The dying fhould revive, the living die, As Hamilton fhall fmile, as Hamilton shall frown:

With fuch a paffion fix'd and fure, As even poffeffion could not cure, Never to cease but with my breath; May then this bumper be my death.

CHORUS

Awake bright Hamilton, arise,
Goddess of love, and of the day,
Awake, disclose thy radiant eyes,

And how the fun a brighter ray.

Phœbus in vain calls forth the blufhing morn, He but creates the day, which you adorn.

DRINKING SONG TO SLEEP.

GREAT god of fleep, face it must be,
That we must give fome hours to thee,
Invade me not while the free bowl
Glows in my cheeks, and warms my foul;
That be my only time to fnore,
When I can laugh, and drink no more;
Short, very short be then thy reign,
For I'm in hafte to laugh and drink again.
But O if melting in my arms,
In some soft dream, with all her charms,
The nymph belov'd should then surprise,
And grant what waking the denies;
Then, gentle flumber, pr'ythee stay,
Slowly, ah! flowly bring the day,
Let no rude noife my blifs destroy,
Such sweet delufion 's real joy.

Written under Mrs. Hare's Name, upon a Drinking-
Glass.

THE gods of wine, and wit, and love prepare,
With cheerful bowls to celebrate the fair:
Love is enjoin'd to name his favourite toast,
And Hare's the goddess that delights him moft;
Phoebus approves, and bids the trumpet found,
And Bacchus in a bumper fends it round.

Under the Duchefs of Bolton's.

LOVE's keeneft darts are radiant Bolton's care,
Which the bright goddess poisons with despair :
The god of wine the dire effe&t forefees,
And fends the juice that gives the lover eafe.

Under the Lady Harper's Name.

To Harper, fprightly, young, and gay, Sweet as the rofy morn in May, Fill to the brim, I'll drink it up To the last drop, were poifon in the cup.

Under the Lady Mary Villiers' Name.

Ir I not love you, Villiers, more Than ever mortal lov'd before,

CUPID DISARMED.

TO THE PRINCESS D'AUVERGNE

CUPID, delighting to be near her,
Charm'd to behold her, charm'd to hear her¡
As he stood gazing on her face,
Enchanted with each matchlefs grace,
Loft in the trance, he drops the dart,
Which never fails to reach the heart:
She feizes it, and arms her hand,
" 'Tis thus I love himself command;
"Now tremble, cruel boy, she said,
"For all the mischief you have made.”

The God, recovering his furprife,
Trufts to his wings, away he flies.
Swift as an arrow cuts the wind,
And leaves his whole artillery behind.
Princefs, restore the boy his useless darts,
With furer charms you captivate our hearts;
Love's captives oft their liberty regain,
Death only can release us from chain.

your

EXPLICATION IN FRENCH.

CUPIDON DESARME.

Fable pour Madame la Princeffe D'Auvergne. CUPIDON prenant plafir de fe trouver toûjours aupres d'elle; charmé de la voir, charmé de l'entendre: Comme il admiroit un jour fes graces inimitables, dans cette distraction de fon ame et de fes fens, ill laiffa tomber ce dard fatai qui ne manque jamis de percer les cœurs. Elle le ramaffe soudain, et s'armant la belle main.

"C'est ainfi, dit elle, que je me rend maitreffe "de l'amour, tremblez, enfant malin, je veux vanger tous les maux que tu as fait."

Le Dieu etonné, revenant de sa surprize, fe fast a fes ailes, s'echappe, et s'envole vite comme une fleche qui fend l'air, et lui laiffe la poffeffion de toute fon artillerie.

Princeffe rendez lui fes armes qui vous font
inutiles :
[fants:

La nature vous a donnee des charmes plus puif-
Les captives de l'amour fouvent recouvrent la
liberté;
[les votres.
Il n'y a que la mort feule qui puiffe affranchir

BACCHUS DISARMED.

