His front with ten-fold plates of brass
Secur'd, Shame never yet could pafs,
Nor on the furface of his fkin

Blush for that guilt which dwelt within.
How often in contempt of laws,
To found the bottom of a caufe,
To fearch out ev'ry rotten part,
And worm into its very heart,
Hath he ta'en briefs on falfe pretence,
And undertaken the defence

Of trusting fools, whom in the end
He meant to ruin, not defend?
How often, e'en in open court,
Hath the wretch made his fhame his fport,
And laugh'd off, with a vill..in's ease,
Throwing up briefs, and keeping fees?
Such things, as, tho' to roguery bred,
Had ftruck a little villain dead.

Caufes, whatever their import,
He undertakes, to ferve a court;
For he by heart his rule had got,
Pow'r can affect, what law cannot.

Fools he forgives, but rogues he fears;
If Genius, yok'd with Worth, appears,
His weak foul fickens at the fight,

And strives to plunge them down in night.
So loud he talks, fo very loud,
He is an Angel with the crowd,
Whilst he makes juftice hang her head,
And Judges turn from pale to red.

Bid all that nature, on a plan
Moft intimate, makes dear to man,
All that with grand and gen'ral ties
Binds good and bad, the fool and wife,
Knock at his heart; they knock in vain,
No entrance there fuch fuitors gain.
Bid kneeling Kings forfake the throne;
Bid at his feet his Country groan;
Bid Liberty stretch out her hands;
Religion plead her stronger bands;
Bid parents, children, wife and friends;
If they come, 'twhart his private ends,
Unmov'd he hears the gen'ral call;
And bravely tramples on them all.
Who will for him may cant and whine,
And let weak Confcience with her line
Chalk out their ways; fuch starving rules
Are only fit for coward fools,
Fellows who credit what Priests tell,
And tremble at the thoughts of Hell;
His fpirit dares contend with grace,
And meets damnation face to face.

Such was our Lawyer; by his fide,
In all bad qualities allied,
In all bad counfels, fat a third,
By birth a Lord. O facred word!
O word most facred, whence men get
A privilege to run in debt;
Whence they at large exemption claim
From Satire, and her fervant Shame;
Whence they, depriv'd of all her force,
Forbid bold Truth to hold her course.

Confult his perfon, drefs, and air,

He feems, which strangers well might fwear,
The Mafter, or by courtely,
The Captain of a Colliery.
Look at his vifage, and agree

Half-hang'd be feems, juft from the tree

Efcap'd; a rope may fometimes break,
Or men be cut down by mistake.

He hath not virtue, (in the schoo!
Of Vice bred up) to live by rule,
Nor hath he fenfe (which none can doubt
Who know the man) to live without.
His life is a continued scene

Of all that's infamous and mean;
He knows not change, unless grown nice
And delicate, from vice to vice;
Nature defign'd him, in a rage,
To be the Wharton of his age,
But, having giv'n all the fin,
Forgot to put the Virtues in.
To run a horfe, to make a match,
To revel deep, to roar a catch,
To knock a tott'ring watchman down,
To fweat a woman of the town,
By fits to keep the peace, or break it,
In turn to give a pox, or take it,
He is, in faith, most excellent,
And in the word's most full intent,
A true Choice Spirit we admit ;
With Wits a Fool, with Fools a Wit:
Hear him but talk, and you would swear
Obfcenity herself was there;

And that Prophaneness had made choice,
By way of trump, to ufe his voice;
That, in all mean and low things great,
He had been bred at Billingsgate;
And that, afcending to the earth
Before the feason of his birth,
Blafphemy, making way and room,
Had mark'd him in his mother's womb;
Too honeft (for the worst of men
In forms are honest now and then)
Not to have, in the ufual way,
His bills fent in; too great, to pay ;
Too proud to speak to, if he meets,
The honeft tradefman whom he cheats;
Too infamous to have a friend,

Too bad for bad men to commend,

Or good to name; beneath whose weight
Earth groans; who hath been spar'd by Fate
Only to fhew, on Mercy's plan,
How far and long God bears with man.

