Sivut kuvina

Each hero kiss'd his maid, and why,
Tho' I'm no hero, may not I?,

Who knows? Perhaps Polly may be
A piece of ruin'd royalty.

She has (I cannot doubt it) been
The daughter of fome mighty queen ;
But fate's irremeable doom

Has chang'd her fceptre for a broom.

Ah! ceafe to think it---how can the,

So generous, charming, fond, and free,

So lib'ral of her little store,

So heedless of amassing more,
Have one drop of plebeian blood,
In all the circulating flood?

But you, by carping at my fire,
Do but betray your own defire---
Howe'er proceed---made tame by years,
You'll raise in me no jealous fears.
You've not one spark of love alive,
For, thanks to heav'n, you're forty-five.


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Oddefs of eafe, leave Lethe's brink,

G Obfequious to the Muse and me;

For once endure the pain to think,
Oh! sweet infenfibility!

Sifter of peace and indolence,

Bring, Mufe, bring numbers foft and flow, Elaborately void of sense,

And sweetly thoughtless let them flow.

Near fome cowflip-painted mead,

There let me doze out the dull hours,
And under me let Flora fpread,
A fofa of her fofteft flow'rs.

Where, Philomel, your notes you breathe
Forth from behind the neighbouring pine,
And murmurs of the ftream beneath
Still flow in unison with thine.

For thee, O Idleness, the woes
Of life we patiently endure,
Thou art the fource whence labour flows,
We fhun thee but to make thee fure.

D 2


For who'd fuftain war's toil and waste,
Or who th' hoarse thund'ring of the sea,

But to be idle at the last,

And find a pleafing end in thee.

To the reverend and learned Dr. WEBSTER,

Occafioned by his Dialogues on ANGER and FORGIVENESS.



WAS when th' omnifcient creative

"T Difplay'd his wonders by a mortal's hand,


And, delegated at th' appointed hour,

Great Mofes led away his chosen band;
When Ifrael's hoft, with all their stores,
Past thro' the ruby-tinctur'd crystal shores,
The wilderness of waters and of land:

Then perfecution rag'd in heav'n's own cause, And right on neighbouring kingdoms to infringe, Strict juftice for the breach of nature's laws, Strict justice, who's full-fifter to revenge:

The legiflator held the scythe of fate,

Where'er his legions chanc'd to ftray,

Death and deftruction mark'd their bloody way; Immoderate was their rage, for mortal was their hate.


II. *

But when the king of righteousness arose,
And on the illumin'd East ferenely smil'd,
He fhone with meekeft mercy on his foes,
Bright as the fun, but as the moon-beams mild;
From anger, fell revenge, and difcord free,
He bad war's hellish clangor cease,

In pastoral fimplicity and peace,

And fhew'd to men that face, which Mofes could not fee..


Well haft thou, WEBSTER, pictur'd christian love,
And copied our great master's fair design,
But livid Envy would the light remove,

Or croud thy portrait in a nook malign---
The Muse shall hold it up to popular view-----
Where the more candid and judicious few

Shall think the bright original they see,, The likeness nobly loft in the identity..


Oh hadit thou liv'd in better days than thefe,,
E'er to excel by all was deem'd a shame!:
Alas! thou haft no modern arts. to please,

And to deserve is all thy empty claim..
Elfe thou'dft been plac'd, by learning, and by wit,,
There, where thy dignify'd inferiors fit---


Oh they are in their generation wife,
Each path of intereft they have fagely trod,---
To live---to thrive---to rife---and still to rife---
Better to bow to men, than kneel to God.
Behold!---where poor unmanfion'd Merit stands,
All cold, and crampt with penury and pain;
Speechless thro' want, fhe rears th' imploring hands,
And begs a little bread, but begs in vain ;
While Bribery and Dulnefs, paffing by,
Bid her, in founds barbarian, ftarve and die.

"Away (they cry (we never faw thy name)
"Or in Preferment's Lift, or that of Fame;
"Away---nor here the fate thou earn'st bewail,
"Who canst not buy a vote, nor haft a foul for sale.
Oh Indignation, wherefore wert thou given,

If drowsy Patience deaden all thy rage ?--Yet we must bear---such is the will of heaven;

And, WEBSTER, so prescribes thy candid page.
Then let us hear thee preach seraphic love,
Guide our di gufted thoughts to things above;
So our free fouls, fed with divine repast,

(Unmindful of low mortals mean employ) Shall tafte the present, recollect the past, And ftrongly hope for every future joy.


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