And deems it fhame if he to peace inclines: And still the more to pleasure him she's bent, Ah, me! how much I fear left pride it be! (All coward arts) is valour's gen'rous heat; Yet nurs'd with skill, what dazzling fruits appear! A little bench of heedlefs bishops here, And there a chancellour in embryo, Or bard fublime, if bard may e'er be fo; As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er fhall die! Tho' now he crawl along the ground fo low; Nor weeting how the Muse should foar on high, Wifheth, poor starv'ling elf! his paper kite may fly. And this perhaps, who cens'ring the defign, Low lays the house which that of cards doth build, Shall Dennis be! if rigid Fates incline; And many an epick to his rage fhall yield, And many a poet quit the Aönian field : And, four'd by age, profound he shall appear, As he who now, with 'fdainful fury thrill'd, Surveys mine work, and levels many a fneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, What ftuff is here? But But now Dan Phœbus gains the middle sky, And now the graffy cirque han cover'd o'er A thousand ways in wanton rings they run; Heav'n fhield their short-liv'd paftimes, I implore! For well may Freedom, erft fo dearly won, Appear to British elf more glad fome than the fun. Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade, And chace gay flies, and cull the fairest flow'rs; For when my bones in grafs-green fods are laid, For never may ye taste more careless hours In knightly caftles or in ladies bow'rs. O vain, to seek delight in earthly thing! But moft in courts, where proud Ambition tow'rs; Deluded wight! who weens fair peace, can spring Beneath the pompous doom of kefar or of king. See in each sprite fome various bent appear! Some builden fragile tenements of clay; Some to the standing lake their courses bend, With pebbles smooth, at duck and drake to play; Thilk to the huxter's fav'ry cottage tend, In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to spend, Here, as each feason yields a diff'rent store, Each feafon's ftores in order ranged been, Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er, Galling full fore th' unmoney'd wight, are feen; And goofeb'rie, clad in liv'ry red or green: O may no wight e'er pennylefs come there, See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound, The plumb all azure, and the nut all brown; Whofe honour'd names th' inventive city own, Rend'ring thro' Britain's ifle Salopia's praifes known *, Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave, Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd; Her daughters lovely, and her ftriplings brave: Ah! midft the reft, may flow'rs adorn his grave Whose art did first thefe dulcet cates display! A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave, Who chearless o'er her darkling region ftray, ODE AGAINST ILL-NATURE. BY CHRISTOPHER SMART, M. A. FFSPRING of Folly and of Pride, OF To all that's odious, all that's bafe ally'd; By pedant Affectation taught and bred : *Shrewsbury cakes. Away, Away, thou hideous hell-born fprite! Go, with thy looks of dark design, Sullen, four, and faturnine; Fly to fome gloomy fhade, nor blot the goodly light! 'Twas Mercury that rul'd thy natal morn. There, in yon lonesome heath, Which Flora or Sylvanus never knew, For ever curfing, and for ever curs'd, The worst in genius, meafure, and degree; For Envy, Hatred, Malice, are but parts of thee. Or would't thou change the scene, and quit thy den, Behold the heaven-deferted fen,. Where Spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred, Have rais'd their darksome walls, and plac'd their thorny bed: There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload, There may'ft thou croak, in concert with the toad. With thee the hollow howling winds shall join, Nor fhall the bittern her base throat deny; The querulous frogs fhall mix their dirge with thine, Th' ear-piercing hern, and plover screaming high; While million humming gnats fit ceftrum fhall fupply. Away! Away! away!-behold an hideous band, And ever looks around her as fhe walks ; Foe to the virgin's and the Poet's fame; A wither'd, time-deflower'd old maid, And fqueamishly fhe knits her fcornful brow. They wait thy call, and mourn thy long delay: ORIENTAL ECLOGUES, BY MR. COLLINS. ECLOGUE I. SELIM; OR, THE SHEPHERD'S MORAL. SCENE, A VALLEY NEAR BAGDAT.-TIME, THE MORNING, E Perfian maids, attend your Poet's lays, 'YE And hear how shepherds pass their golden days. Not all are blefs'd, whom Fortune's hand fuftains • With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains: • Well |