Such were the Three, who, mocking sleep,
At midnight fat, in counfel deep,
Plotting destruction 'gainst a head,
Whofe wifdom could not be misled;
Plotting destruction 'gainst a heart,
Which ne'er from honour would depart.

"Is he not rank'd amongst our foes? "Hath not his fpirit dar'd oppofe "Our dearest measures, made our name "Stand forward on the roll of shame? "Hath he not won the vulgar tribes, "By fcorning menaces and bribes, "And proving, that his darling caufe "Is of their Liberties and Laws "To ftand the champion? In a word, "Nor need one argument be heard "Beyond this, to awake our zeal, "To quicken our refolves, and steel "Our steady fouls to bloody bent, " (Sure ruin to each dear intent, "Each flatt'ring hope) he, without fear, "Hath dar'd to make the Truth appear,"

They faid, and, by refentment taught, Each on revenge employ'd his thought; Each, bent on mifchief, rack'd his brain To her full ftretch, but rack'd in vain; Scheme after scheme they brought to view; All were examin'd, none would do. When Fraud, with pleasure in her face. Forth iffu'd from her hiding-place,/ And at the table where they meet, First having bleft them, took her feat.

No trifling caufe, my darling boys, "Your prefent thoughts and cares employs ; "No common fnare, no random blow "Can work the bane of fuch a fee: " By Nature cautious as he's brave, "To Hancur only he's a flave; "In that weak part without defence, "We must to Honour make pretence: "That lure fhall to his ruin draw "The wretch, who ftands fecure in law. "Nor think that I have idly plann'd "This full-ripe fcheme; behold at hand, "With three months training on his head, "An inftrument, whom I have bred, "Born of thefe bowels, far from fight "Of Virtue's falfe, but glaring light,

My youngeft-born, my dearest joy, "Moft like myself, my darling boy. "He, never touch'd with vile remorse, "Refolv'd and crafty in his course,

"Shall work our ends, complete our schemes, "Moft mine, when moft he Honour's feems;

"Nor can be found, at home, abroad,

K

So firm and full a flave of Fraud."

She faid, and from each envious fon A difcontented murmur run Around the table; all in place Thought his full praife their own difgrace, Wond'ring what ftranger the had got, Who had one vice that they had not. When ftrait the portals open flew, And, clad in armour, to their view M, The Duellift, came forth; All knew, and all confeft his worth, All justified, with fmiles array'd, The happy choice their dam had made.

There lies an Iland, neither great nor small,
Which, for diftinction-fake, I GOTHAM call.
The man who finds an unknown country out,
By giving it a name, acquires, no doubt,
A Gospel title, tho' the people there
The pious Christian thinks not worth his care.
Bar this pretence, and into air is hurl'd
The claim of Europe to the Western World.

Caft by a tempeft on the favage coast,
Some roving buccaneer fet up a post ;
A beam in proper form tranfverfely laid,
Of his Redeemer's Crofs the figure made,
Of that Redeemer, with whofe laws his life,
From first to laft, had been one scene of ftrife;
His royal mafter's name thereon engrav'd,
Without more procefs, the whole race enflav'd,
Cut off that Charter they from Nature drew,
And made them flaves to men they never knew.
Search ancient hiftories, confult records,
Under this title the inoft Christian Lords
Hold (thanks to confcience) more than half the
ball;

O'erthrow this title, they have none at all.
For never yet might any Monarch dare,
Who liv'd to Truth, and breath'd a Chriftian air,
Pretend that Chrift (who came, we all agree,
To blefs his people, and to fet them free)
To make a convert ever one law gave,
By which converters made him first a slave.

Spite of the gloffes of a canting Prieft,
Who talks of charity, but means a feast ;
Who recommends it (whilst he seems to feel
The holy glowings of a real zeal)

To all his hearers, as a deed of worth,

To give them heaven, whom they have robb'd of earth,

Never fhall one, one truly honeft man,
Who, bleft with Liberty, reveres her plan,
Allow one moment, that a favage fire
Could from his wretched race, for childish hire,
By a wild grant, their All, their Freedom país,
And fell his Country for a bit of glass.

