drest :

If thou in moanful lays relate her woe,

The bench and bar alike my influence owns; Each heart shall bleed, each eye with pity flow: Here prate my magpies, and there doze my If to revenge you swell the sounding strain,

drones.
Revenge and fury fire each British swain : In the grave dons, how formal is my mien,
Obsequious to thy verse each breast shall move, Who rule the gallipots of Warwick-lane:
Or burn with rage, or soften into love.

At court behold me strut in purple pride,
O let Britannia be her poet's care !

At Hockley roar, and in Crane-court preside. And lash the spoiler, while you save the fair. But chief in thee my mighty pow'r is seen; Lo! where he stands, amidst the servile crew, 'Tis I inspire thy mind, and fill thy mien ; Nor blushes stain his cheek with crimson hue ; On thee, my child, my duller blessings shed, While dire corruption all around he spreads, And pour my opium o'er thy fav'rite head; And ev'ry ductile conscience captive leads : Rais'd thee a ruler of Britannia's fate, Brib'd by his boons, betold the venal band And led thee blund'ring to the helm of state." Worship the idol they could once command; Here bow'd the statesman low, and thus ad So Britain's nuw, as Judah's sons before, First raise a golden calf, and then adore.

“O goddess, sole inspirer of my breast ! Let dull Parnassian sons of rhyme no more To gall the British neck with Gallic chain, Provoke thy satire, and employ thy pow'r; Long have I strove, but long have strove in vain ; New objects rise to share an equal fate,

While Caleb9, rebel to thy sacred pow'r, The big, rich, mighty, Dunces of the State. Unveils those eyes which thou hast curtain'd o'er; Shall Ralph, Cooke, Welstead, then engross thy Makes Britain's sons my dark designs foresee, rage,

Blast all my schemes, and struggle to be free. While courts afford a Hervey, York, or Gage? O, had my projects met a milder fate, Dullness no more roosts only near the sky, Hoir had I reign'd a basba of the state ! But senates, drawing-rooms, with garrets vie ;

How o'er Britannia spread imperial sway! Plump peers, and breadless bards, alike are dull; How taught each free-born Briton to obey ! St. James's and Rag-fair club fool for fool. No smiling freedom then had cheer'd her swains, Amidst the mighty dull, behold how great

But Asia's deserts vy'd with Albion's plains : An Appius swells, the Tibbald of the state ! Turks, Vandals, Britain ! then compar'd with Long had he strove to spread his lawless sway

thee,

[were free; O'er Britain's sons, and force them to obey ; Had hugg'd their chains, and joy'd that they But, blasted all his blooming hopes, he flies While wond'ring nations all around had seen To vent his wve, and mourn his lost excise. Me rise a great Mogul, or Mazarin: Pensive he sat, and sigh'd, while round him Then had I taught Britannia to adore, lay

Then led her captive to my lawless pow'r. Loads of dull lumber, all inspir'd by pay : Methinks, I view her now no more appear Here, puny pamphlets, spun from prelates' First in the train, and fairest 'midst the fair i brains;

(strains : Joyless I see the lovely mourner lie, There, the smooth jingle of Cooke's lighter Nor glow her cheek, nor sparkle now her eye; Here, Walsingham's soft lulling opiate spread; Faded each grace, no smiling feature warm ; There, gloomy Osborn's quintessence of lead : Torn all her tresses, blighted ev'ry charm : With these the statesman strove to ease his Nor teeming plenty now each valley crowns ; care,

Slaves are her sons, and tradeless all her towns. To sooth his sorrows, and divert despair :

For this, behold yon peaceful army fed ; But long his grief sleep's gentle aid denies;

For this, on senates see my bounty shed; At length a slumb'rous Briton clos'd his eyes. For this, what wonders, goddess, have I wrought !