TO MRS. LAURA DILLON, NOW LADY FALKLAND,

BACCHUS to arms, the enemy 's at hand,. Laura appears; stand to your glaises, stand,

The god of love, the god of wine defies,
Behold him in full march, in Laura's eyes:
Bacchus to arms, and to refift the dart,
Each with a faithful brimmer guard his heart.
Fly, Bacchus, fly, there's treafon in the cup,
For love comes pouring in with every drop;
I feel him in my heart, my blood, my brain,
Fly, Bacchus, fly, refiftance is in vain,
Or craving quarter, crown a friendly bowl
To Laura's health, and give up all thy foul.

THYRSIS AND DELIA.

SONG IN DIALOGUE.

THYRSIS.

DELIA, how long must I despair, And tax you with difdain; Still to my tender love fevere, Untouch'd when I complain?

DELIA.

When men of equal merit love us,

And do with equal ardor fue, Thyrfis, you know but one must move us,

Can I be your's and Strephon's too? My eyes view both with mighty pleasure, Impartial to your high defert,

To both alike, efteem I measure,
To one alone can give my heart.

THYRSIS.

Myfterious guide of inclination, Tell me, tyrant, why am I With equal merit equal paffion, Thus the victim chofen to die? Why am I

The victim chofen to die?

DELIA.

On fate alone depends fuccefs,

And fancy, reafen over-rules,
Or why fhould virtue ever miss
Reward, so often given to fools?

'Tis not the valiant, nor the witty,

But who alone is born to please; Love does predeftinate our pity, We choose but whom he first decrces.

A LATIN INSCRIPTION

ON A MEDAL FOR LEWIS XIV. OF FRANCE.

PROXIMUS et fimilis regnas, Ludovice, tonanti,
Vim fummam, fumma cum pietate, geris,
Magnus es expanfis alis, fed maximus arnuis,
Protegis hinc Anglos, Teutones inde feris.
Quin cöeant toto Titania fœdera Rheno,
Illa acquilam tantùm, Gallia fulmen habet.

ENGLISHED,

AND APPLIED TO QUEEN ANNE. NEXT to the thunderer let Anna fland In piety fupreme, as in command;

7

PROPHETIC fury rolls within my breast,
And as at Delphos, when the foaming priest
Full of his God, proclaims the diftant doom
Of kings unborn, and nations yet to come;
My labouring mind fo ftruggles to unfold
On British ground a future age of gold;
But left incredulous you hear-behold:

Here a Scene reprefenting the QUEEN, and the feveral
Triumphs of Her Majefty's Reign.

High on a throne appears the martial queen,
With grace fublime, and with imperial mien ;
Surveying round her, with impartial eyes,
Whom to protect, or whom she fhall chastise.
Next to her fide, victorious Marlbro' ftands,
Waiting, obfervant of her dread commands;
The queen ordains, and like Alcides, he
Obeys, and executes her high decrec.
In every line of her aufpicious face
Soft mercy fmiles, adorn'd with every grace;
So angels look, and fo when heaven decrees,
They fcourge the world to piety and peace.

Empress and conqu'ror, hail! the fates ordain
O'er all the willing world fole arbitress to reign;
To no one people are thy laws confin'd,
Great Britain's queen, but guardian of mankind;
Sure hope of all who dire oppreffion bear,
For all th' opprefs'd become thy inftant care.
Nations of conqueft proud, thou tam'ft to free,
Denouncing war, prefenting liberty;
The victor to the vanquish'd yields a prize,
For in thy triumph their redemption lies;
Freedom and peace, for ravifh'd fame you give,
Invade to blefs, and conquer to relieve.
So the fun fcorches, and revives by turns,
Requiting with rich metals where he burns.

Taught by this great example to be just, Succeeding kings fhall well fulfil their trust; Discord, and war, and tyranny fhall cease, And jarring nations be compell'd to peace; Princes and states, like fubjects fhall agree To truft her power, fafe in her piety.

PROLOGUE

TO THE BRITISH ENCHANTERS.