Or grant this barb'rous right, let Spain and
France,

In flav'ry bred, as purchasers advance,
Let them, whilft Confcience is at diftance hurl'd,
With fome gay bawble by a golden world;
An Englishman, in charter'd Freedom born,.
Shall fpurn the flavish merchandize, shall scorn
To take from others, thro' bafe private views,
What he himself would rather die, than lofe.
Happy the favage of those carly times
Ere Europe's fons were known, and Europe's
crimes!

Gold, curfed gold! flept in the womb of earth,
Unfelt its mifchiefs, as unknown its worth;
In full content he found the truest wealth;
In toil he found diverfion, food, and health;
Stranger to eafe and luxury of Courts,
His fports were labours, and his labours fports;
His youth was hardy, and his old age green;
Life's morn was vig'rous, and her eve ferene ;
No rules he held, but what were made for use;
No arts he learn'd, nor ills which arts produce;
Falfe lights he follow'd, but believ'd them true;
He knew not much, but liv'd to what he knew,
Happy, thrice happy now the favage race,
Since Europe took their gold, and gave them grace!

Paftors the fends to help them in their need,
Some who can't write, with others who can't read,
And on fure grounds the Gofpel pile to rear,
Sends miffionary felons ev'ry year;

Our vices, with more zeal than holy pray`rs,
She teaches them, and in return takes theirs ;
Her rank oppreffions give them cause to rife,
Her want of prudence means, and arms fupplies,
Whilst her brave rage, not fatisfied with life,
Rifing in blood, adopts the fealping-knife;
Knowledge the gives, enough to make them know
How abject is their itate, how deep their woe;
The worth of Freedom strongly the explains,
Whilft the bows down, and loads their necks with
chains;

Faith too fhe plants, for her own ends imprest,
To make them bear the worst, and hope the best;
And whilst the teaches on vile Int'reft's plan,
As laws of God, the wild decrees of man,
Like Pharifees, of whom the Scriptures tell,
She makes them ten times more the fons of Hell.
But whither do these grave reflections tend?
Are they defign'd for any, or no end?
Briefly but this-To prove, that by no act
Which nature made, that by no equal pact
"Twixt man and man, which might, if
heard,

Stand good, that by no benefits conferr'd
Or purchafe made, Europe in chains can hold
The fons of India, and her mines of gold.
Chance led her there in an accurfed hour,
She faw, and made the country her's by pow'r;
Nor drawn by virtue's love from love of fame,
Shall my rafh folly controvert the claim,
Or wish in thought that title overthrown,
Which coincides with, and involves my own.
Europe difcover'd India firft; I found
My right to Gotham on the felf-fame ground:
I first discover'd it, nor fhall that plea
To her be granted, and denied to me.
I plead poffeffion, and 'till one more bold
Shall drive me out, will that poffeffion hold:
With Europe's rights my kindred rights I twine;
Her's be the Western world, be Gotham mine.

Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladnefs, and on ev'ry tongue,
In ftrains of gratitude, be praises hung,
The praises of so great and good a King;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
As on a day, a high and holy day,
Let ev'ry inftrument of mufic play,
Ancient and modern; thofe which drew their birth
(Punilio's laid afide) from Pagan earth,
As well as thofe by Chriftian made and Jerv;
Thofe known to many, and thofe known to few ;
Those which in whim and frolic lightly float,
And those which fwell the flow and folemn note;
Those which (whilst Reason stands in wonder by)
Make fome complexions laugh and others cry;
Those which by fome ftrange faculty of found,
Can build walls up, and raze them to the ground;
Those which can tear up forefts by the roots,

And make brutes dance like men, and men like

brutes;

Those which whilst Ridicule leads up the dance, Make clowns of Monmouth ape the fops of France;

Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladnefs, and on every tongue,
In ftrains of gratitude, be praifes hung,
The praifes of fo great and good a King;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
Infancy, ftraining backward from the breaft,
Techy and wayward, what he loveth best
Refufing in his fits, whilst all the while
The mother eyes the wrangler with a smile,
And the fond father fits on t' other fide,
Laughs at his moods, and views his fpleen with
pride,

Shall murmur forth my name, whilst at his hand
Nurfe ftands interpreter, thro' Gotham's land.

