But the originality of thefe lines feemeth doubtful, as they nearly refemble the following, which I have fomewhere met with :

His little dog fat by his fide,

And waking watch'd, with confcious pride,
To guard his fimple sheep.

But whatever may be his merit as a poet, this Author is alfo entitled to our efpecial regard, as a courtier, witnets thefe ceremonious and well-dreffed verses:

Whilst man his tribute brings

And tows, O king, before thy throne,
'Tis thine to bow at God's alone,

And ferve the King of Kings.

Nevertheless, I, Martinus Scriblerus, who am an antiquated man, and know but little of courts, am apprchenfive that the king would be thought fomewhat rude if he did not bow to the whole circle.

In the next gratulation, figned J. Fulham, I think I have difcovered a genius for the uncommon, or, if the Reader pleaseth, the inconfiftent. Thus he beginneth—

Nos licet arguti ftratos ad flumina cami,

Qua pofuit tacitam ruftica mufa domum

What Author but himself could have dreamt of placing a filent houfe by a founding ftream? This poem endeth wondrous fhrewdly: As well, faith the Bard, might you attempt to number the fands of the fea, or the ftars of the fky, as his ma.. jefty's virtues. Certes this must be the ne plus ultra of compliment!

The fpirit of liberty did evermore inspire me, and recently was its glorious flame relumed in my bofom, when I ftood on the very spot, where Flaminius declared Greece to be free; ill, therefore, can I brook the non-refiftent doctrine recommended by Mr. Bates, of King's College, in his Latin poem: Nes regum arcana perferutari oculis nihil attinet; and much of that kind, which doth not, I ween, breathe the true spirit of patriotifm.

In the following stanza, Winter and Spring are reprefented as occupied in different trades and employments:

Firft, Winter is a white-wafher:

No more fern Winter whitens every plain.

Then a gaoler:

Nor fpreads the fetters of his froft around.

Spring is a blacksmith:

Spring's balmy breath that breaks the icy chain.

And a taylor:

Clothes in fertility's green robe the ground.

Mr. Thomas of Emmanuel College hath a peculiar thought upon
this occafion. Amongst all the confequent advantages of the
Peace, we have here the fatisfaction to perceive, that the poor
Nereids will be able to fleep in their beds:

And every blue-ey'd Nereid of the wave
Forfakes her fea-beat coral cave.

In feftive dance they greet thee, gentle Peace;
To thee their tributary fongs they bear;
Since, goddess, at thy bleft approach, must cease
The raging cannon and the din of war;
No more loud thunders brave the filent night,

Or roufe them from their wavy beds in wild affright.

Another falutary effect of the Peace is here mentioned; but as it is afferted by one poet, and denied by another, it must be looked upon as uncertain. First, then, one poet maintaineth that, in confequence of the Peace, the Britifh oaks would flourifh on the mountains:

Νυν δε ποθ ̓ ἡμετέραις ύλαις Διος αγλαα τεκνά
Τηλεθάωσι δρύες-

Another, on the contrary, telleth us that, they would be cut down from the mountains and

Defcendit in pontum

go to fea.

Jam filvæ decus

As I look upon this to be a matter of confequence, it grieveth me that it should be left undetermined.

To follow nature altogether is to tread in the vulgar track, without ever rifing to any thing uncommonly great, or greatly uncommon. From. this conviction hath Mr. Luke Gardiner stepped a little out of the natural road, and reprefented the lowing of oxen as a proof of their patience:

Low'd not thine oxen, patient of the yoke}

It must be upon the fame principles, perforce, that he maketh the king a furgeon,

long, long he ftrove

To heal the gaping wounds of venom'd rage,

And pour o'er jarring realms the balmy fweets
Of gentle Peace.

And, afterwards, a fountain:

From whom thefe ftreams of pureft pleafure flow.

It must be from the conclufion above-mentioned, likewife, that Mr. George Travis recommendeth it to the monfter, War, to

go and bathe her hand in hot blood, in a country subject to perpetual froft:

Hence, favage monfter, War, to Scythia's coaft!
There reign, fit colleague, with perpetual froft!
There in hot blood bathe deep thy thirsty hand.

This contraft of hot and cold delighteth him much. Thus he reprefenteth the poor merchant in an ague-fit. Obferve how he burneth and shivereth.

Now burns, fun-beat, on Afric's fultry coast,

Now fhivers, pierc'd with Iceland's keenest froft;
Yet shivers now, now burns, rejoic'd the while,
Since Peace and Safety blefs his various toil.

This gentleman hath known what it is to want a fyllable or two, wherewithal to fill up a verfe; and, if I may judge from the following line, hath experienced this perplexity in all its irksome circumstances:

The tyrant's fcourge, the friend of man to man!

Ah pitiable fate of Poets! cruel neceffity that Mr. Travis was here obliged to write ten fyllables rather than eight!

That arts fhould arife, in confequence of the Peace, is an obvious thought-but who, without a genius for the marvellous, could think of making the fpontaneous vegetation of a grove one of those arts? Yet this hath Mr. William Bennet done :

Now arts arife: fpontaneous fprings the grove.

