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He lio'd the guardian of the laws;

Dear LIBERTY! round ALBION's ille
THE TEARS AND TRIUMPH That bid'it eternal sunshine (mile,

Who now will guard your facred cause !

CHOR vs.

Dear liberty, &c.
Α Ν Ο D Ε,


Where were ye, Muses, when the fatal sheers SET TO MUSICK AND PERFORMID AT DRURY

The Fury rais'd, to close his rev'rend years ? LANI, 1760.

But ah ! vain with !--you could not stop the blow!

No Omen warn'd ye of th' impending woe. The Scene discovers APOLLO and the NINE MU

A p
ses in their proper Habits.

See ! where BRITANNIA stands
With close-infolded hands,

On yonder sea-beat shore !

Behold her languid air !

To! her dishevell's hair!
ATE gave the word } the deed is done ;
AUGUSTUS is no more ;

Majestic now no more?

Still on the sullen wave her eye is bent,
His great career of fame is run,
And all the loss deplore.

The Trident of the Main thrown idle by; [The Mujes rear of their laurels. OLD THAMES, his fea-green thantle rent,

Inverts his urn, and heaves a doleful úgh.

Hark! to the winds and waves

Frantic with grief the raves,
Well, fifters of the sacred spring,

And, cruel Gods ! fhe crics ; Well may you rend your golden hair ;

Each chalky cliff around, Well may you now your dirges fing,

Each rock returns the found,
And pierce with cries the troubled air.

And, cruel Gods ! replics.

Fate gave the word, &c.

See ! the procession fad and Now,

Walks in a solemn pomp of woe

Through awful arches, gloomy isles, Founded in justice was his sway ;

And rows of monumental piles,
Ambition never mark'd his way.

Where lie the venerable just,

Where heroes moulder into duft.

Now quietly inurn'd he lies,
Unless the bett ambition that can fire

Pale! pale ! inanimate and cold :
A monarch's breast and all his soul inspire,

Where round him baleful vapours sise, The gen'rous purpose of the noble mind,

'Midtt bones of legislators old!
The best ambition to serve human kind.

Yes, Virgins, yes; that with sublime

Of him who fought th' ambitious Gaul
Rank'd him with those of earliest time,

Oe'r thick-embattled plains,
Who for a people's welfare strove ;

Who felt, who liv'd, and reign'd for all
Whose spirits breathe ætherial air,

This only now remains.
And for their meed of earthly care,
Drink Nectar with Olympian Jove.


Bring, in handfuls, lillies bring
Oh! TRUTH! fair daughter of the sky,

Bring me all the flow'ry spring.
And MERCYthat with asking eye

Scatter roses on his bier ;
Near the OMNIPOTENT do'ft Aand;

Ever honour'd, ever dear!
And, when mankind provoke his rage,
Do't clasp his knees, his wrath affuage,

And win the thunder from his hand !
CLI 0.

Scatter Roses, deci

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Oh! white-rob'd FAITH! cælestial maid !
Tvvia-born with JUSTICE ! by whose aid

L 0.

MERCURY descends.

APOLLO. No more, harmonious Progeny of Jove,

Bleft Prince ! whose subjects in each adverse hour No more let fun'ral accents rise ;

For freedom still have stood ! The great, the good AUGUSTUS reigns above,

Blest ille! whofe Prince but deems the fov'reign Translated to his kindred skics.


The pow'r of doing good!

MA Bs.
No more for my historic page

Now open all your Helicon ; explore

Of harmony the loftieft store ;

Let the drum beat alarms, No more for my great epic rage

Such as rouze us to arms;

The trumpet's Thrill clangor shall pierce through the в отн.


Swell the rapture, swell it high ;
Will by the hero now be done

And in notes sublime and clear

Pour the strong melody, that Heav'n may hear. His great career of fame is run,

And all the loss deplore.

Nothing mortal will I found;
Enter MAR S.

Lo! the flame, the flame divine !