Childhood, who like an April morn appears, Sunshine and rain, hopes clouded o'er with fears, Pleas'd and difpleas'd by ftarts, in paffion warm, In reafon weak; who, wrought into a storm, Like to the fretful bullies of the deep, Soon fpends his rage, and cries himself afleep: Who, with a fev'rifh appetite opprefs'd, For trifles fighs, but hates them when poffefs'd; His trembling lafh fufpended in the air, Half-bent, and ftroking back his long lank hair, Shall to his mates look up with eager glee, And let his top go down to prate of me.

Youth, who, fierce, fickle, infolent, and vain Impatient urges on to Manhood's reign, Impatient urges on, yet with a caft Of dear regard looks back on Childhood paft, In the mid-chafe, when the hot blood runs high, And the quick fpirits mount into his eye, When pleasure, which he deems his greatest wealth, Beats in his heart, and paints his cheeks health,

* A burlesque Ode on St. Cecilia's day, by Bonn Thornton, performed at Ranelagh.

When the chaf'd fteed tugs proudly at the rein,
And ere he starts, hath run o'er half the plain,
When, wing'd with fear, the ftag flies full in view,
And in full cry the eager hounds purfue,
Shall fhout my praife to hills which shout again,
And e'en the huntman stop to cry Amen.

Manhood, of form erect, who would not bow
Tho' worlds fhould crack around him; on his brow
Wisdom ferene, to paffion giving law,
Befpeaking love, and yet commanding awe;
Dignity into grace by mildness wrought;
Courage attemper'd and refin'd by thought;
Virtue fupreme enthron'd; within his breaft
The image of his Maker deep impress'd;
Lord of this earth, which trembles at his nod,
With reafon blef'd, and only lefs than God;
Manhood, tho' weeping Beauty kneels for aid,
The Honour calls in Danger's form array'd,
Tho' cloth'd with fackcloth, Justice in the gates,
By wicked Elders chain'd, redemption waits,
Manhood fhall fteal an hour, a little hour,
(ist not a little one?) to hail my pow'r.

Old Age, a fecond child, by Nature curs'd
With more and greater evils than the first,
Weak, fickly, full of pains; in ev'ry breath
Railing at life, and yet afraid of death;
Putting things off, with fage and folemn air,
From day to day, without one day to fpare;
Without enjoyment, covetous of pelf,
Trefome to friends, and tirefome to himself;
Ha faculties impair'd, his temper four'd,
His memory of recent things devour'd
L'en with the acting on his shatter'd brain,
Tho' the falfe regifters of youth remain ;
From morn to evening babbling forth vain praise
Of those rare men who liv'd in thofe rare days,
When he, the hero of his tale, was young;
Dull repetitions falt'ring on his tongue,
Praifing grey hairs, fure mark of Wifdom's sway,
E'en whilft he curfes time which made him gray;
Scoffing at youth, e'en whilst he would afford
All but his gold to have his youth reftor'd;
Shall for a moment, from himself set free,
Lean on his crutch, and pipe forth praise to me.
Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladnefs, and on ev'ry tongue,
In ftrains of gratitude, be praifes hung,
The praifes of fo great and good a King ;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
Things without life fhall in this chorus join,
And, dumb to others' praife, be load in mine.
The Show-drop, who, in habit white and plain,
Comes on, the herald of fair Flora's train;
The coxcomb Crocus, flow'r of fimple note,
Who by her fide struts in a herald's coat;
The Tulip, idly glaring to the view,

Who, tho' no clown, his birth from Holland drew,
Who, once full drefs'd, fears from his place to stir,
The fop of flow'rs, the More of a parterre ;
The Wood-bine, who her Elm in marriage meets,
And brings her dowry in furrounding sweets ;
The Lily, filver miftrefs of the vale;
The Role of Sharon which perfumes the gale;
The Jeffumine, with which the Queen of Flow'rs
To charm her God adorns his fav'rite bow'rs,
Which brides, by the plain hand of Neatnefs dreft,
Unenvied rival, wear upon their breaft,

