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The

MULBERRY-TREE.

[From the fame Publication.]

A Tale.

OR London's rich city, two Staffordshire fwains,
Hight Johnfon, hight Garrick, forfaking their plains,
Reach'd Shakespeare's own Stratford, where flows by his tomb
An Avon, as proudly as Tiber by Rome.

Now Garrick (fweet imp too of Nature was he)
Would climb and would eat from his Mulberry-tree;
Yet as Johnfon, lefs frolic, was taller, was older,
He reach'd the first boughs by the help of his fhoulder;
Where, fhelter'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 meet,
The good, bad, indifferent, the bitter and fweet:
But Garrick climb'd high to a plentiful crop,
Then, heavens! what vagaries he play'd on the top!
How, now on the loofe twigs, and now on the tight,
He ftood on his head, and then bolted upright!
All features, all fhapes, and all paffions he tried;
He danc'd and he ftrutted, he laugh'd and he cried,
He prefented his face, and he fhow'd his backfide!
The noble, the vulgar, flock'd round him to fee
What feats he perform'd in the Mulberry-tree:
He repeated the paftime, then open'd to speak,
But Johnfon below mutter'd trophes of Greek,
While Garrick proclaim'd-fuch a plant never grew,
So fofter'd by fun-fhine, by foil, and by dew.
The palm-trees of Delos, Phoenicia's fweet grove,
The oaks of Dodona, tho' hallow'd by Jove,
With all that antiquity fhows to furpafs us,

Compar'd to this tree, were mere fhrubs of Parnaffus.
Not the beeches of Mantua, where Tityrus was laid,
Not all Vallombrofa produc'd fuch a fade,

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 best,

The cedars of Eden must bow their proud creft:
Then the fruit-like the loaf in the Tub's pleasant Tale,
That was fifh, 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 fwore, 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 faw into feats for an audience in full pits,
Into benches for judges, episcopal pulpits;

Into chairs for philofophers, 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 fpeech pleas'd the vulgar, it pleas'd their fuperiors,
By Johnfon flopt fhort-who his mighty pofteriors
Applied to the trunk-like a Sampfon, his haunches

Shook the roots, fhook the fummit, fhook ftem, and shook branches!
All was tremor and fhock !-now defcended 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 ftrong
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 clofe receffes lay open to day,
While Johnfon exclaim'd, ftalking stately away,
Here's rubbish enough, till my homeward return,
For children to gather, old women to burn;
Not practis'd to labour, my fides are too fore,
down more.
Till another fit feafon, to fhake you
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!

The COTTAGE and COTTAGERS.

[From Mr. PRATT's Landscapes in Verfe.]

OFT peers, thro' foliage deep,

The ruffet dwelling of an ancient pair,
Who thrice ten finiling 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 ftrife,

This pattern, rare and high, Cleone views,
And plucking foft 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 affembled at the board
Of buxom Health, who spreads the light repast,
Which Hofpitality, (fuch as of yore

Our ancient Britons, lov'd, ere courtier pomp
The once wide opening door infidious clos'd)
With importunings fweet, invites to share.
Their offer'd boon accepted, we furvey

Thus hath God fworn, th' Almighty Lord:
Like the strong mountains fhall my purpose stand,
To crush th' Affyrian in my land;

Through all their hofts fhall rage the vengeful fword;
Dreadful on Sion's facred brow

The God of Armies fhall they know.
Daughter of Sion, let thy joy arife,

From thy griev'd neck his yoke fhall fall;
Virgin, exult, thy haughty foe defpife,

His chain no more thy arms fhall gall.
Thus hath God fworn, nor fworn in vain :
Th' Almighty's hand is stretch'd, who fall its force 1 Train?

ADDRESS to FRIENDSHIP.

[From Poems on several Occafions; by ANN YEARSLEY, a Milkwoman of Bristol.]

RIENDSHIP! thou nobleft ardor of the foul!
Immortal effence! languor's beft fupport!

Chief dignifying proof of glorious man!
Firm cement of the world! endearing tie,
Which binds the willing foul, and brings along
Her chafteft, ftrongeft, and fublimeft powers!