POETS by obfervation find it true,
'Tis harder much to please themselves than you;
To weave a plot, to work and to refine
A labour'd fcenc; to polish every line

Judgment mult sweat, and feel a mother's pains:
Vaio fools! thus to difturb and rack their braus,
When more indulgent to the writer's cafe,
You are too good to be fo hard to please;
No fuch convulfive pangs it will require
To write the pretty things which you admire.
Our authok then, to pleale you, in your way,
Prefents you now a bauble of a play ;
In jingling rhyme, well fortify'd and strong,
He fights entrench'd o'er head and ears in iong.
If here and there fome evil-fated line,
Should chance through inadvertency to fhine,
Forgive him, beaux, he means you no offence,
But begs you fot the love of foug and dance,
To pardon all the poetry and fente.

ANOTHER EPILOGUE,

DESIGNED FOR THE SAME.

Wir once, like beauty, without art or drefs, Naked, and unadoro'd; could find fuccels, Till by fruition, novelty destroy'd,

}

The nymph must find new charins to be enjoy'd.
As by his equipage the man you prize,
And ladies must have gems beside their eyes:
So fares it too with plays; in vain we write,
Unless the mufic and the dance invite,
Scarce Hamlet clears the charges of the night.
Would you but fix some standard how to move,
We would transform to any thing you love;
Judge our defire by our coaft and pains,.
Sure the expence, uncertain are the gains.
But though we fetch from Italy and France
Our fopperies of tane, and mode of dance,
Qur sturdy Britons fcorn to borrow sense ;
Howe'er to foreign fashions we submit,
Still every fop prefers his mother wit.
In only wit this conftancy is fhown,
For never was that arrant changeling known,
Who for another's fenfe would quit his own.

Our author would excuse these youthful scenes,
Begotten at his entrance in his teens:
Some childish fancies may approve the toy,
Some like the mufe the more for being a boy;
And ladies should be pleas'd, if not content,
To find so young a thing, not wholly impotent.
Our ftage reformers too he would difarns,
In charity fo cold, in zeal fo warm;
And therefore to atone for ftage abuses,
And gain the church-indulgence for the mufes,
He gives his thirds-to charitable ufe».

EACH in his turn, the poet, and the priest §,
Have view'd the ftage, but like falfe prophets
guefs'd,

The man of zeal, in his religious rage,
Would filence poets, and reduce the ftage;
The poet, rafhly to get clear, retorts

On kings the fcandal, and befpatters courts.
Both err: for without mincing, to be plain,
The guil's your own of every odious feene:
The prefent time still gives the stage its mode,
The vices that you practife, we exploḍe;
We hold the glafs, and but reflect your fhame,
Like Spartans, by expofing, to reclaim,

The fcribler, pinch'd with hunger, writes to
dine,

And to your genius must conform his line;
Not lewd by choice, but merely to fubmit:
Would you encourage fenie, fenfe would be
writ.

Good plays we try, which after the first day,
Unseen we act, and to bare benches play;
Plain fenfe, which pleas'd your fires an ager

ago,

Is loft, without the garniture of show :
At vaft expence we labour to our rui
And court your favour with our own undoing;
A war of profit mitigates the evil,
But to be tax'd and beaten-is the devil.
How was the feene forlorn, and how defpis'ă,
When Timon, without mufic, moraliz'd?
Shakspeare's fublime in vain entic'd the throng,
Without the aid of Purcel's fyren fong.

In the fame antique loon these fcenes were
wrought,

Embellish'd with good morals, and just thought;
True nature in her noblest light you see,
Ere yet débauch'd by modern gallantry,
To trifling jets, and fulfome ribaldry.
What ruil remains upon the fhining mafs,
Antiquity mull privilege to pass.

'Tis Shakspeare's play, and if these scenes mifcarry, Let Gormon || take the flage-or Lady Mary †.

PROLOGUE TO THE SHE-GALLANTS;

OR,

ONCE A LOVER AND ALWAYS A LOVER.