Sweet as the incenfe of the morn, and chifte
As the pure zone which circles Dian's waift;
All flow'rs, of various names, and various forms,
Which the fun into ftrength and beauty warms,
From the dwarf Daily, which, like infants, clings,
And fears to leave the earth from whence it springs,
To the proud giant of the garden race,
Who, madly rufhing to the fun's embrace,
O'ertops her fellows with afpiring dim,
Demands his wedded love, and bears his name;
All, one and all, shall in this chorus join,
And, dumb to others' praife, be loud in mine.
Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladnefs, and on ev'ry tongue,
In ftrains of gratitude, be praifes hung,
The praifes of fo great and good a King;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
Forming a gloom, thro' which to spleen-ftruck
minds

Religion, horror-ftamp'd, a paffage finds,
The Ivy crawling o'er the hallow'd cell,
Where fome old hermit's wont his beads to tell
By day, by night ;. the Myrtle ever-green,
Beneath whofe fhade Love holds his rites unfeen;
The Willow weeping o'er the fatal wave
Where many a lover finds a wat'ry grave;
The Cypress facred held, when lovers mourn
Their true love fnatch'd away; the Laurel worn
By Poets in old time, but deftin'd now
In grief to wither on a Whitehead's brow;
The Fig, which, large as what in India grows,
Itfelf a grove, gave our first parents cloaths,
The Vine, which, like a blufhing new-made bride,
Cluft'ring, empurples all the mountain's fide;
The Yew, which, in the place of fculptur'd ftone,
Marks out the reiting-place of men unknown;
The hedge-row Elm, the Pine of mountain race,
The Fir, the Scotch Fir, never out of place;
The Cedar, whofe top meets the highest cloud,
Whilt his old father Lebanon grows proud
Of fuch a child, and his vaft body laid
Out many a mile, enjoys the filial fhade;
The Oak, when living, monarch of the wood;
The English Oak, which dead, commands the flood;
All, one and all, thall in this chorus join,
And, dumb to others' praife, be loud in mine.

Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladness, and on ev'ry tongue,
In ftrains of gratitude be praises hung,
The praifes of fo great and good a King ;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
The Show's which make the young hills, like
young lambs,

Bound and rebound; the old hills, like old rams,
Unwieldy, jump for joy; the Streams which glide,
Whilft Plenty marches fmiling by their fide,
And from their bofom rifing Commerce springs;
The Winds which rife with healing on their wings,
Before whofe cleansing breath contagion flies
The Sun, who, travelling in eastern skies,
Fresh, full of ftrength, juft risen from his bed,
Tho' in Jove's paftures they were born and bred,
With voice and whip, can fcarce make his steeds ftir,
Step by step, up the perpendicular;
Who, at the hour of eve, panting for reft,
Rolls on amain, and gallops down the west,

As faft as Jehu, oil'd for Ahab's fin,
Drove for a crown, or poft-boys for an inn ;
The Moon, who holds o'er night her filver reign,
Regent of tides, and miftrefs of the brain,
Who to her fons, thofe fons who own her pow'r,
And do her homage at the midnight hour,
Gives madness as a bleffing, but difpenfes
Wisdom to fools, and damns them with their senses;
The Stars, who by I know not what strange right,
Prefide o'er mortals in their own defpite,
Who without reafon govern thofe, who most
(How truly, judge from thence !) of reafon boast,
And, by fome mighty magic yet unknown,
Our actions guide, yet cannot guide their own;
All, one and all, fall in this chorus join,
And, dumb to others' praife, be loud in mine.
Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladnefs, and on ev'ry tongue,
In ftrains of gratitude, be praises hung,
The praifes of fo great and good a King;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
The Moment, Minute, Hour, Day, Week, Month,
Year,

Morning and Eve, as they in turn appear;
Moments and Minutes which, without a crime,
Can't be omitted in accounts of time,
Or, if omitted, (proof we might afford)
Worthy by Parliaments to be reftor'd ;
The Hours, which dreft by turns in black and white,
Ordain'd as handmaids, wait on Day and Night;
The Day, thofe hours I mean when light prefides,
And Business in a cart with Prudence rides ;
The Night, thofe hours I mean with darkness hung,
When Senfe fpeaks free, and Folly holds her tongue;
The Morn, when Nature routing from her ftrife
With death-like Sleep, awakes to fecond life;
The Eve, when, as unequal to the task,
She mercy from her foe defcends to afk;
The Week, in which fix days are kindly given
To think of earth, and one to think of heaven;
The Months, twelve fifters all of different hue,
Tho' there appears in all a likeness too;
Not fuch a likenefs, as, thro' Hayman's works,
Dull mannerist, in Chriftians, Jews; and Turks,
Cloys with a famenefs in each female face,
But a ftrange fomething, born of Art and Grace,
Which speaks them all, to vary and adorn,
At different times of the fame parents born;
All, one and all, fhall in this chorus join,
And, dumb to others' praife, be loud in mine.