If this gentleman did not intend that the Mufes fhould perfonate washer-women, and the Graces milk-women, in the following verfes, I should greatly marvel;

... If chance we wander where the riv'let ftrays

We see the Muses trim their ruffled bays:

If chance we ftray along the fportive plain,

The Graces there have fix'd their pleafing reign.

But however this might be, he feemeth at least to have profited
By the fubfequent lines taken from a defcription of Deptford.
If chance we wander near to Deptford-dock,
We fee the bunter wash her ruffled fmock;
If chance we ftray along the dirty street,

The milk-wench there with dangling pails we meet.

In the poem figned James Scott, I had perchance been much delighted with that modefty and diffidence which the Author hath expreffed in the following verses-:

Enough for me, through whofe inglorious veins
The cold blood flowly creeps, in gentler ftrains
To fing returning Peace; nor thou refuse,..
O Bute, this tribute of an humble Mufe L

Lay,

I fay, I fhould have been much delighted with this paffage, wherein the Author hath expreffed himfeif unable to attempt Themes fo wONDROUS HIGH;' but, ah! what frail! what inconfiftent creatures are we! As if Mafter James Scott had really meant nothing by the above-quoted expreffions of modefty, in the following lines he fheweth us that his fentiments, with regard to his humble Mufe, are, in truth, of a different caft:

To Britain's ifle what blefings Peace may bring,
In home-fpun ftrains fall many a Bard shall fing :
My mule on fancy's eagle-pinion flies

To diftant clines, where other funs arise.

Speaking of my good lord of Bute, and the care he took of his fovereign's education, this Bard hath the following couplet: But fed the plants deriv'd from heav'n above,

Whofe milder fruits are Peace, and Joy, and Love.

Now this fame expreffion, of heaven above, pleafeth me wonderfully, because it neceffarily implieth that there may be alfo a heaven below--and the more heavens there are, the better, do I fay-But pobly the Author, b. ng an orthodox divine, might mean the third heaven, mentioned by St. Paul-That, however, is no matter of confequence-Heaven above is a delectable pleonafm, and liketh me well. Afk ye why he calleth it heaven above? I answer, because it is (as he hath expreffed himfelf once before in this poem) fo wondrous high.'

But fed the plants, deriv'd might fome faftidious Critic fay, there is an impropriety in the expreffion- Well, well! Martinus Scriblerus will not contend about trifles. Lector, candide lector, wale!

We might have expected farther comments on M. Scott's poem from our venerable friend, as it contains many curious expreffions befide thofe he has taken notice of; but it is now high time to change the courfe, and to present our Readers with better fare.

The Latin poem written by Mr. Barford, fellow of King's College, begins with a pleafing enthufiafm, and an elegant ftrain of poctry:

O-Nemus! O liquido labentia murmura Curfu!
Etone Nemus, et Thamefine murmura ripæ :
Vos mihi jucundas voces, lætumque tuliftis
Ingenui poana chori; quo tempore facras
Doctrine Sedes, venerandaque mænia vifit
GEORGIUS. Ili ingens prifce virtutis Imago,
Et Decus Henrici, manfuraque Fama per ævum
Occurrit.

Nothing

Nothing can be more beautifully pathetic, more claffically pure, than the verfes in which Mr. Barford bewails thofe illuftrious fons of Eton who fell in the war:

Vos quoque, defleti Juvenes, Belloque caduci,
Quos externus habet humili procul Aggere cefpes,
Etonæ quondam noftræ decus! ite, beato
Compofiti fato: veftrum patria inclyta nomen
Mandabit faftis, et non ingrata falutis

Ufque colet lacrymas nobis luctumque dediftis.

The defcription of a Roman veteran retired from the toils of War to cultivate his allotted acres, though fomewhat inaccurate, is not without its beauties.

Thus when old Janus clos'd his brazen folds
[Of borrid War, in fome fequefter'd nook
The hardy vet'ran, filver'd o'er with age,
Trode the calm path of undiffembling life,
Or on the banks of Tiber, or beneath
The walls of Sinueffa: there he toil'd
Turning th' allotted glebe, or measuring out
His furrow'd acre, earn'd with many a wound.
Oft as he lay on graffy couch reclin'd,
Imagination painted to his view

Paft fcenes of prowess; battles bravely won
O'er Afric's tawny race; his fun-beat front
With mural chaplet twin'd. Now feems the trump
Its lordly fwell to breathe: the clarion loud
Burfting, with tremor ftrikes each fluttering nerve:
Now o'er the field the generous heroes rush;
The fouls of many wars: through every vein
Ambition thrills: the old man fighs for arms
With more than youthful ardor. Soon cool thought
With eye deliberate kens the toils of war,
And damps his martial fpirit. Round his board
Thronging, the pledges of connubial love
Catch his fond tale: fome future hero burns,
Anticipating Fame, to grasp the shield;

To trace his father's virtues, and to fight

The facred caufe of Liberty and Rome,

For the above verfes we are obliged to the ingenious Mr. Zouch, whofe poem we diftinguished in the laft collection.

Though our friend Scriblerus has taken fome liberties with the first stanza of Mr. Onley's poem, we muft, nevertheless, acknowlege a beautiful fimplicity, an happy elegance in feveral other ftanzas of the fame poem.

But what is all the beauty of the year,

What all the harvest crowded furrows yield;

If fweet Security is never near,

And arms muft guard the produce of the field?