Yet vain the healing balm of downy rest, How bully'd, begg'd, how treated, and how To chase his woe, or ease his lab'ring breast:

fought ! Now frightful forms rise hideous to his view, What wand'ring maze of error blunder'd through, More, Strafford, Laud, and all the headless crew; And how repair'd old blunders still by now! Daggers and halters boding terrour breeds, Hence the long train of never ending jars, And here a Dudley swings, there Villiers bleeds. Of warful peaces, and of peaceful wars,

Now goddess Dulness, watchful o'er his fate, Each mystic treaty of the mighty store, And ever anxious for her child of state;

Which to explain, demands ten treaties more s From couch of down slow rais'd her drowsy head, Hence scarecrow navies, floating raree-shows; Pursook her slumbers, and to Appius sped. And hence Iberia's pride, and Britain's woes.

“Awake, my son, awake,” the goddess cries, These wond'rous works, O goddess ! have I done, “ Nor longer mourn thy darling lost excise :") Works ever worthy Dulness' fav'rite son. (Here the sad sound unseal'd the statesman's “Lo ! on thy sons alone my favours show'r; eyes)

None share my bounty that disdain thy pow'r : “Why slumbers thus my son, opprest with care? Yon feathers, ribbons, titles light as air, While Dullness rules, say,shall her sons despair? Behold, thy choicest children only share: O’er all I spread my universal sway;

Each views the pageant with admiring eyes, Kings, prelates, peers, and rulers, all obey : And fondly grasps the visionary prize ; Lo! in the church my mighty pow'r I shew, Now proudly spreads his leading-string of state, In pulpit preach, and slumber in the pew:

And thinks to be a wretch, is to be great. 8 Names assumed by writers of two ministerial 9 Caleb D'Anvers, the name assumed by the papers.

But turn, O goddess ! turn thine eyes, and ( If arts like those, O Sherlock, honours claim, view

Than thee none merits more the prelate's name: The darling leaders of thy gloomy crew.

Wond'ring behold him faithful to his fee, “ Full open-mouth'd Newcastle there behold, Prove parliaments dependent to be free; Aping a Tully, swell into a scold,

In senates blunder, founder and dispute, Grievous to mortal ear.--As at the place For cver reas'ning, never to confite. Where loud tongu'd virgins vend the scaly race,

Since courts for this their fated gifts decree, Harsh peals of vocal thunder fill the skies, Say, what is repritation to a see? And stunning sounds in hideous discord rise ; “Lo! o'er yon flood Hare casts his low'ring So, when he tries the wond'rous power of noise,

And wishful sees the rev'rend turrets rise. (eyes, Each hapless ear's a victim to his voice.

While Lambeth opens to thy longing view, 10 How blest, o Cheselden! whose art can Hapless! the mitre ne'er can bin thy brow: mend

Though courts should deign the gift, how wonThose ears Nercastle was ordain'd to rend.

d'rous hard " See Harrington secure in silence sit;

By thy own doctrines still to be debarrid ! No empty words betray his want of wit:

for, if from change sich mighty evil springs, If sense in bidiog folly is express’d,

Translations sure, O Hare! arı: sinful things. O Harrington ! thy wisdom stands confess'd. “ These rulers see, and na neless numbers “To Dullness' sacred cause for ever true,

O goddess, of thy train the choicest store, [more, The darling Caledonian, goddess, view;

Who ignorance in gravity entrench,
The pride and glory of thy Scotia's plains, And grace alike the pulpit and the bench.
And faithful leader of her venal swains :

“Full plac'd and pension’d, see! Horatio stands; Loaded he moves beneath a servile weight,

Begrim'd his face, nnpurify'd his bands : The dull laborious pack horse of the state ;

To decency he scorns all nice pretence, Drudges through tracks of infamy for pay,

And reigns firm foe to cleanliness and sense. And hackneys out his conscience by the day :

How did Horatio Britain's canse advance! Yonder behold the busy peerless peer,

How shine the sloven and buffoon of France ! With aspect ineagre and important air ;

In scnates now, how scold, bow rave, how roar, His form how gothic, and his looks how sage!

