With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vie,

While jocund we follow the hounds in full cry.

Let the drudge of the town make riches his sport;
The slave of the state hunt the smiles of a court;
No care and ambition our pastime annoy,
But innocence still gives a zest to our joy.
With the sports, &c

Mankind are all hunters in various degree;
The priest hunts a living-the lawyer a fee,
The doctor a patient-the courtier a place,
Though often, like us, he's flung out in the chase,
With the sports, &c,

The cit hunts a plumb-while the soldier hunts
The poet a dinner-the patriot a name; [fame,
And the practis'd coquette, though she seems to
refuse,

In spite of her airs, still her lover pursnes.

With the sports, &c.

Parbleu ! Begar! we, &c.

To hazard his health and his fortune at White's; Much more to advantage his bets he may make, Here, set what he will, he will double his stake. Derry down.

The fair-one, whose heart the four aces control, Who sighs for sans-prendre, and dreams of a vole, Let her here send a tithe of her gains at qua[drille, And she'll ne'er want a friend-in victorious spadille.

Derry down.

Ye rakes, who the joys of Hymen disclaim, And seek, in the ruin of virtue, a fame; [duty, You may here boast a triumph consistent with And keep, without guilt, a seraglio of beauty. Derry down.

If from charity then such advantages flow, That you still gain the more-the more you bestow; Here's the place will afford you rich profit with [ease: When the bason comes round-be as rich as you please.

Derry down. Then a health to that 3 patron, whose grandeur

and store

Yield aid and defence to the sick and the poor;

'Additional stanza for the annual feast of the

Sons of the Clergy

Ditto for the Magdalen Hospital. The late duke of Devonshire,

OCCASIONED BY LADY POMFRET'S
PRESENT OF
SOME ANTIQUE STATUES TO OXFORD; THE
6TREETS WHEREOF WERE FOOLISHLY SAID TO
BE PAVED WITH JACOBITES.

Ir Cxford's stones, as Blaco writes,
And Pitt affirms, are Jacobites,

That bid the court defiance;
How must the danger now increase,
When stones are come from Rome and Greece,
To form a grand alliance!

These stones can sure no Tories be,
Yet, sprung from lands of liberty,

Or friends to the Pretender;
And Pitt himself can ne'er devise,
That Whiggish stones should ever rise
Against our faith's defender.

THE

BUTTERFLY AND BEE:

TO FLAVIA.

Insensible and free:

Love's balmy blessing would you try, No longer sport a Butterfly,

But imitate the Bee.

VERSES

DROPT IN MR. GARRICK'S TEMPLE OF SHAKE

SPEARE.

WHILE here to Shakespeare' Garrick pays
His tributary thanks and praise;
Invokes the animated stone,
To make the poet's mind his own;
That he each character may trace
With humour, dignity, and grace;
And mark, unerring mark, to men,
The rich creation of his pen;

Preferr'd the pray'r-the marble god
Methinks I see, assenting, nod,
And, pointing to his laurell'd brow,
Cry-Half this wreath to

you Iowe:
Lost to the stage, and lost to fame;
Murder'd my scenes, scarce known my name;
Sink in oblivion and disgrace

Among the common, scribbling race,
Unnotic'd long thy Shakespeare lay,
To dulness and to time a prey:
But now I rise, I breathe, I live
In you-my representative!
Again the hero's breast I fire,
Again the tender sigh inspire;

Each side, again, with laughter shake,
And teach the villain-heart to quake;
All this, my son! again I do-
1-No, my son!--'Tis I, and you."

While thus the grateful statue speaks, A blush o'erspreads the suppliant's checks"What!Half this wreath, wit's mighty

chief?

O grant," he cries, "one single leaf;
That far o'erpays his humble merit,
Who's but the organ of thy spirit."

T'hebus the gen'rous contest heard-
When thus the god address'd the bard:
"Here, take this laurel from my brow,
On him your mortal wreath bestow ;-
Fach matchless, each the palm shall bear,
In Heav'n the bard, on Earth the play'r."

CUPID BAFfled.

DIANA, hunting on a day,
Beheld where Cupid s'eeping lay,
His quiver by his head:

One of his darts she stole away,
And one of her's did close convey

Into the other's stead.

When next the archer through the grove,
In search of prey, did wanton rove,
Aurelia fair he 'spy'd ;

Aurelia, who to Damon's pray'r
Disdain'd to lend a tender ear,

-And Cupid's pow'r defy'd.

The statue of Shakespeare, in the temple dedicated to the bard by Mr. Garrick, in his de

Hhtful garden at Hampton, was the work of that able and ingenious master, Roubiliac.

SPOKEN BY MR. POWELL, AT THE OPENING OF TH?
THEATRE ROYAL IN COVENT-GARDEN, ON MON-
DAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1767.

As when the merchant, to increase his store,
For dubious seas, advent'rous quits the shore;
Still anxious for his freight, he trembling sees
Rocks in each buoy, and tempests in each breeze;
The curling wave to mountain billows swells,
And ev'ry cloud a fancied storm foretells:
Thus rashly lanch'd on this theatric main,
Our all on board, each phantom gives us pain;
The catcall's note seems thunder in our ears,
And ev'ry hiss a hurricane appears;
In journal-squibs we Eightning's blast espy,
And meteors blaze in every critic's eye.

Spite of these teriors,still some hopes we view, Hopes ne'er can fail us-since they're plac'd -in you,

Your breath the gale, our voyage is secure,
And safe the venture which your smiles insure;
Though woak his skill, th' advent'rer must suc-

But then the play must have some wit, some spirit,

And we allow'd sole umpires of its merit.

For those deep sages of the judging pit, Whose taste is too refin'd for modern wit, From Rome's great theatre we'll cuil the piece, And plant, on Britain's stage, the flow'rs of Greece.

If some there please,

are our British bards can

Who taste the ancient wit of ancient days,
Be our's to save, from time's devouring womb,
Their works, and snatch their laurels from the
tomb.

For you, ye fair, who sprightlier scenes may
chuse,

Where music decks in all her airs the Muse,
Gay opera shall in all its charms dispense,
Yet boast no tuneful triumph over sense;
The nobler bard shall still assert his right,
Nor Handel rob a Shakespeare of his night.

To greet their mortal brethren of our skies,
Here all the gods of pantomime shall rise:
Yet 'midst the pomp and magic of machines,
Some plot may mark the meaning of our scenes ;
Scenes which were held, in good king Rich's
days,

By sages, no bad epilogues to plays.

If terms like these your suffrage can engage, To fix our mimic empire of the stage; Confirm our title in your fair opinions, And croud each night to people our dominions.

ᏤᎬᎡᏚᎬᏚ

ON CONVERTING THE CHAPEL TO A KITCHEN, AT THE SEAT OF THE LORD DONNERAYLE, CALLED THE GROVE, IN HERTFORDSHIRE.

Pray'r-books turn'd into platters; nor think it a fable,

A dresser sprung out of the communion table; Which, instead of the usual repast, bread and wine,

Is stor❜d with rich soups, and good English sirloin. No fire, but what pure devotion could raise, 'Till now, had been known in this temple to blaze: But, good lord! how the neighbours around did admire,

When a chimney rose up in the room of a spire!

deed,

To cram Christians with pudding, instead of the creed!"

Then away to the Grove hied the church's protector,

Resolving to give his lay-brother a lecture; But he scarce had begun, when he saw, plac'd before 'em,

A haunch piping hot from the Sanctum Sancto.

rum.