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No plumed hofts her tranquil triumphs own;

Nor spoils of murder'd multitudes she brings,
To swell the state of her ditlinguish'd kings,

And deck her chosen throne.
On that fair throne to Britain dear,

With the flow'ring olive twin'd,
High she hangs the hero's spear,

And there with all the palms of peace combin'd,
Her unpolluted hands the milder trophy rear.
To kings like these her genuine theme,

The Mufe a blameless homage pays;
To George of kings like these supreme,

She wishes honour'd length of days, Nor prostitutes the tribute of her lays.

'Tis his to bid neglected genius glow,
And teach the regal bounty how to flow.

His tutelary sceptre's tway,
The vindicated arts obey,

And hail their patron king;
'Tis his, to judgment's steady line
Their flights fantastic to confine,

And yet expand their wing ;
The fleeting forms of fashion to restrain,
And bind capricious Taste in Truth's eternal chain,

Sculpture, licentious now no more,
For Greece her great example takes,
With Nature's warmth the marble wakes,
And spurns the toys of modern lore:
In native beauty simply plannid,

Corinth thy tufted thatts afcend;
The Graces guide the painter's hand,
His magic mimicry to blend.

While such the gifts his reign bestows,

Amid the proud display,
Those gems around the throne he throws

That Thed a softer ray :
While from the summits of sublime renown

He wafts his favour's universal gale,
With those sweet flowers he binds a crown

That bloom in Virtue's humble vale : With rich munificence, the nuptial tye

Unbroken he combines :
Conspicuous, in a nation's cye,

The sacred pattern fhines !
Fair Science to reform, reward, and raise,
To spread the lustre of domestic praise ;

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. No mortal lover yet, I vow,

My virgin heart has fixt,
But yet I bear the creature's talk

Without a grate betwixt.
To Heav'n my eyes are often cast

(From Heav'n their light began) Yet deign sometimes to view on earth

Its image stampt on man.
Ah me! I fear in borrow'd shape

Thou com'lt, a base deceiver;
Perhaps the devil, to tempt the faith

Of orthodox believer.
For once my hand, at masquerade,

A reverend friar prest;
His form as thine, but holier sounds

The ravish'd saint addrest.
He told me vows no more were made

To senseless stone and wood,
But adoration paid alone

To faints of Aesh and blood,
That rosy cheeks, and radiant eyes,

And treffes like the morn,
Were given to bless the present age,

And light the age unborn :
That maids, by whose obdurate pride

The hapless lover fell,
Were doom'd to never-dying toils

Of leading apes in hell.
Respect the first command, he cried,

Its sacred laws fulfil,
And well observe the precept given

To Moses-Do not kill.
Thus fpoke, ah yet I hear him speak!

My soul's sublime physician;
Then get thee hence, thy doctrincs vile

Would link me to perdition.
She ceas'd—the monk in shades of night

Confus’dly fled away,
And Superftition's clouds diffolv'd

In sense, and beauty's ray.


He stopp'd, he gaz'd, to wild conceits

His roving fancy run,
He took the aunt for prioress,

And R- e for a nun.
It happ'd that R's capuchin,

Across the couch display'd,
To deem her fifter of the veil,

The holy fire betray'd. Accosting then the youthful fair,

His raptur'd accents broke;
Amazement chill'd the waking nymph :

She trembled as he spoke.
Hail halcyon days! hail holy nun!

This wond'rous change explain :
Again Religion lights her lamp,

Reviews these walls again,
For ever bleft the power that checkt

Reformists wild disorders,
Restor'd again the church's lands,

Reviv'd our sacred orders.
To monks indeed, from Edward's days,

Belong'd this chaste foundation ;
Yet fifter nuns may answer too

The founder's good dunation.
Ah! well thy virgin vows are heard :

For man were never given
Those charms, reserv'd to nobler ends,

Thou spotless spouse of Heaven!
Yet speak what cause from morning mass

Thy ling’ring iteps delays:
Hatte to the deep-inouth'd organ's peal

To join thy vocal praise.
Awake thy abbess sisters all;

At Mary's holy shrine,
With bended knees and suppliant eyes

Approach, thou nun divine !
No nun am I, recov’ring cried

The nymph; no nun, I say, Nor nun will be, unless this fright

Should turn my locks to grey. 'Tis true, at church I seldom fail

When aunt or uncle leads ; Yet never rise by four o'clock

To tell my morning beads,

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Into chairs for philosophers, thrones too for kings,
Serve the highest of purposes, lowest of things ;
Make brooms to mount witches, make May-poles for May-days,
And boxes, and ink-stands, for wits and the ladies.-

His speech pleas'd the vulgar, it pleas'd their superiors,
By Johnson stopt Mort—who his mighty posteriors
Applied to the trunk-like a Sampson, his haunches
Shook the roots, shook the summit, shook stem, and shook branches !
All was tremor and shock !--now descended in showers
Wither'd leaves, wither'd limbs, blighted fruits, blighted flowers!
The fragments drew critics, bards, players along,
Who held by weak branches, and let go the strong;
E'en Garrick had dropt with a bough that was rotten,
But he leapt to a found, and the flip was forgotten.