Of treaties run the tedious train-trow o'er ! He seems the living Plato of the age.

How blunder out whate'er should be conceald, Blest form ! in which alone thy merits And how keep secret what should be reveald! seen,

True child of Dullness! see him, goddess, claim Since all thy wisdom centers in thy mien ! Pow'r next myself, as next in birth and fame, “ Here Egmont, Albemarle, (for senates fit)

“Silence! ye senates, while enribbon'd Younge And W- by the wise, in council sit :

Pours forth melodious nothings from his tongue ! Here looby Gn, Gr- -m over dull,

How sweet the accents play around the ear, By birth a senator, by fate a fool.

Form'd of smooth periods, and of well-tun'd “ While these, Britannia, watchful o'er thy

air! state,

Leave, gentle Younge, the senate's dry debate, Maintain thine honours, and direct thy fate,

Nor labour 'midst the labyrinths of state; How shall admiring nations round adore,

Suit thy soft genius to more tender themes, Be bold thy greatness, tremble at thy pow'r;

And sing of cooling shades, and purling streams; Nes Shebas come, invited by thy fame,

With modern sing-song murder ancient plays 12, Revere thy wisdom, and extol thy name!

Or warble in sweet ode a Brunswick's praise: “ Lo! to yon ber.ch now, goddess, turn thine

So shall thy strains in purer dullness flow, And view thy sons in solemn dullness rise : [eyes,

And laurels wither on a Cibber's brow. All doating, wrinkled, grave, and gloomy, see

Say, can the statesman wield the poet's quill, Each form confess thy dull divinity ;

And quit the senate for Parnassus' Hill? True to thy cause behold each trencher'd sage

Since there no venal vote a pension shares, Increas'd in fully as advanc'd in age :

Nor wants Apollo lords commissioners. Here Chr, learn'd in mystic prophecy,

“ There W—and P- god.less, view, Confuting Collins, makes each prophet lie:

Firm in thy cause, and to thy Appius true! Poor Woolston by thy Smallbrook there assail'd;

Lo! from their labours what reward betides ! Jails sure convinc'd him, though the prelate

One pays my army, one my navy guides. fail'd.

“To dance, dress, sing, and serenade the fair, " Bat chief Pastorius, ever grave and dull,

• Conduct a finger, or reclaim a hair,' Devoid of sense, of zeal divinely full,

O'er baleful tea with females taught to blame, Retails bis squibs of science o'er the town,

And spread a slander o'er a virgin's fame, While charges, past'rals, through each street

Form'd for these softer arts shall Hervey strain resound;

With stubborn politics his tender brain!
These teach a heav'nly Jesus to obey,
While those maintain an earthly Appius' sway.

" A noted sermon preached on the 30th of Thy gospel truth, Pastorius, crost we see,

January, on this text, “ Woe be unto them that While God and Mammon's serv'd at once by are given to change,” &c. thee.

12 This gentleman, with the assistance of Roome, “Who wou'd not trim, speak, vote, or consci

Concanen, and several others, altered the ci. ence pawn,

medy of the Jovial Crew into a modern ballad To lord it o'er a see, and swell in lawn? opera; which was scarce exhibited on the stage,

before it was thought necessary to be contracted 10 William Cheselden, an eminent surgeon.

a

For ministers laborious pamphlets write, 'Midst the inad mansions of Moorfields, I'd be In senates prattle, and with patriots fight! A straw-crown'd monarch, in mock majesty, Thy fond ambition, pretty youth, give o'er, Rather than sovereign rule Britannia's fate, Preside at balls, old fashions lost restore;

Curs'd with the follies and the farce of state. So shall each toilette in thy canse engage, Rather in Newgate walls, O! let me dwell, And Hey shine a P- re of the age.