All elfe the dregs of fpirit. Love's foft flame,
Bewildering, leads th' infatuated foul:
Levels, depreffes, wraps in endless mifts,
Contracts, diffolves, enervates, and enflaves,
Relaxes, finks, diftracts, while Fancy fills
Th' inflaming draught, and aids the calenture.
Intoxicating charm! yet well refin'd

By Virtue's brightening flame, pure it ascends,
As incenfe in its grateful circles mounts,
Till, mixt and loft, with thee it boast thy name.
Thou unfound bleffing! woo'd with eager hope,
As clowns the nightly vapour fwift pursue,
And fain wou'd grafp to cheer their lonely way;
Vain the wide ftretch, and vain the fhorten'd breath,
For, ah! the bright delufion onward flies,
While the fad fwain deceiv'd, now cautious treads
The common beaten track, nor quits it more.
Not unexifting art thou, but fo rare,

That delving fouls ne'er find thee; 'tis to thee,
When found, if ever found, fweet fugitive,
The noble mind opes all her richest stores;
Thy firm, ftrong hold fuits the courageous breaft,
Where ftubborn virtues dwell in fecret league,
And each confpires to fortify the reit.

Etherial fpirits alone may hope to prove

On earth, in ocean, and in air,

Love is the fov'reign bliss, the universal prayer.

'Tis love fustains the starry choir,

Love is the elemental fire;

Ah! naught in thy mortality,

Nor ev'n in our eternity,

Like love can charm, like love can bless,

The fun and foul of happiness;

Love is to ev'ry Mufe allied,

Touches each tuneful chord, and spreads the chorus wide.

'Tis ours to waft the lover's fighs,

Swift to the nymph for whom they rife;

And gently as we strike the string,
Convey the nymph's on rofy wing.
Abfence, tho' it wounds, endears,
Soft its forrows, sweet its tears;

Pains that please, and joys that weep,

Trickle like healing balm, and o'er the bofom creep.

Love and Sorrow, twins, were born

On a fhining show'ry morn,

'Twas in prime of April weather, When it fhone and rain'd together; He who never Sorrow knew,

Never felt affections true;

Never felt true paffion's power,

Love's fun and dew combine, to nurse the tender flow'r.

ODE to

PETER PINDA R.

[From PETER PINDAR's Lyric Odes, for the Year 1785.]

A

Thoufand frogs, upon a fummer's day,
Were fporting 'midft the funny ray,

In a large pool, reflecting every face;-
They fhow'd their gold-lac'd cloaths with pride,
In harmless fallies, frequent vied,

And gambol'd through the water with a grace.

It happen'd that a band of boys,
Obfervant of their harmless joys,

Thoughtlefs, refolv'd to fpoil their happy fport;
One frenzy feiz'd both great and small,
On the poor frogs the rogues began to fall,
Meaning to fplafh them, not to do them hurt.

As Milton quaintly fings, the tones 'gan pour,'
Indeed, an Otaheite show'r!

The confequence was dreadful, let me tell ye;

One's

One's eye was beat out of his head,-
This limp'd away, that lay for dead,-
Here mourn'd a broken back, and there a belly.
Amongst the fmitten, it was found
Their beauteous queen receiv'd a wound
The blow gave ev'ry heart a figh,
And drew a tear from ev'ry eye :—

;

At length king Croak got up, and thus begun-
My lads, you think this very pretty fun!

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"Your pebbles round us fly as thick as hops,-
Have warmly complimented all our chops;
To you, I guess that these are pleasant stones!
And fo they might be to us frogs,

You damn'd, young, good-for-nothing dogs!
But that they are fo hard,-they break our bones.'
Peter! thou mark'st the meaning of this fable-
So put thy Pegafus into the ftable;
Nor wanton, thus with cruel pride,
Mad, Jehu-like, o'er harmless people ride.

To drop the metaphor-the Fair *,
Whofe works thy Mufe forbore to spare,
Is bleft with talents Envy muft approve ;

And didst thou know her heart, thou'dst fay
"Perdition catch the idle lay!"

Then strike thy lyre to Innocence and Love.
"Poh! poh! cry'd Satire, with a smile,
Where is the glorious freedom of our isle,
If not permitted to call names?"
Methought the argument had weight-
Was logical, conclufive, neat ;-
So once more forth, volcanic Peter flames!

To CYNTHI A.

[From the fame Publication.]

Thou! whofe love-infpiring air
Delights, yet gives a thoufand woes;

My day declines in dark defpair,
And night hath loft her sweet repofe;

Yet who, alas! like me was bleft,

To others, ere thy charms were known;

When Fancy told my raptur'd breaft,

That Cynthia fmil'd on me alone.

* Mrs. Colway.

17

Nymph

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