile from censure free; And sheds rich seeds of worth for future time. 'Twas meant for merit, though it fell on me.

Proud chiefs alone, in fields of slaughter famd, Since Brunswick's smile has authoris’d my Muse, of old, this azure bloom of glory claim'd, Chaste be her conduct, and sublime her views. As when stern Ajax pour'd a purple flood, False praises are the whoredoms of the


The violet rose, fair daughter of his blood. Which prostitute fair fame to worthless men: Now rival wisdom dares the wreath divide, This profanation of celestial fire

And both Minervas rise in equal pride; Makes fools despise, what wise men should ad- Proclaiming loud, a monarch fills the throne, mire.

Who shines illustrious not in wars alone. Let those I praise to distant times be known,

Let fame look lovely in Britannia's eyes; Not by their author's merit, but their own. They coldly court desert, who fame despise.. If others think the task is hard, to weed

For what's ambition, but fair virtue's sail? From verse rank flattery's vivacious seed,

And what applause, but ber propitious gale? And rooted deep; one means must set them free, When swell'd with that, she neets before the wiod Patron! and patriot ! let them sing of thee. To glorious aimns, as to the port design'd;

While vulgar trees ignobler honours wear, When chain'd, without it, to the labouring nar, Nor those retain, when winter chills the year;

She toils ! she pants! nor gains the flying sbore, The generous Orange, favourite of the Sun, From her sublime pursuits, or turp'd aside With vigorous charms can through the seasons By blasts of enry, or by fortune's tide : run;

For one that has succeeded ten are lost, Defies the storin with her tenacious green ;

Of equal talents, ere they make the coast. And flowers and fruits in rival pomp are seen: Then let renown to worth divine incite, Where blossoms fall, still fairer blossoms spring; With all her beams, but throw those beams aright. And midst their sweets the feather'd poets sing. Then merit droops, and genius downward tends,

On Walpole, thus, may pleas'd Britannia view When godlike glory, like our land, descends. At once her ornament and profit too;

Custom the garter long confin'd to few, The fruit of service, and the bloom of faine, And gave to birth, exalted virtue's due : Matur'd, and gilded by the royal beam.

Walpole has thrown the proud enclosure down; He, when the nipping blasts of envy rise,

And high desert embraces fair renown. Its guilt can pity, and its rage despise;

Though rival'd, let the peerage smiling see Lets fall no bonours, but, securely great,

(Smiling, in justice to their own degree,) Unfaded holds the colour of his fate :

This proud reward by majesty bestow'd No winter knows, though ruffing factions press;

On worth like that whence first the peerage floed. By wisdom deeply rooted in success;

From frowns of fate Britannia's bliss'd to guard, One glory shed, a brighter is display'd';

Let subjects merit, and let kings reward.
And the charm'd Muses shelter in his shade. Gods are most gods by giving to excel,
O how I long, enkindled by the theme,

And kinga most like them, by rewarding well. In deep eternity to lanch thy name !

Though strong the twanging nerve, and drawn Thy name in view, no rights of verse I plead,

aright, But what chaste Truth indites, old Time shall read. Short is the winged arrow's upward fight;

“ Behold! a man of ancient faith and blood, But if an eagle it transfix on bigh, Which, soon, beat high for arts, and public good; Lodg'd in the wound, it soars into the sky. Whose glory great, but natural appears,

Thus while I sing thee with unequal lays, The genuine growth of services and years ;

And wound perhaps that worth I mean to praise ; No sudden exhalation drawn on high,

Yet I transcend myself, I rise in fame, And fondly gilt by partial majesty :

Not lifted by my genius, but my theme. One bearing greatest toils with greatest ease,

No more: for in this dread suspense of fate, One born to serve us, and yet born to please : Now kingdoms fluctuate, and in dark debate Whom, while our rights in equal scales be lays, Weigh peace and war, now Europe's eyes are The prince may trust, and yet the people praise;

On mighty Brunswick, for the great event,

Brupswick of kings the terrour or defence !
Knight of the Bath, and then of the Garter, Who dares detain thee at a world's expense?