A doleful tenant of the darkling cell, “ Behold a star emblazon C-n's coat! Than swell, in palaces, the mighty store Not that the knight las merit, bnt a vote. Of fortune's fools, and parasites of pow'r. And here, O goddess, num'rous wrongheads trace, Than crowns, ye gods! be any state my doom, Lurd by a pension, ribband, or a place. Or any dungeon, but-a drawing-room.

“ To murder science, and my cause defend, “Thrice happy patriot! whom no courts debase, Now shoals of Grub-street garretteers descend; No titles lessen, and no stars disgrace. From schools and desks the writing insects crawl, Still nod the plumage oʻer the brainless head; Unlade their dullness, and for Appius bawl. Still o'er the faithless heart the ribband spread.

“ Lo! to thy darling Osborne turn thine eyes, Such toys may serve to signalize the tool, See him o'er politics superior rise;

To gild the knare, or garnish out the fool; While Caleb feels the venom of his quill; While you, with Roman virtue arm'd, disdaia And wond'ring ministers reward his skill: The tinsel trappings and the glitt'ring chain : Unlearn'd in logic, yet he writes by rule, Fond of your freedom spurn the venal fee, And proves bimself in syllogism-a fool; and prove he's only greal—who dares be free." Now Aies obedient, war with sense to wage, Thus sung Philemon in his calm retreat, And drags th' idea thru' the painful page: Ton wise for pow'r, too virtuous to be great. Unread, unanswer'd, still he writes again, “But whence this rage at courts?” reply'd his Still spins the endless cubweb of bis brain :

grace, Charm'd with each line, reviewing what he writ, “Say, is the mighty crime, to be in place? Blesses his stars, and wonders at bis wit.

Is that the deadly sin, mark'd out by Hear'n, “Nor less, 0 Walsingham, thy worth appears! | For which no mortal e'er can be forgiv'n? Alike in merit, thoʻunlike in years :

Must all, all suffer, who in courts engage, Ill-fated youth! what stars malignant shed Down from lord steward, to the puny page 2 Their baneful influence o'er thy brainless head, Can courts and places be such sinful things, Doom'd to be ever writing, never read!

The sacred gifts and palaces of kings?" For bread to libel liberty and sense,

A place may claim our rev'rence, sir, I own And damn thy patron weekly with defence. But then the man its dignity must crown: Drench'd in the sable flood, o badst thou siill 'Tis not the truncheon, or the ermine's pride, O'er skips of parchment drove thy venal quill, Can screen the coward, or the knave can hide, At Temple ale-bouse told an idle tale,

Let Stair and *** head our arms and law, And pawn'd thy credit for a mug of ale;

The judge and gen'ral must be view'd with awe: Unktowa to Appius then had been thy name, The villain then would shudder at the bar; Unlac'd thy coat, unsacrific'd his fame; And Spain grow humble at the sound of war. Nor vast unvended reams would Peele deplore, What courts are sacred, when I tell your grace, As victims destin'd to the common-shore. Manners alone must sanctify the place?

“ As dunce to dunce in endless numbers breed, Hence only each its proper name receives; So to Concanen see a Ralph succeed;

Haywood's a brothel; White's' a den of thieves: A tiny witling of these writing days, [plays. Bring whores and thieves to court, you change Full-fam'd for tuneless rhimes, and short-liv'd

the scene, Write on, my luckless bard, still unasham'd, St. James's turns the brothel, and the den. Tho'burnt thy journals, and thy drainas dainn'd; Who would the courtly chapel holy call, "Tis bread inspires thy politics and lays,

Tho' the whole bench should consecrate the wall. Not thirst of immortality or praise.

While the trim chaplain, conscious of a fee, “These, goddess, view, the choicest of the train, Cries out, “ My king, I have no God but thee;"! While yet unnumber'd dunces still remain; Lifts to the royal seat the asking eye, Deans, critics, lawyers, bards, a motley crew, And pays to George the tribute of the sky; To dulluess faithful, as to Appius true.”

