Rafaly deceiv'd, I faw no pits to fhun;
But thought to purpose, and to act were one;
Heedlefs what pointed cares pervert his way,
Whom caution arms not, and whom woes betray;
But now expos'd, and fhrinking from diftrefs,
I fly to shelter, while the tempefts prefs;
My Mufe to grief refigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers groan.
O Memory!-thou foul of joy and pain!
Thou actor of our paffions o'er again!
Why doft thou aggravate the wretch's woe?
Why add continuous smart to every blow ?
Few are my joys; alas! how foon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad❜st me not,
While fharp, and numberless my forrows fall;
Yet thou repeat'ft, and multiply'st 'em all!

Is chance a guilt? that my difaft'rous heart,
For mischief never meant, must ever smart ›.
Can felf-defence be fin ?-Ah, plead no more!
What tho' no purpos'd malice stain'd thee o'er ? ·
Had Heav'n befriended thy unhappy fide,
Thou had'ft not been provok'd-Or Thou had'ft died.
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all,
On whom unfought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale Dead revives, and lives to me,
To me! thro' Pity's eye condemn'd to fee.
Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.

Young,

Young, and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day,'
What ripening virtues might have made their way!
He might have liv'd, till Folly died in shame,
Till kindling Wisdom felt a thirst for fame.

He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd;
Both happy, gen'rous, candid, and belov'd.

He might have fav'd some worth, now doom'd to fall ;
And I, perchance, in him, have murder'd all.

O Fate of late Repentance! Always vain :
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.

Where fhall my hope find reft ?—No mother's care
Shielded my infant innocence with prayer

No father's guardian hand my youth maintain’d,
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice reftrain'd.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome pow'rful arm,
Firft to advance, then fcreen from future harm?
I am return'd from death, to live in pain?
Or would Imperial Pity fave in vain ?
Diftruft it not--what blame can Mercy find,

Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind?
Mother, mifcall'd, Farewel of foul fevere,
This fad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by to you I ow'd,
Alone from ftrangers ev'ry comfort flow'd!
Loft to the life you gave, your fon no more,
And now adopted, who was doom❜d before,
New-born, I may a nobler mother claim;
But dare not whisper her immortal name;

Supremely

Supremely lovely, and ferenely great!
Majestic mother of a kneeling state!
Queen of a people's heart, who ne'er before
Agreed -Yet now with one confent adore!
One contest yet remains in this defire,
Who most shall give applause, where all admire.

XXXXXXX

XXXXXX

то A L A DY

GOING TO BATHE IN THE SEA.

BY GEORGE KEATE, ESQ.

'ENUS, most histories agree,

VE

Sprung from the ferment of the sea;

Yet I confefs I'm always loth

To think fuch beauty was but froth,

Or that the ocean,
which more odd is,
Should from a bubble spawn a Goddess:
Tho' hence, my Laura, learned fellows
Of fuch its wonderous powers ftill tell us,
That every mother brings her daughter
To dip in this specific water,
Expecting from the briny wave

Charms which it once to Venus gave.

I

Thefe

These charms, my Laura, ftrive to gain
And that you may not bathe in vain,
I'll here, as well as I am able,
Give you a Moral to this Fable.

Would you a Goddefs reign o'er all-
From the wide flood its virtues call.
Free from each ftain thy bofom keep,
Clear be it as this azure deep,
Which no capricious paffion knows,
But duly ebbs, and duly flows;
Tho' fometimes ruffled, calm'd as foon,
Still conftant to its faithful moon,
At whofe approach with pride it fwells,
And to each fhore its chafte love tells :
Heedlefs of every change of weather,
That wafts a ftraw, or coxcomb feather,
Which only on the furface play,
And unobferv'd are wash'd away.
Reflect, that lodg'd within its breaft
The modeft pearl delights to reft,
While every gem to Neptune known,
Is there with partial bounty fown.-
In years, thus ever may we trace

Each sparkling charm, each blushing grace ;)
To thefe let judgment value give,

And in that feat of Beauty live!

This Moral keep before your eyes,

Plunge and a new-born Venus rife.

PRO

TO THE PLAY OF KING JOHN, ACTED AT MR. NEWCOMB'S AT HACKNEY, IN MARCH, MDCCLXIX,

TH

BY THE SAME.

HE Bard whofe fcenes this night your thoughts engage, Has fomewhere told us, All the world's a fiage, Where all in one great farce their talents try,

Are born, love, wed, grow covetous, and die.
From hence I think we fairly may infer,
That NATURE is, or fhould be manager;
And yet, in NATURE's fpite, we every day
Caft our own parts ourselves, and spoil her play;
Some vain conceit disturbs her sober plan,
And ART debauches that ftrange creature man :
Hence, e'er Life's curtain drops, this truth is plain,
That few, the characters they take, fuftain.
See, CATO-like, in Freedom's boafted caufe
The maddening PATRIOT raves of dying laws;
With ready lash pursues the venal tribe ;*·
But what's the fequel ?— Exit with a bribe.-

Not lefs a Player the METHODIST appears:
In fome hir'd barn his casual stage he rears;

Prophane,