[merged small][ocr errors]


Death may determine war, and rest succeed,
'Cause nought survives on which our rage may feed:

In faithful friends we lose our glorious foes,
RIGHT HON. GEORGE LORD LANSDOWNE. And strifes of love exalt our sweet repose.

See graceful Bolingbroke, your friend, advance, MDCCXII.

Nor miss his Lansdowne in the court of France; --Parnassia laurus

So well receiv'd, so welcome, so at home, Parva sub ingenti matris se subjicit umbra. Virg. (Blest change of fate) in Bourbon's stately dome;

The monarch pleas’d, descending from his throne,

Will not that Anua call him all her own; When Rome, my lord, in her full glory shone, He claims a part, and looking round to find And great Augustus rul'd the globe alone,

Something might speak the fulness of his mind, While suppliant kings in all their pomp and state, A diamond shines, which oft had touch'd him near, Swarm'd in his courts, and throng'd his palace gate; Renew'd his grief, and robb’d him of a tear; Horace did oft the mighty man detain,

Now first with joy beheld, well plac'd on one, And sooth'd his breast with no ignoble strain ; Who inakes him less regret his darling son; Now soar'a aloft, now struck an humbler string; So dear is Anna's minister, so great, And taught the Roman genius how to sing.

Your glorious friend in his own private state. Pardon, if I his freedom dare pursue,

To make our nations longer two, in vain Who know no want of Cæsar, finding you;

Does Nature interpose the raging main : The Muse's friend is pleas'd the Muse should press The Gallic shore to distant Britain grows, Through circling crowds, and labour for access, For Lewis Thames, the Seine for Anna flows: That partial to his darling he may prove,

From conflicts pass'd each other's worth we find, And shining throngs for her reproach remove,

And thence in stricter friendship now are join'd; To all the world industrious to proclaim

Each wound receiv'd, now pleads the cause of love, His love of arts, and boast the glorious flame. And former injuries endearments prove.

Long has the western world reclin'd her head, What Briton but must prize th' illustrious sword, Pour'l forth her sorrow, and bewail'd her dead; That cause of fear to Churchill could afford ? Fell discord through her borders tiercely rangd, Who sworn to Bourbon's sceptre, but must frame And shook her nations, and her monarchs chang'd; Vast thoughts of him, that could brave Tallard By land and sea its utmost rage employ'd ; Thus generous hatred in affection ends, (tame? Nor Heaven repair'd so fast as men destroy'd. And war, which rais'd the foes, completes the friends.

In vain kind summers plenteous fields bestow'd, A thousand happy consequences flow lo vain the vintage liberally flow'd ;

(The dazzling prospect makes my bosom glow); Alarms from loaden boards all pleasures chas'd, Commerce shall lift her swelling sails, and roll And robb'd the rich Burgundian grape of taste; Her wealthy fleets secure from pole to pole; The smiles of Nature could no blessing bring, The British merchant, who with care and pain The fruitful autunn, or the towery spring; for many moons sees only skies and main; Time was distinguish'd by the sword and spear, When now in view of his lov'd native shore, Not by the various aspects of the year;

The perils of the dreadful ocean o'er, The trumpet's sound proclaim'd a milder sky, Cause to regret his wealth no more shall find, And bloodshed told us when the Sun was nigh. Nor curse the mercy of the sea and wind; But now (so-soon is Britain's blessing seen,

By hardest fate condemn'd to serve a fue, When such as you are near her glorious queen!) And give him strength to strike a deeper blow. Now peace, though long repuls'd, arrives at last, Sweet Philomela providently tlies And bids us smile on all our labours past;

To distant woods and streams, for such supplies, Bids every nation cease her wonted moan,

To feed her young, and make them try the wing, And every monarch call his crown his own: And with their tender notes attempt to sing: To valour gentler virtues now succeed;

Mean while, the fowler spreads his secret snare, No longer is the great man born to bleed;

And renders vain the tuneful mother's care,
Renown'd in councils, brave Argyle shall tell, Britannia's bold adventurer of late,
Wisdom and prowess in one breast may dwell: The foaming ocean plow'd with equal fate.
Through milder tracts he soars to deathless fame, Goodness is greatness in its utmost height,
And without trembling we resound his name. And power a curse, if not a friend to right:

