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For sure the sweetest lay she well may claim, 200
Whose soul breathes harmony o'er all her frame ;
While wedded Love, with ray serenely clear,
Beams from her eye, as from its proper sphere.

But thou, for whom the Muse first tun'd the

lyre, Vot'ry of Sentiment, do thou aspire, With studious toil, to win that bright reward, The Wreath of Fashion for herchosen Bard. Not rudely wove with Nature's short-liv'd store, (The simple meed her humble Poet wore) But

spruce and trim, as suits thy kindred pow'rs, With mimic buds, and artificial flow'rs.

Blest Wreath! whose flowrets dread no vulgar doom Of fading hues, or transitory bloom ; Above the fleeting pride of Flora's day, Thy vivid foliage never can decay! There, violets, pinks, and lilies of the vale, Despise the sultry beam, or chilly gale; There, fix'd as Archer's rouge, the mimic rose, With persevering blush, for ever glows; There, myrtles bloom, that shame the Cyprian fields ;

220 There, bays, immortal as Parnassus yields.

Triumphant Art! Let vanquish'd Nature mourn Her lost simplicity, o'er Shenstone's urn: With sympathetic sorrows, on his tomb Let the pale primrose shed its wild perfume 1

The cowslip droop its head; and all around
The with’ring violet strew the hallow'd ground-
For, mute the Swain, and cold the hand, that wove
Their simple sweets to wreaths of artless love-
Simplicity with Shenstone died !-


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Knight of the Polar Star! by Fortune plac'd
To shine the Cynosure of British taste;
Whose orb collects in one refulgent view
The scatter'd glories of Chinese Virtu;
And spread their lustre in so broad a blaze,
That kings themselves are dazzled, while they gaze.
O let the Muse attend thy march sublime,
And, with thy prose, caparison her rhyme;
Teach her, like thee, to gild her splendid song,
With scenes of Yven-Ming, and sayings of Li-

Like thee to scorn Dame Nature's simple fence;
Leap each Ha-ha of truth and common sense ;
And proudly rising in her bold career,
Demand attention from the gracious ear


Of him, whom we and all the world admit
Patron supreme of science, taste, and wit.
Does Envy doubt ? Witness, ye chosen train !
Who breathe the sweets of his Saturnian reiga;
Witness ye Hills, ye Johnsons, Scots, Shebbeares,
Hark to my call, for some of you have ears.
Let David Hume, from the remotest North,
In see-saw sceptic scruples hint his worth ;
David, who there supinely deigns to lye
The fattest Hog of Epicurus' sty;
Tho' drunk with Gallic wine, and Gallic praise,
David shall bless Old England's halcyon days;
The mighty Home, bemir'd in prose so long,
Again shall stalk upon the stilts of song:
While bold Mac-Ossian, wont in Ghosts to deal,
Bids candid Smollet from his coffin steal; 30
Bids Mallock quit his sweet Elysian rest,
Sunk in his St. John's philosophic breast,
And, like old Orpheus, make some strong effort
To come from Hell, and warble Truth at Court.

There was a time, “ in Esher's peaceful grove, When Kent and Nature vy'd for Pelham's love, That Pope beheld them with auspicious smile, And own'd that Beauty blest their mutual toil." Mistaken Bard ! could such a pair design Scenes fit to live in thy immortal line ?

40 Hadst thou been born in this enlighten'd day, Felt, as we feel, Taste's oriental ray,

Thy satire sure had given them both a stab,
Callid Kent a Driveller, and the Nymph a Drab.
For what is Nature ? Ring her changes round,
Her three flat notes are water, plants, and ground;
Prolong the peal, yet spite of all your clatter,
The tedious chime is still ground, plants, and water,
So, when some John his dull invention racks,
To rival Boodle's dinners, or Almack's,
Three uncouth legs of mutton shock oựr eyes,
Three roasted geesę, three butter'd apple-pies,

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Come then, prolific Art, and with thee bring The charms thạt rise from thy exhaustless spring i To Richmond come, for see, untutor'd Brown Destroys those virtues which were once thy pwH. Lo, from his melon ground the peasant slave Has rudely rush'd, and levellid Merlin's Cave; Knock'd down the waxen wizard, seiz'd his wand, Transform’d to lawn what late was Fairy land; bu And marr'd, with impious hand, each sweet design Of Stephen Duck, and good Queen Caroline. Haste, bid yon livelong Terrace reąscend, Replace each vista, straighten every bend; Shut out the Thames; shall that ignoble thing Approach the presence of great Ocean's King? No! let Barbaric glories feast his eyes, August Pagodas round his palace rise, And finish'd Richmond open to his view, " A work to wonder at, perhaps a" Kewayo

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