Proves sin alone from humble roofs must spring, “Enough,"the goddess cries, “enough I've seen;

Nor can one earthly failing stain a king.

Bishops and kings may consecrate, 'uis true ; While these support, secure my son shall reign; Still shalt thou blund'ring rule Britannia’s fate, without the court and church are both prophane,

Manners alone clain homage as their due.
Still Grub-street hail thee minister of state.

Whatever prelate preach, or monarch reign;
Religion's rostruin virtue's scaffold grows,

And crowns and mitres are mere raree-shows.
MANNERS:

In vain, behold yon rev'rend turrets rise,
A SATIRE, 1738.

And Sarum's sacred spire salute the skies!
Paulus vel Cossus vel Drusus moribus esto.

! Dr. Swift says, “ that the late earl of Oro Juvenal. ford, in the time of his ministry, never passed by

White's chocolate-house (the common rendezWell-of all plagues which make mankind vous of infamous sharpers and noble cullies) their sport,

[-a court. without bestowing a curse upon that famous acaa Guard me, ye Heav'ox! from that worst plague demy, as the bane of half the English nobility.”

If the lawn'd Levite's earthly vote be sold, Abroad, the guardian of his country's cause;
And God's free gift retail'd for Mammon goid; At home, a Tully to defend her laws.
No rev'rence can the proud cathedral claim, Senates with awe the patriot sounds imbibe,
But Henley's shor, and Sherlock's, are the same. And bold corruption almost drops the bribe.
Whence have St. Stephen's walls so hallow'd Thus added worth to worth, and grace to grace,
been?

He beains new glories back upon his race. Whence? From the virtue of his sons within. Ask ye, what's honour? I'll the truth impart. But should some guileful serpent, void of grace,

Know, honour, then, is honesty of heart. Glide in its bounds, and poison all the place;

To the sweet scenes of social Stow 6 repair, Sbould e'er the sacred voice be set to sale, And search the master's breast, you'll find it And o'er the heart the golden fruit prevail ;

there. The place is alter'd, sir; nor think it strange Too proud to grace the sycophant or slave, To see the senate sink into a change.

It only harbours with the wise and brave; Or court, or charch, or senate-house, or hall, Ungain'd by titles, places, wealth, or birib: Manners alone beam dignity on all.

Learn this, and learn to blush, ye soms of Earth!
Without their infuence, palaces are cells ; Blush to behold this ray of nature made
Crane-court', a magazine of cockle-shells ; The victim of a ribband, or cockade.
The solemn bench no bosom strikes with awe, Ask the proud peer, what's honour? he dise
But Westminster's a warehouse of the law.

plays
These honest truths, my lord, deny who can; A purchas'd patent, or the herald's blaze;
Since all allow that" Manners make the man." Or, if the royal smile his bopes has blest,
Hence only glories to the great belong,

Points to the glitt'ring glory on his breast :
Or peers must mingle with the peasant throng. Yet, if beneath no real virtue reign,

Though strung with ribbands, yet behold his On the gay coat the star is but a stain : Shines but a lacquey in a higher place ! [grace For I could whisper in his lordship's ear, Strip the gay liv'ry from the courtier's back, Worth only beams true radiance on the star, What marks the différence'twixt my lord andJack? Hence see the garter'd glory dart its rays, The same mean, suppie, mercenary knave,

And shine round with redoubled blaze: The tool of power, and of state the slave: Ask ye from whence this food of lustre's seen? Alike the vassal heart in each prevails,

Why E-whispers, votes, and saw Turin. And all his lordship boasts is larger vales.

Long Milo reigo'd the minion of renown; Wealth, marors, titles, may descend, 'tis true; Loud his eulogiums echo'd through the town: But er'ry heir must merit's clain renew.

Where'er he went, still crowds around him throngs Who blushes not to see a C

heir

And hail'd the patriot as he pass'd along. Turn slave to sonnd, and languish for a play'ıb? See the lost peer, unhonour'd now by all, What piping, fidling, squeaking, quav'ring, brawl Steal through the street, or skulk along the Mall; ing!