High I mount, I quit the ground,
Lo ? Mars, from his beloved land,

Holy fury! I am thine.
Whero freedom long hath fix'd her stand,

With rage poffelt
Bids ye collect your flowing hair,

Big swells my breast !
And again the laurel wear :

In visions rapt, before my fight appears
For see! BRITANNIA rears her drooping head ; A brighter order of increasing years.
Again resumes her TRIDENT of the main ;
THAMES takes his urn, and seeks his wat'ry bed,

M A R s.
While gay content sits smiling on the plain.
Hark! a glad voice.

I see the Rhine devolve his flood
Proclaims the people's choice.

Deep-crimson'd with the Gallic blood !

I hear, I hear the distant roar
U s, within the Scenes.

Of ruin on yon hoftile fhore !
He is our liege, our rightful lord !

I see, young Prince, to thee I see
Of heart and tongue with one accord

The savage Indian bend the knee !
We all will fing

Lo! Arric from her sable kings
Long live the king!

Her richelt stores in tribute brings !
He is our liege !-he-he alone!

And farthest Ind, beneath the rising day
With BRITISH HEART he mounts the throne ;

Lays down her arms, and venerates thy swali
Around him throngs a loyal band ;
He will protect his NATIVE LAND!

He is our liege, &c.
[The Mufes rise and put on their laurels.

I fee Bellona banish'd far!

I see him close the gates of war,

While purple rage within

With gastly ire shall grin,
The muses now their heads shall raise ;

And rolling his terrific eyes,
The arts to life shall spring ;

Where round him heaps of arms arise,
Virgins, we'll trim our wither'd bayes,

Bound with a hundred brazen chains,
And wake each vocal string ;

In vain thall foam, and thirst for sanguine plains:
Now shall the sculptor's happy skill
Touch the rude stone to life;

The painter shall his canvass fill,
Pleas'd with his mimic strife.

Sweat peace returns ;

O'er Albion's fons

She waves her dove-like wing:

On ev'ry plain Sweet MERCY! FAITH! CÆLESTIAL TRUTH !

The shepherd train
Now by your aid the royal youth

Their artless loves shall fing.
Shall live the guardian of the laws ;

Pale DISCORD shall fly
Dear LIBERTY! round ALBION's ille

From the light of the ky, That bid'ft eternal sunshine (mile,

He now will guard your facred ctuse.

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But praise is scanty to reveal

Whilft in gam.bols round and round
The speaking blessings all must feel.

They sport it o'er the thaven ground!

Though thy Syrinx, like a dream,
True, all must feel-but thankless too?

Flying at the face of day, Nor give to virtue, virtue's due ?

Vanish'd in the limpid stream, My grateful heart shall ever shew

Bearing all thy hopes away, The debt I need rot blush to owe.

If again thy heart should burn,

In caressing,

Bleft, and blessing,
That I go where I lift, that I fing what I please, May'st thou find a wish'd return.
That my labour's the price of contentment and ease,
That no care from abroad my retirement annoys,

That at home i can taite the true family joys,
That my kids wanton safely o'er meadows and rocks, O mighty Pan! attend Arcadia's voice,
Thai my sheep graze secure.from the robber or fox ; Inspire, direct, and fanctify his choice.
These are bleffings 1 share with the rest of the fwains,

[A dance of huntsmen and huntreflete For it's Thyrsis who gave them, and Thyrsis maintains.


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Perish my voice, if e'er I blame
Thy duty to our guardian's name !
His active talents I revere,

eye them with a jealous fear.
Intent to form our bliss alone,
The generous youth forgets his own;
Nor e'er his busy mind employs
To find a partner of his joys.
So might his happy offspring own
The virtues which their fire hath shewą.

A I R.
With joy the parent loves to trace
Resemblance in his children's face :
And as he forms their docile youth
To walk the steady paths of truth,
Observes them shooting into men,
And lives in them life o'er again.

A I R.
Shepherds, shepherds, come away ;
Sadness were a fin to-day
Let the pipe's merry notes aid the skill of the voice ;
For our wishes are crown'd, and our hearts shall re.

