But then this friendship if I would acquire,
On worthless altars Feeling muft expire !-

What can I do?-My tongue was never taught
To utter language foreign to my thought:
I, a mere dunce in Flattery's polifh'd school,
Hardly forbear to call a fool, a fool.

When things are talk'd of, which do not appear,
I have not eyes to fee, nor ears to hear:

When things are fworn to, which I can't conceive,
Is it not monftrous that I won't believe?

Since, then, I cannot settled rules obey,
Where art and artifice bear fovereign fway;
O let me fly from follies fuch as thefe,
Murd'rers of blifs, and antidotes to ease!
All that the busy and the vain adore

Shall waste my time, and charm my heart, no more.
No more of politics!-though Party rave,
And madd'ning Discontent her ensign wave;
No more of politics!-though Burke should strive
To make us fancy Cicero alive :

Pythag'ras, hearing him, perhaps might say,
The Roman foul gave life to Irish clay.

The same splenetic tale told o'er and o'er

Makes old men cough, while young men cry, "Abore!"
Thou canst not make white black, nor yet black white;
And though we listen a whole winter's night
To the fmooth rhetoric of thy polish'd tongue,
We're still convinc'd that what is wrong-is wrong.
Pleas'd with thy language, we could fit whole days
To hear fuch mufic in profaic lays;

Ev'n women read thy fpeeches with delight,
In Woodfall's morning paper, brought at night;

And,

And, but the rigid order * still prevails,
Would fit attentive to thy Indian Tales!

No more of politics!-though wit should flow
In ufelefs fimile and petty show;

Though Sheridan, who seldom aims at more,
Should fet the gaping senate in a roar,

And by his comic eloquence make clear,

Where'er he is, the "School for Scandal's" there.
Thou modern Congreve!" quit the fenate's jar,
Nor wafte stage wit in whiggifh wordy war.

See from the facred hill the Mufe defcend!
Why fhun the Mufe, thy beft and earlieft friend?
Oblations bring to her neglected fhrine,
And never-fading laurels fhall be thine.

No more of politics!-tho' Pitt should show
How calmly Truth can conquer every
foe;
What mighty magic in a good name lies,
And his leaft praise to be reputed wife;

How youth, well spent, the steepest heights may climb,
And join the sense of North with Burke's fublime ;
A mind unhackney'd in the tricks of state,
And aiming to be good as well as great.
Such once was Chatham! whofe prophetic eye
Beheld a future ftatefman in his boy.
T'extend her conquefts, and to fee unfurl'd
Britannia's colours in the western world;

To fee, triumphant, England's navy ride,
Was Chatham's happy lot, and Chatham's noble pride!
But Chatham's fon more arduous cares employ;
'Tis his to fave what Faction would destroy:

* The order excluding ladies from the gallery of the Houfe of Commons.

"Tis his-the hardest task impos'd by fate,To fave the glory of a finking state.

So, when autumnal fruits and fummer flowers
Submit to Boreas and the wintry powers,

Nature feems dead: Time moves with frozen wing,
Till circling hours bring on the youthful spring.
No more of politics!-but let me quit

The fophiftry of Charles, and Courtenay's wit;
The Bible eloquence of holy Hill,

And quoting Johnny, with his "book-learn'd fkill."
Whatever wonder or contempt excites,

The "human properties" of new-made knights,
Speeches to clear, or speeches to oppose,
No more fhall interrupt my calm repose.
The milky words of all the courtier Peers
No more fhall find a paffage to my ears:
Not fubtle Shelburne's eloquence shall move,
Nor well-fkill'd Mansfield, whom the Graces love;
Nor courtly Loughb'rough, elegantly great,
Nor nervous Stormont, ftrength'ning the debate;
Nor yet new Norfolk, though he fhould engage
To charm a fyren from the sportive stage;
Nor Hawkesbury, by fcribbling wits abhorr'd,
For meriting the title of a Lord;

Nor fmooth-tongued Richmond, he who ftrove with fneers
To combat Thurlow in the Houfe of Peers;

Nor Thurlow's felf, who dignifies the helm,

Th' Ulyffes of the law, th' Achilles of the realm!

THE FINAL FAREWELL.

SECT.

SECT. CI.

ON THE BRITISH STAGE.

WITH more regret I quit the British stage,

Fit school for youth, and haunt of cheerful
Afpiring Holman's academic fame
With early laurels grac'd his youthful name ;
But Panegyric, with her trumpet tongue,
Inftead of weak'ning made his foibles strong :
"For Fame, impatient of extremes, decays,
"Not more by envy, than excefs of praife."
When I behold him arm'd with Macbeth's shield,
Or grafp the tyrant's fword, in Bofworth-field;
In gentle Hamlet weep, in Romeo rave,
"Taking the measure of an unmade grave;"
I pity Shakspeare, nor his fcenes enjoy,
Condemn the actor,-but applaud the boy.

age.

Pope's "happy voice and pleafing powers" may shine,
When judgment fhall those pleasing powers combine :
We fee him now, with Farren, fink and rise,
Like the moon labouring through the cloudy skies.
-When Kemble first appear'd,

The actors trembled, and the critics fneer'd:
For rifing merit here has pow'rful foes,
These urg'd by envy, by ambition those.
In Hamlet he display'd enlighten'd taste,
In every scene was elegantly chafte;
Led on by judgment and by happy care,
The prince was ne'er forgotten in the player.
Alarm'd, the critics could not but admire;
But then they fancied that he wanted fire !
I 3

In

In dauntless Richard he redeems his name,
And joins the critic's to the player's fame ;
In Pofthumus and Macbeth too we find
The lucid efforts of a vigorous mind.

His foes to fcorn unbiafs'd judgment dooms:
Their cenfure dies, while Kemble's genius blooms.
Scanty the tragic merit on the ftage :→
Where are the rifing Garricks of the age?
Who boasts of Barry's fweetness, Powell's fire,
Or fhall to fame with Henderson aspire?
Join both the houses, and then tell me where
Shine lofty Wolfey, and the frantic Lear,
The gallant Antony, and Brutus bold,
Timon the good, and Lufignan the old?
Preferv'd by Providence from chill defpair,
You'll find them ftrolling to fome country fair!
But ftill the tragic muse afpires to fame,
And dwells with rapture on her Siddons' name.
Her plaintive voice when liftening Folly hears,
Infenfibility expires in tears;

With powers refistless in each arduous part,
She melts, fhe rends, fhe petrifies the heart!
Through every breast the rapid paffion flies,
Malice is mute, and even Envy dies!

With judgment polish'd, and with tafte refin'd,
In Pope the rival muses seem combin❜d:
So one choice ftem a double beauty bears,
A fmiling bloffom, and a bud in tears.
Well pleas'd I fee, the tragic power to spread,
A younger heroine by genius led :—

If future bards record not Brunton's name,
Time fhall infcribe it on the roll of Fame.