No more the rising harvest whets the sword, To conquer is to make dissension cease,
No longer waves uncertain of its lord ;

That man may serve the King of kings in peace. Who cast the seed, the golden sheaf sball claim, Religion now shall all her rays dispense, Nor chance of battle change the master's name. And shine abroad in perfect excellence ; Each stream unstain’d with blood more smoothly Else we may dread some greater curse at hand, The brighter Sun a fuller day bestows; (llows; To scourge a thoughtless and ungrateful land: All Nature seems to wear a cheerful face,

Now war is weary, and retir'd to rest; And thank great Aona for returning peace. The meagre famine, and the spotted pest,

The patient thus, when on his bed of pain, Deputed in her stead, may blast the day, No longer be invokes the godsin vain,

And sweep the relics of the sword away. But rises to new life; in every field

When peaceful Numa fill’d the Roman throne, He finds Elysium, rivers nectar yield;

Jove in the fulness of his glory shone; Nothing so cheap and vulgar but can please, Wise Sulomon, a stranger to the sword, And borrow beauties from his late disease.

Was born to raise a temple to the Lord. Nor is it peace alone, but such a peace,

Anne tou shall build, and every sacred pile As more than bido tie rage of baitle cease. Speak peace eternal to Britannia's isle.

Those mighty souls, whom military care

Calle forth her monarchs, bids her heroes rage, Liverted from their only grent affair,

And mourning beauty melt the crowded stage; Shall bend their full united force, to bless

Charms back past ages, gives to Britain's use Th'almighty Author of their late success.

The noblest virtues time did e'er produce; And what is all the world subdued to this?

Leaves fam'd historians' boasted art behind; The grave sets bounds to sublunary bliss;

They keep the soul alone, and that's confin'd, But there are conguests to great Anna known, Sought out with pains, and but by proxy speaks: Above the splendour of an earthly throne ; The hero's presence deep impression makes; Conquests! whose triumph is too great, within The scenes his soul and bodiy reunite, The scanty bounds of maiter to begin;

Furnish a voice, produce bim to the sight; Too glorious to shine furih, till it has run

Make our contemporary him that stood Beyond this darkness of the stars and Sun, High in renown, perhaps before the flood; And sball whole ages past be still, still but begun. Make Nestor to this age advice afford, Heroic shades! whom war has swept away,

And Hector for our service draw his sword. Look down, and smile on this auspicious day: More glory to an author what can bring, Now boast your deaths; to those your glory tell, Whence nobler service to his country spring, Wbo or at Agincourt or Cressy fell;

Than from those labours, which, in man's despight, Then deep into eternity retire,

Possess him with a passion for the right? Of greater things than peace or war inquire; With honest magic make the knave inclin'd Fully content, and unconcern'd, to know

To pay devotion to the virtuous mind; What farther passes in the world below.

Through all her toils and dangers bid him rove, The bravest of mankind shall now have leave Anri with her wants and anguish fall in love? To die but once, nor piece-mcal seek the grave : Who hears the godlike Montezuma groan, On gain or pleasure bent, we shall not mcet And does not wish the glorious pain his own? Sad melancholy numbers in each street

Lend but your understanding, and their skill (Owners of bones dispersid on Flandria's plain, Can domineer at pleasure o'er your will: Or wasting in the bottom of the main);

Nor is the short-liv'd conquest quickly past; To turn us back from jov, in tender fear,

Shame, if not choice, will hold the convert fast. Lest it an insult of their woes appear, [blood How often have I seen the generous bowl And make us grudge ourselves that wealth, their With pleasing force unlock a secret soul, Perhaps preservd, who starve, or beg for food. And steal a truth, which every sober hour Devotion shall run pure, and disengage

(The prose of life) had kept within her power! From that strange fate of inixins peace with rage. The grape victorious often has prevailid, On Heaven without a sin we now may call, When gold and beauty, racks and tortures, fail?d: And guiltless to our Maker prostrate fall; .