Rejoice, and be glad;

For sure he is mad
Who, where mirth and good humour and harmony's

Never catches the smile, nor lets pleasure go round.

Let the stupid be grave,
'Tis the vice of the Nave ;
But can never agree

With a maiden like me,
Who is born in a country that's happy and free.

While active fons, with eager flame,
Catch virtue at their father's name ;
When full of glory, full of age,
The parent quits this busy stage,
What in the sons we most admire,
Calls to new life the honour'd fire.

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Of which, to give an explanation,

Take this by way of illustration :

The fam'd Mat Prior, it is said,

Oft bit his nails, and scratch'd his head, Stop, shepherds, if aright I hear,

And chang'd a thought a hundred times,

Because he did not like the rhymes,
The sounds of joy proclaim them near :
Let's meet them, friends, I'll lead the way ;

To make my meaning clear, and please ye,
Joy makes me young again to-day.

In short, he labour'd to write easy.

And yet, no critic e'er defines

His poems into labour'd lines.

I have a simile will hit him ; A view of the sea, with a vessel at a distance, His verse, like cloaths, was made to fit him, [Here follows a Pastoral Procession to the wedding Which (as no Taylor e’er denied) of Thyrfis.]

The better fit, the more they're tried.


Though I have mention’d Prior's name,

Think not I aim at Prior's fame.

Tis the result of admiration

To spend itself in imitation ;
Mighty Pan with tender care,

If imitation may be said,
View this swain and virgin fair ;

Which is in me by nature bred,
May they ever thus impart

And you have better proofs than these,
Just return of heart for heart.

That I'm idolater of ease.
May the pledges of their bliss
Climb their knees to share the kiss.

Who, but a madman, wouid engage
May their steady blooming youth

A Poet in the present age ?
While they tread the paths of truth,

Write what we will, our works bespeak us
Virtues catch from either side,

Imitatores, jervum Pecus.
From the bridegroom and the bride.

Tale, Elegy, or lofty Ode,

We travel in the beaten road :

The proverb still sticks closely by us,
May their steady blooming youth,

Nil dictum, quod non diétum prius.
While they tread the paths of truth,

The only comfort that I know
Virtues catch from either side,

Is, that 'twas said an age ago,
From the bridegroom and the bride.

Ere Milton foar'd in thought sublime,
Ere Pope refin’d the chink of rhyme,
Ere Colman wrote in stile so pure,
Or the great TWO the CONNOISSEUR ;
Ere I burlesqu’d the rural cit,

Proud to hedge in my scraps of wit,
ÁN EPISTLE TO MR. COLMAN. T'acquire fome name from their reflexion

And happy in the close connexion,
So (the fimilitude is trite)

The moon ftill shines with borrow'd light,

And, like the race of modern beaux,

Ticks with the fun for her lac'd cloaths.
OU know, dear George, I'm none of those
That condescend to write in prose ;

Methinks there is no better time
Inspir'd with pathos and sublime,

To shew the use I make of rhyme,
I always foar-in doggrel rhyme,

Than now, when I, who from beginning
And scarce can ask you how you do,

Was always fond of couplet-finning,
Without a jingling line or two.

Presuming on good nature's score,
Sesides, I always took delight in

Thus lay my bantling at your door.
What bears the name of easy writing i
Perhaps the reason makes it please

The first advantage which I fee,
Is, that I find it's writ with ease.

Is, that I ramble loose and free :

The Bard indeed full oft complains,
I vent a notion here in private,

That rhymes are fetters, links, and chaies,
Which public taste can ne'er connive at,

And when he wants to leap the fence,
Which thinks no wit or judgment greater

Still keep him pris’ner to the sense.
Than Addison and his Spectator

Howe'er in common place he rage,
Who says (it is no matter where,

Rhyme's like your fetters on the fiage,
But that he says it, I can swear)

Which when the player once hath wore,
With easy verje most Bards are smitten,

It makes him only strut the more,
Because they think it's easy written ;

While, raving in pathetic strains,
Whereas the easier it appears,

He shakes his legs to clank his chains.
The greater marks of care it wears ;

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