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And deems it shame if he to peace

inclines : And many a sullen look askaunce is sent, Which for his dame's annoyance he designs ;

And still the more to pleasure him she's bent, The more doth he, perverse, her 'haviour paft resent.

Ah, me! how much I fear lest pride it be!

But if that pride it be, which thus inspires, Beware, ye dames ! with nice discernment see

Ye quench not, too, the sparks of nobler fires : Ah! better far than all the Muses' lyres,

(All coward arts) is valour's gen'rous heat ; The firm fix'd breast which fit and right requires,

Like Vernon's patriot soul; more juftly great Than craft that pimps for ill, or flow'ry false deceit.

Yet nurs'd with skill, what dazzling fruits appear !

E’en now sagacious foresight points to show
A little bench of heedless bishops here,

And there a chancellour in embryo,
Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be fo;

As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er shall die !
Tho' now he crawl along the ground so low;

Nor weeting how the Muse should foar on high, Wisheth, poor starv'ling elf! his paper kite may fly.

And this perhaps, who cens’ring the design,

Low lays the house which that of cards doth build, Shall Dennis be! if rigid Fates incline;

And many an epick to his rage shall 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 thrillid,

Surveys mine work, and levels many a fneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, What stuff is here?'


But now Dan Phæbus gains the middle sky,

And Liberty unbars her prison-door ; And like a rushing torrent out they ily,

And now the grassy cirque han cover'd o'er With boilt'rous revel-rout and wild uproar.

A thousand ways in wanton rings they run; Heav'n fhield their short-liv'd pastimes, I implore !

For well may Freedom, erst so dearly won, Appear to British elf more glad fome than the fun.

Enjoy, poor imps ! enjoy your sportive trade,
And chace


flies, and cull the faireft flow'rs ; For when my bones in grass-green fods are laid,

For never may ye taste more careless hours
In knightly castles or in ladies bow'rs.

O vain, to seek delight in earthly thing!
But most in courts, where proud Ambition tow'rs;

Deluded wight! who weens fair peace, can spring
Beneath the pompous doom of kesar or of king.

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See in each sprite some various bent appear!

These rudely carol most incondite lay ;
Those faunt'ring on the green, with jocund leer,

Salute the stranger passing on his way:
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 season yields a diff'rent store,

Each season's stores in order ranged been, Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,

Galling full sore th’unmoney'd wight, are seen ;

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And goofeb'rie, clad in liv'ry red or green :

And here of lovely dye the Cath'rine pear ;
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice I ween;

O may no wight e’er pennyless come there,
Left smit with ardent love he pine with hopeless care!

See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,

With thread so white in tempting posies ty’d, Scatt’ring like blooming maid their glances round,

With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside, And must be bought, tho' penury betide:

The plumb all azure, and the nut all brown ; And here, each season, do those cakes abide,

Whose honour'd names th' inventive city own, Rend'ring thro' Britain's ille Salopia's praises known *

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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 striplings brave: Ah! midst the rest, may flow’rs adorn his grave

Whose art did first these dulcet cates display !
A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave,

Who chearless o'er her darkling region stray,
Till Reason's morn arise, and light them on their way,



FFSPRING of Folly and of Pride,


Nurs'd up by Vice, by Pravity milled, By pedant Affectation taught and bred : ,

* Shrewsbury cakes.


Away, thou hideous hell-born sprite!
Go, with thy looks of dark design,

Sullen, four, and faturnine;
Fly to fome gloomy shade, nor blot the goodly light!

Thy planet was remote when I was born ; 'Twas Mercury that ruld thy natal morn.

What time the fun exerts his genial ray,
And ripens for enjoyment ev'ry growing day;

When to exist is but to love and fing,
And sprightly Aries smiles upon the spring.

There, in yon lonesome heath, Which Flora or Sylvanus never knew,

Where never vegetable drank the dew, Or beast or fowl attempts to breathe ;

Where Nature's pencil has no colours laid, But all is blank, and universal shade :

Contrast to figure, motion, life, and light, There may'st thou vent thy spite,

For ever cursing, and for ever curs’d,
Of all th' infernal crew the worst;

The worst in genius, measure, and degree ;
For Envy, Hatred, Malice, are but parts of thee.

Or would'st thou change the scene, and quit thy den,

Behold the heaven-deserted fen, .
Where Spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred,

Hardness of heart, and heaviness of head, -
Have rais’d their darksome walls, and plac'd their thorny bed:

There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload, There may'st thou croak, in concert with the toad.

With thee the hollow howling winds thall join, Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny ;

The querulous frogs shall mix their dirge with thine, Th' ear-piercing hern, and plover screaming high ; While million humming gnats fit æftram shall fupply.


Away! away !-behold an hideous band,

And herd of all thy minions, are at hand! Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,

And ever looks around her as she walks ;
With bibulous ear, imperfect founds to catch,
And prompt to listen at her neighbour's latch,

Next Scandal's meagre shade,
Foe to the virgin's and the Poet's fame;

A wither'd, time-deflower'd old maid,
That ne'er enjoy'd Love's ever-sacred flame.

Hypocrisy succeeds, with saint-like look,

And elevates her hands, and plods upon her book, Next comes illiberal, scrambling Avarice ;

Then Vanity, and Affectation niceSee, she salutes her shadow with a bow,

As in short Gallick trips she minces by; Starting Antipathy is in her eye,

And squeamishly Me knits her fcornful brow.
To thee, Ill-nature, all the numerous groupe

With lowly reverence stoop-
They wait thy call, and mourn thy long delay:

Away! thou art infectious-halte away!

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attend your

Poet's lays,


E Persian maids,

* And hear how shepherds pass their golden days. • Not all are bless'd, whom Fortune's hand sustains • With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains :

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