Applauding sounds no more salute his ear, What sing-song riot, and what eunuch-squawling! But the loud Pran's sunk into a sneer. C-, thy worth all Italy shall own,

Whence, you'li inquire, could spring a change so A statesman fit, where Nero * fill'd the throne. Why, the poor man ran military mad; (sad? See poor Lævinus, anxious for renown,

By this mistaken maxim still misled, Through the long gallery trace bis Imeaze down, That men of honour must be cloth'd in red. And claim each hero's visage for his own. My grandsire wore it, Milo cries'tis good; What though in each the self same featores shine, But know, the grandsire stain’d it red with blood. Unless some lineal virtue marks the line,

Pirst'ınidst the deathful dangers of the field, In vain, alas! be boasts his grandsire's name, He shone his country's guardian, and its shield; Or hopes to borrow lustre of his fame.

Taught Danube's stream with Gallic gore io flow ; Who but must smile, to see the tim'rous peer Hence bloom'd the laurel on the grandsire's brow; Point 'mong his race onc bulwark in the war? But shalt the son expect the wreath to wear, er ja sad English tell how senates hung

For the mock triumphs of an Hyde park war? On the sweet music of his father's tongue? Sooner shall Bunbill, Blenheim's glories claim, Unconscious, though his sires were wise and brave, Or Billers rival brave Eugene in fame; Their virtues only find in him a grave.

Sooner a like reward their labours crown, Not so with Stanhopes; see by him sustain'd Who storm a dunghill, and who sack a town. Facb hoary honour which his sires had gain'd. Mark our bright youths, how gallant and how To him the virtues of bis race appear

gay, The precious portion of five bundred year; Fresh plum'd and powder'd in review array. Descended down, by him to be enjoy'ı,

Unspoild each feature by the martial scar, Yet holds the talent lost, if unemploy’d.

Lo! A-- assumes the god of war: [pay, From hence behold his gen'rous ardour rise, Yet vain, while prompt to arms by plume and To swell the sacred stream with fresh supplies : He claims the soldier's name from soldier's play.

This truth, my warrior, treasure in thy breast; * The Royal Society.

A standing soldier is a standing jest. • That extraordinary instance of the folly, ex- When bloody battles dwindle to reviews, travagance, and deprarity of the English, Fa- Armies musé then descend to puppet-shews ; rinello.

Where the fac'd log may strat the soldier's part, • A Roman emperor remarkable for his passion Bedeck'd with feather, though unarnı'd with heart for music. The right bonourable the earl of Chester

o The seat of the right honouralde the lord Seld.

viscount Cobham.

There are who say, “ You lash the sins of men! A mitre may repay his heav'nly crown,
Leave, leave to Pope the poignance of the pon; And, while he decks her brow, adorn his own.
Hope not the bays shall wreath around thy head; Let laureat Cibber birth-day sonnets sing,
Fannius may write, but Flaccus will be read." Or Panny crawl, an ear-wig on the king:
Shall only one have privilege to blame?

While one is void of wit, and one of grace,
What then, are vice and folly royal game? Why should I envy either song or place?
Must all be poachers who attempt to kill? I could not fatter, the rich butt to gain;
All, but the mighty sovereign of the quill ? Nor sink a slave, to rise vice chamberlain.
Shall Pope, alone, the plenteous barrest have, Perish my verse! whene'er one venal line
And I not glean one straggling fool, or knave? Bedaubs a duke, or makes a king divine.
Praise, 'tis allow'd, is free to all mankind; First bid me swear, he's sound who has the
Say, why should honest satire be confin'd?

plague, Though, like th’immortal bard's, my feeble dart Or Horace rivals Stanhope at the Hague. Stains not its feather in the culprit heart; What, shall I turn a pander to the throne, Yet know, the smallest insect of the wing And list with B—Il's 10 to roar for half-a-crown? The horse may tease, or elephant can sting: Sooner T--I shall with Tully vie, Er'n 1, by chance, some lucky darts may show'r, OrW-1-nin senate scoru a lie; And gall some great leviathans of pow'r.