As quiet monarchs that on peaceful thrones,
In fports and revels long had reign'd like drones,
Roufing at length, reflect with guilt and fhame,
That not one ftroke had yet been given for fame;
Wars they denounce, and to redeem the paft,
To bold attempts, and rugged labours hafte:
Our poet fo, with like concern reviews
The youthful follies of a love-fick muse;
To amorcus toils, and to the filent grove,
To beauty's foares, and to deceitful love.
He bids farewell; his fhield and lance prepares,
And mounts the flage, to bid immortal wars.

Vice, like fome monfter, fuff'ring none t'
efcape,

Has feiz'd the town, and varies ftill her fhape:
Here, like fome general, fhe ftruts in state,
While crowds in red and blue her orders wait;
There, like fome penfive statesman treads demure,
And smiles and hugs, to make deftruction fure :
Now under high commodes, with looks erect,
Barefac'd devours, in gaudy colours deck'd;
Then in a vizard, to avoid grimace,
Allows all freedom, but to fee the face.
In pulpits and at bar fhe wears a gown,
In camps a fword, in palaces a crown.
Rofolv'd to combat with this motley beaft
Our poet comes to ftrike one ftroke at least.
His glafs he means not for this jitr beau,
Some features of you all he means to fhow,
On chofen heads, nor lets the thunder fall,
But fcatters his artillery-at all.

Yet to the fair he fain would quarter fhow,
His tender heart recoils at every blow;
If unawares he gives too fmart a ftroke,
He means but to correct, and not provoke.

ODE

ON THE PRESENT CORRUPTION OF MANKIND.

Infcribed to the Lord Falkland.

O FALKLAND offspring of a generous race, Renown'd for arms and arts, in war and peace, My kiofman, and my friend from whence this

curfe

Entail'd on man, ftill to grow worfe and worse ?

Each age induftribus to invent new crimes, Strives to outdo in guilt preceding times; But now we're fo in prov'd in all that's bad, We fhall leave nothing for our fons to add.

A famous prize-fighter.

+ A mous repe-dancer, so calicu.

Your greatest foe, is your profeffing friend;
The foul refign'd, unguarded, and fecure,
The wound is deepeit, and the ftroke moft fure.

Juftice is bought and fold; the bench, the bar
Plead and decide; but gold's th' interpreter.
Pernicious metal! thrice accurs'd be he
Who found thee firft; all evils fpring from thee,

Sires fell their fons, and fons their fires betray: And fenates vote, as armies fight, for pay; The wife no longer is reftrain'd by fhame, But has the husband's leave to play the game.

Diseas'd, decrepit, from the mix'd embrace Succeeds, of fpurious mold, a puny race; From fuch defenders what can Britain hope? And where, O liberty is now thy prop?

Not fuch the men who bent the ftubborn bow,
And learn'd in rugged iports to dare a foe:
Not fuch the men who fill'd with heaps of flain
Fam'd Agincourt and Creffy's bloody plain.

Haughty Britannia then, inur'd to toil,
Spread far and near the terrors of her ifle;
True to herself, and to the public weal,
No Gallic gold could blunt the British fteel.

Not much unlike, when thou in arms wer't

feen,

Eager for glory on th' embattled green, When Stanhope led thee through the heats of Spain to die in purple Almanara's plain.

The refcu'd empire, and the Gaul subdu'd, In Anna's reign, our ancient fame renew'd: What Britons could, when juftly rous'd to war, Let Blenheim speak, and witness Gibraltar.

FORTUNE.

EPIGRAM.

WHEN fortune feems to fmile, 'tis then I fear Some lurking ill, and hidden mischief near: Us'd to her frowns, I ftand upon my guard, And arm'd in virtue, keep my foul prepar'd. Fickle and falfe to others the may be,

i can complain, but of her conftancy. Virtutem à me,

Fortunam ex aliis

CHARACTER OF MR. WYCHERLEY. Or all our modern wirs, none feems to me Once to have touch'd upon true comedy, But hafty Shadwell, and flow Wycherley.

+ This character, however juft in other particulars, yet is injurious in one; Mr. Wycherley being reprefented as a