Yet when the spirit's tumult was allay'd, Be Christians while we pray, nor in one breath She mouru’d, perhaps, the sentiment betray'd; Ask mercy for ourselves, for others death.

But mourn'd too late, nor longer could deny, But 0 ! I view with transport arts restor’d, And on her own confession charge the lie. Which double use to Britain shall atford ;

Thus they, nhom neither the prevailing love Secure her glory purchas'd in the field,

Of goodness here, or mercy from above, And yet for future peace sweet motives yield: Or fear of future pains, or human laws Wbile we conterrplate on the painted wall,

Could render advocates in virtue's cause, The pressing Driton, and the flying Gaul,

Caught by the scene have unawares resign'd In such bright images, such living grace,

Their wonted disposition of the mind :
As leare great Rapbae) but the second place; By slow degrees prerails the pleasing tale,
Our cbecks shall glow, our hearing bosoms rise, As circling glasses on our senses stral;
And martial ardours sparkle in our eyes;

Till throughly by the Muses' banquet warm’d,
Much we shall triumph in our battles past, The passions tossing, all the soul alarm’d,
And yet consent those balties prove our last; They turn mere zealots flush'd with glorious rage,
Lest, while in arms for brighter fame we strive, Lise in their seats, and scarce forbear the stage,
te lose the means to keep that fame alive. Assistance to wrongd innocence to bring,

In silent grores the birls delight to sing, Or turn the poiniard on some tyrant king. Or near the margin of a secret spring :

How can they cool to villains ? how subside Now all is calm, sweet music shall improre, To dregs of vice, from such a godlike pride ? Nor kindle rage, but be the nurse of love.

To spoiling orphans how to day return, But what's the warbling voice, the trembling | Who wept last night to see Monimia mourn? string,

In this gay school of virtue, whom so fit Or breathing canvass, when the Muses sing? To govern, and control the world of wit, The Muse, my lord, your care above the rest, s Talbot, Lan-clowne's friend, has Britain known? With rising joy dilates my partial breast;

ium polish'd lialy bas callid her own; The thunder of the battle ceas'd to roar,

le in the lap of elegance was bred. Ere Greece her godlike poets taught to soar; And trac'd the Muses to their fountain head: Rome's dreadful foc, great Hannibal, was dead, But mich we hope, he will enjoy at home And all her warlike neighbours round her bled; What's nearer ancient than the modern Rome. For Janus sbut, ber lu Pæans rung,

Mor fear I mention of the court of France, Before an Orid or a Virgil sung.

When I the British genius would advance : A thousand various forins the Nuse may wear, There too has Shrewsbury improv'd his taste; (A thousand various formis become the fair;) Yet still pre dare invite him to our feast: But shines io none with mero majestic mien, For Corneille's sake I shall my thoughts suppress Than when in state she draws the purple scene; ui Orvonuko, and presume bim lcss:

What though we wrong bim? Isabella's woe But if that reigning star propitious shine,
Waters those bays that shall for ever grow.

And kindly mix his gentle rays with thine;
Our foes confess, nor we the praise refuse, F'en I, by far the meanest of your age,
The drama glories in the British Muse.

Shall not repent my passion for the stage.
The French are delicate, and nicely lead

Thus did the will-almighty disallow, Of close intrigue the lalurinthian thread;

No human force could pluck the golden bough, Our genius more affects the grand, than fine, Which left the tree with ease at Jove's command, Our strength can make the great plain action shine: And spar'd the labour of the weakest hand. They raise a great curiosity indeed,

Auspicious fa e! that gives me leave to write From his dark maze to see the hero freed;

To you, the Muses' glory and delight; We rouse th' affections, and that hero show Who know to read, nor false encomiums raise, Gasping beneath some formidable blow:

And mortify an author with your praise: They sigh; we weep: the Gallic doubt and care Praise wounds a noble mind, when 't is not due, We heighten into terrour and despair ;

But censure's self will please, my lord, from you; Strike home, the strongest passions boldly touch, Faults are our pride and gain, when you descend Nor fear our audience should be pleas'd too much. To print thein out, and teach us how to mend. What's great in Nature we can greatly draw, What though the great men set his coffers wide, Nor thank for beauties the dramatic law.