Sooner Iberia tremble for her fate I name not Walpole; you the reason guess; Froni M-h's arms, or Ab-e-n's debate. Mark yon fell harpy hov'ring o'er the press. Though fawning flatt'ry ne'er shall taint my Secure the Muse may spurt with names of kings;

lavs, But ministers, my friend, are dang'rous things. Yet know, when virtue calls, I burst to praise. Who would have Paxton ? answer what he writ; Behold yon temple" rais'd by Cobhain's hand, Or special juries, judges of his wit?

Sacred to worthies of his native land : Pope writes unhurt—but know, 'tis diffrent | Ages were ransack'd for the wise and great, quite

Till Barnard came, and made the groupe comTo beard the lion, and to crush the mite.

plete. Safe may he dash the statesman in each line; Be Barnard there-enliven'd by the voice, Those dread his satire, who dare punish mine. Each busty bow'd, and sanctify'd the choice. “ Turn, turn your satire then," you cry, “ to Pointless all satire in these iron times; praise."

Too faint are colours, and too feeble rhymes. Why, praise is satire, in these sinful days. Rise then, gay fancy, future glories bring, Say, should I make a patriot of sir Bill,

And stretch o'er happier days thy healing wing. Or swear that G-s duke has wit at will ; Rapt into thought, lo! i Britannia see From the gull'd knight could I expect a place,

Rising superior o'er the subject sea; Or hope to lie a dinner from his grace,

View her gay pendents spread their silken wings, Though a reward be graciously bestow'd Big with the fate of empires, and of kings: On the soft satire of each birth-day ode? The tow'ring barks dance lightly o'er the main,

The good and bad alike with praise are blest; And roll their thunder thro' the realms of Spain. Yet those who merit most, still want it least: Peace, violated maid, they ask no more, But conscious vice still courts the cheering ray, But waft her back triumphant to our shore; While virtue shines, nor asks the glare of day. While buxom Plenty, laughing in her train, Need I to any, Pultney's worth declare?

Glads ev'ry heart, and crowns the warrior's pain. Or tell him Carteret charms, who has an ear? On, fancy, on! still stretch the pleasing scene, Or, Pitt, can thy example be unknown,

And bring fair freedom with her golden reign; While each fond father marks it to his son ? Cheer'd by whose beams ev’n meagre want can I cannot truckle to a slave in state,

sinile, And praise a blockhead's wit, because he's great: And the poor peasant whistle 'midst his toil. Down, down, ye hungry garretteers, descend, Such days, what Briton wishes not to see? Call Walpole 8 Burleigh,call him Britain's friend; And such each Briton, Frederic ", hopes from Behold the genial ray of gold appear,

thee, And rouse, ye swarms of Grub-street and Rag-fair.

See with what zeal yon tiny insect 9 burns, And follows queens from palaces to urns :

10 A noted agent in a mob-regiment, wbo is em. Though cruel death has clos'd the royal ear, ployed to reward their venal vociferations, on cere That flatt'ring fly still buzzes round the bier : tain occasions, with half-a-crown each man. But what avails, since queens no longer live? Why, kings can read, and kings, you know, may dens at Stow, in which the lord Cobham has

11 The Temple of British Worthies in the gar. give.

lately erected the busto of sir John Barnard 7 A famous solicitor. • Sce these two characters compared in the

1: The father of George the Third. Gazetteers; but, lest none of those papers should have escaped their common fate, see the two cha. racters distinguished in the Craftsman.

9 Dr. Alured Clarke, who wrote, or rather stole, a character of the late queen from Dr. Burnet's character of queen Mary. This pamphlet, however, has been ascribed to lord Hervey.

a