Rejoice, ye happy Cothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladnefs, and on every tongue,
In trains of gratitude, be praises hung,
The praifes of fo great and good a King;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
Frore January, leader of the Year,
Minc'd-pics in van, and calves-heads in the rear;
Dull February, in whofe leaden reign
My mother bore a bard without a brain;
March various, fierce, and wild, with wind-crack'd
cheeks,

By wilder Welchmen led, and crown'd with leeks!
April with fools, and May with bastards bleft;
June with white rofes on her rebel breast;
July, to whom, the Dog-star in her train,
Sint James gives oyfters, and Saint Swithin rain;

Auguft, who, banish'd from her Smithfield stand,
To Chelsea flies, with Dogget in her hand *;
September, when by custom (right divine)
Geefe are ordain'd to bleed at Michael's fhrine,
Whilst the Priest, not fo full of grace as wit,
Falls to, unblefs'd, nor gives the Saint a bit;
October, who the cause of Freedom join'd,
And gave a fecond George to blefs mankind;
November, who at once to grace our earth,
Saint Andrew boafts, and our Augufta's + birth;
December, laft of months, but beft, who gave
A Chrift to man, a Saviour to the flave,
Whilft falfely grateful, Man, at the full feast,
To do God honour, makes himself a beaft;
All, one and all, fhall in this chorus join,
And, dumb to others' praife, be loud in mine.
Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladness, and on ev'ry tongue,
In strains of gratitude, be praises hung,
The praises of fo great and good a King;
Shall Churchill reign, and shall not Gotham fing?
The Scafons as they roll; Spring, by her fide
Letch'ry and Lent, Lay-Folly, and Church-Pride,
By a rank monk to copulation led,

A tub of fainted falt-fish on her head;
Summer, in light, tranfparent gawze array'd,
Like Maids of Honour at a masquerade,
In bawdry gawze, for which our daughters leave
The Fig, more modeft, firft brought up by Eve,
Panting for breath, enflamed with luftful fires,
Yet wanting ftrength to perfect her defires,
Leaning on Sloth, who, fainting with the heat,
Stops at each step, and flumbers on his feet;
Autumn, when Nature, who with forrow feels
Her dread foe Winter treading on her heels,
Makes up in value what she wants in length,
Exerts her pow'rs, and puts forth all her strength,
Bids corn and fruits in full perfection rife,
Corn fairly tax'd, and fruits without Excife:
Winter, benumb'd with cold, no longer known
By robes of fur, fince furs became our own;
A hag, who loathing all, by all is loath'd,
With weekly, daily, hourly libels cloath'd,
Vile Faction at her heels, who mighty grown,
Would rule the Ruler, and forecloje the throne,
Would turn all State-affairs into a trade,
Make laws one day, the next to be unmade,
Beggar at home a people fear'd abroad
And, force defeated, make them slaves by fraud;
All, one and all, fhall in this chorus join,
And, dumb to others' praife, be loud in mine.

Rejoice, ye happy Gothamites, rejoice;
Lift up your voice on high, a mighty voice,
The voice of gladness, and on ev'ry tongue,
In ftrains of gratitude, be praifes hung,
The praises of fo great and good a King;
Shall Churchill reign, and fhall not Gotham fing?
The Year, grand circle, in whofe ample round
The feafons regular and fix'd are bound,
(Who, in his courfe repeated o'er and o'er,
Sees the fame things which he had feen before;
The fame ftars keep their watch, and the fame fun
Runs in the track where he from first hath run;

Dogget the celebrated Comedian's Badge, rowed for on the first of August.

+ Princess Dowager of Wales.