Now the plant's clole recesses lay open to day,
While Johnton exclaim'd, Stalking stately away,
Here's rubbish enough, till my homeward rcturn,
For chiliren to gather, old women to burn;
Not practis'd to labour, my fides are too sore,
Till another fit season, to shake


down more.
What future materials for pruning, and cropping,
And cleaning, and gleaning, and lopping, and topping!
Yet mistake me not, rabble! this tree's a good tree,
Does honour, dame Nature, to Britain and thee;
And the fruit on the top-take its merits in brief,
Makes a noble defert, where the dinner's roast beef!


[From Mr. Pratt's Landscapes in Verse.]
OFT peers, thro' foliage deep,

The ruffet dwelling of an ancient pair,
Who thrice ten siniling years, beneath its roof,
(Blush gay and great ones of a jarring world!)
Have led a virtuous life of wedded love!
In days of nuptial diffonance and strife,
This pattern, rare and high, Cleone views,
And plucking soft the unadorned latch,
Enters the cot, where Love with Nature reigns
Far from the city artifice:--the pair
We find, with all their progeny around,
In goodly rows assembled at the board
Of buxom Health, who spreads the light repast,
Which Hospitality, (such as of yore
Our ancient Britons, lov’d, ere courtier pomp
The once wide opening door insidious clos’d)
With importunings sweet, invites to share.

Their offer'd boon accepted, we survey


A Tale.

[From the same Publication.]

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OR London's rich city, two Staffordshire swains,

Hight Johnfon, hight Garrick, forsaking their plains,
Reach'd Shakespeare's own Stratford, where fiows by his tomb
An Avon, as proudly as Tiber by Rome.
Now Garrick (sweet imp too of Nature was he)
Wouid climb and would eat from his Mulberry-tree;
Yet as Johnson, lefs frolic, was taller, was older,
He reach'd the first boughs by the help of his shoulder;
Where, thciter'd from famine, from bailiffs, and weather,
Bards, critics, and players, fat crowded together ;
Who devour'd in their reach all the fruit they could ineet,
The good, bad, indifferent, the bitter and sweet :
But Garrick climb'd high to a plentiful crop,
Then, heavens ! what vagaries he play'd on the top!
How, now on the loose twigs, and now on the tight,
He stood on his head, and then bolted upright!
All features, all fhapes, and all paifions he tried ;
He danc'd and he strutted, he laugh’d and he cried,
He presented his face, and he show'd his backside!
The noble, the vulgar, flock'd round him to sce
What feats he perform'd in the Mulberry-tree :
He repeated the pastime, then open'd to speak,
But Johnson below mutter'd li ropnes of Greek,
While Garrick proclaim'd--such a plant never grew,
So fofter'd by fun-fine, by foil, and by dew.
The palm-trees of Delos, Phoenicia's sweet grove,
The oaks of Dodona, tho' hallow'd by Jove,
With all that antiquity shows to furpals us,
Compar'd to this tree, were mere fhrubs of Parnafsus.
Not the beeches of Mantua, wliere Tityrus was laid,
Not all Vallombrosa produc'd such a fiade,
That the myrtles of France, like the birch of the schools,
Were fit only for rods to whip Genius to rules ;
That to Stratford's old Mulberry, fairest and beit,
The cedars of Eden must bow their proud creft:
Then the fruit-like the loat in the Tub's pleasant Tale,
That was fish, flesh, and custard, good claret, and ale-
It compriz'd every flavour, was ail, and was each,
Was grape, and was pine-apple, nectarine, and peach ;
Nay he swore, and his audience believ'd what he told,
That, under his touch it grew apples of gold.---
Now he paus'd !-then recounted its virtues again-
'Twas a wood for all use, bottom, top, bark, and grain:
It would saw into seats for an audience in full pits,
Into benches for judges, episcopal pulpits;

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