ON CONVERTING THE CHAPEL TO A KITCHEN, AT
THE SEAT OF THE LORD DONNERAYLE, CALLED
THE GROVE, IN HERTFORDSHIRE.

For a Jew many people the master mistook, Whose Levites were scullions, his high-priest a cook;

And thought he design'd our religion to alter, When they saw the burnt-offering smoke at the altar.

The bell's solemn sound, that was heard far and

Pray'r-books turn'd into platters; nor think it a fable,

A dresser sprung out of the communion table; Which, instead of the usual repast, bread and wine,

Is stor'd with rich soups, and good English sirloin.
No fire, but what pure devotion could raise,
'Till now,
had been known in this temple to blaze:
But, good lord! how the neighbours around did
admire,

When a chimney rose up in the room of a spire!

VERSES

INSCRIBED ON A MONUMENT

CALLED THE TOMB
OF CARE, IN THE GARDEN OF THE LATE JOHN
RICH, ESQ. AT COWLEY, IN MIDDLESEX; WHERE-
ON THREE BEAUTIFUL BOYS ARE COVERING A
FUNERAL URN WITH A VEIL OF FLOWERS

WHY, busy boys, why thus entwine
The flowery veil around this shrine ?
As if, for halcyon days like these,
The sight too solemn were to please ;
Mistaken boys, what sight's so fair
To mortals, as the Tomb of Care?
Here let the gloomy tyrant lie;
His urn an altar shall supply,
Sacred to Ease, and social Mirth;

For Care's decease-is Pleasure's birth.

THE EPITAPH

(IN LETTERS OF BRASS, INSERTED BY A FEMALE FIGURE REPRESENTING HISTORY) ON A MARBLE PYRAMID OF THE MONUMENT OF JOHN, DUKE

OF ARGYLE.

BRITON, behold, if patriot worth be dear,
A shrine that claims thy tributary tear!
Silent that tongue admiring senates heard,
Nerveless that arm opposing legions fear'd!
Nor less, O Campbell! thine the pow'r to please,
And give to grandeur all the grace of ease.
Long. from thy life, let kindred heroes trace
Arts which ennoble still the noblest race.-
Others may owe their future fame to me;
I borrow immortality from thee.
Westminster Abbey.

The muse unfetter'd trod the Grecian stage;
Free were her pinions, unrestrain'd her rage:
Bold and secure she aim'd the pointed dart,
And pour'd the precept poignant to the heart,
Till dire dominion stretch'd her lawless sway,
And Athens' sons were destin'd to obey:
Then first the stage a licens'd bondage knew,
And tyrants quash'd the scene they fear'd toview:
Fair Freedom's voice no more was heard to
charm,

Or Liberty the Attic audience warm.

Then fled the muse, indignant from the shore,
Nor deign'd to dwell where Freedom was no more:
Vain then, alas! she sought Britannia's isle,
Charm'd with her voice, and cheer'd us with a
smile.

If Gallic laws her gen'rous flight restrain,
And bind her captive with th' ignoble chain;
Bold and unlicens'd, in Eliza's days,

Free flow'd her numbers, flourish'd fair her bays;
O'er Britain's stage majestic, unconfin'd,
She tun'd her patriot lessons to mankind;
For mighty heroes ransack'd ev'ry age,
Then beam'd them glorious in her Shakespeare's.
page.

name,

Shakespeare's no more!-lost was the poet's
[fame;
Till thou, my friend, my genius, sprung to
Lur'd by his laurel's never-fading bloom,
You boldly snatch'd the trophy from his tomb,
And to Britannia give one poet more.
Taught the declining muse again to soar,

Pleas'd in thy lays we see Gustavus live;
But, O Gustavus! if thou can'st, forgive
Britons, more savage than the tyrant Dane,
Beneath whose yoke you drew the galling chain,
Degen'rate Briton's, by thy worth dismay'd,

P. WHITEHEAD. Prophane thy glories, and proscribe thy shade.

ON THE NAME,

ᏤᎬᎡᏚᎬᏚ

P. WHITEHEAD, SUBSCRIBED

ΤΟ

SONG.

THE ABOVE INSCRIPTION, BEING REMOVED THENCE As Granville's soft numbers tune Myra's just

SOME TIME AFTER THE MONUMENT WAS ERECT-
ED.

O'ER the tombs as pale Envy was hov'ring

around,

The manes of each hallow'd hero to wound;
On Argyle's, when she saw only truth was related
Of him, whom alive she most mortally hated,
And finding the record adopted by Fame,
In revenge to the poet-she gnaw'd out his
name',

VERSES,

TO MR. BROOKE, ON THE REFUSAL OF A LICENCE
TO HIS PLAY OF GUSTAVUS VASA.

First published in the Gentleman's Magazine,
1739.

WHILE Athens glory'd in her free-born race,
And science flourish'd round her fav'rite place,

'These verses appeared first in captain Thomson's Life of Whitehead, and perhaps were his own. The Epitaph was written at the request of the duchess. C.

praise,

And Chloe shines lovely in Prior's sweet lays;
So, wou'd Daphne but smile, their example I'd
[Apollo:
And, as she looks like Venus, I'd sing like
But, alas! while no smiles from the fair-one

follow,

inspire,

How languid my strains, and how tuneless my
lyre!

Go, Zephyrs, salute in soft accents her ear,
And tell how I languish, sigh, pine, and despair;
In gentlest murmurs my passion commend;
But whisper it softly, for fear you offend, [pain;
For sure, O ye winds, ye may tell her my
'Tis Strephon's to suffer, but not to complain.
Wherever I go, or whatever I do,
Still something presents the fair nymph to my
If I traverse the garden, the garden still shows
Me her neck in the lily, her lip in the rose:

[view:

But with her neither lily nor rose can compare; Far sweeter's her lip, and her bɔsom more fair. If, to vent my fond anguish, I steal to the grove, The spring there presents the fresh bloom of my love;