That cannot gratify the poet's pride; The fate of Cæsar is a tale to plain

Whose inspiration, if 't is truly good, The tickle Gallic taste to entertain;

Is best rewarded, when best understood. Their art would have perplex'd, and interwove The Muses write for glory, not for gold, The golden arras with gay flowers of love:

'Tis far beneath their nature to be sold : We know Heaven made bim a far greater man The greatest gain is scorn'd, but as it serres Than any Cæsar, in a huiman plan,

To speak a sense of what the Muse deserves; And such we draw him, nor are too refin'd, The Muse, which from her Lansdowne fears no To stand affected with what Heaven design'd.

wrong, To claim attention, and the heart invade,

Rest judre, as well as subject, of her song, Shakspeare but urole the play th’ Almighty made. Should this great theme aliure me farther still, Oar neighbour's stage-art too bare-fac'd betrays, And I presume to use yonr patience ill, 'Tis great Corneille at every scene we praise; The world would lead my cause, and none but you On Nature's surer aid Britannia calls,

Will take disgust at what I now pursue : None think of Shakspeare till the curtain falls; Since what is mean my Muse can't raise, I'll choose Then with a sigh retums our audience home, A theme that's able to exalt my Muse. From Venice, Egypt, Persia, Greece, or Rome, For who, not void of thought, can Granville name,

France yields not to the glory of our lines, Without a spark of his immortal flame?
But manly conduct of our strong designs;

Whether we sex-k the patriot, or the friend,
That oft they think more justly we must own, Let Rolingbroke, let Anna recommand;
Not ancient Greece a truer sense has shown: Whether we chose i love or t admire.
Greece thought but justly, they think justly too; Yon melt the ti nder, and th' ambitious fire,
We sometimes err by striving more to do.

Such native i races without thought abound,
So well are Racine's meanest persons taught, Aud such fimiliar gleries spread around,
Put change a sentiment, you make a fault; is more incline the stander-by to raise
Nor dare we charge them with the want of tlame: His value for himself, than you to praise.
When we boast more, we own ourselves to blame. This you be friend the most heroic way,

And set in Shakspeare some bing still I find, Ble sall, on none an obligation lay; That makes me less esteem all bunian-kind; Serruru'd by Nature's hand for all that's well, He made one nature, and another found,

'Tis scarce a virtue when you most excl. Botia in his page with master-strokes abound: Though sseet your presence, gracerul is your His witches, fairies, and enchan: ed iste,

mien, Bid us no longer at our nurses sinile;

Vou to be happy want not to be seen; Of lost his orians we almost cory lain,

Though priz'd in public, you can smile alone, Nor think it the creation of his lain.

Nor court an approbation but yonr own : Who lives, when his Othello 's in a trance? In througs, not conscious of those eyes that gaze With bis great Talbot: tou he conquerid France. In wenler fix'd, though re; Iute to please;

Long we may hope brave Talbot's blood will run You, were all blind, would still deserve appl:use ; In great descendants, Shakspeare has but one; The worl!'s your glory's witness, not its cause; And bim, my lord, perinit me not to name, That lies bevond the limits of the day, But in kind silence spare his rival's shame :-- Àngels beh ld it, and their God obev. Yet I in vain that author would suppress,

You take delight in others' excellence; What can't be greguer, cannot be made less: A gift, which Nature rarely does d spense: Each rearler will defcat my fruitless aim,

Of all that breathe 't is yoll, perhaps, along And to himself great Agamemnun paine.

Would be well pleas'd to see your eif outdone. Should Shakspeare rise unbless'd with Talbot's You wishi not those, who show your name repect, smile,

S» litile worth, as might excuse neglect; E'en Shaksp are's self would curse this barren Nurore in pain lest merit you should know; isle :

Nor shun the well-deserrer as a foe;

A troublesome acquaintance, that will clain 1 An ancestor of the duke of Shrewsbury, who To be well usd, or dye your check wil sha ne. conquered France, drawn by Shakespeare.

You wish your cuntry's goud; that told so orll YOUNG, Your power, are known, th’ event I necd a te!l.

« AnteriorContinuar »