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The general good thus studious to improve,
The common parent claims our common love.
Fair, wise, and good, his all-accomplish'd race
Each virtue emulate, reflect each grace;
Hence the pure flow of private happiness,
And he lives bless'd by all, who lives to bless :
These joys in Spargrove's sweet retreat he found,
And all the chearfull country smiles around.

Ye venerable groves, whose opening glades
Invite the musefull wand'rer to your shades!
Ye birds, whose honied notes enthrall the ear,
Wake the bright morn, the darksome ev'ning chear!
Ye fountains, murmuring music as you flow!
Ye flow'rs, that on their purple margins glow!
Ye winds, that o'er those flow'rs soft-breathing play,
Calm the hot sky, and mitigate the day!
Take me, Oh take me to your lov'd retreats;
All, all conspire to bless me with your sweets!
Here in your soft enclosure let me prove
The shade and silence of the life I love!
Not idle here; for as I rove along

I form the verse, and meditate the song;
Or mend my mind by what the wise have taught,
Studious to be the very thing I ought:
Here will I taste the blessings of content,
No hope shall flatter, and no fear torment;
Unlike the sea, the sport of ev'ry wind,
And rich with wrecks, the ruin of mankind,
My life an honest, humble praise shall claim,
As the small stream, scarce honour'd with a name,
Whose glad'ning waters thro' my garden play,
Give a few flow'rs to smile, then glide away.

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ODE TO WOMANKIND.

Notum quid Fœmina posset. VIR

THERE is, nor do the schoolmen dream, There is on earth a Power supreme,

To whom Heaven has assign'd, By special grace, in every clime, Thro' every period of time,

The empire o'er mankind.

Say then, to whom belongs this right,
Or to superior sense or might,

The sacred One or all?

Alas, vain man! the search forego,
Let nature and experience shew,
That Woman rules the ball.

Come, history, stript of all disguise,
Display the truth to vulgar eyes,

But half reveal'd before!

Read, man! and cease thy witless boast, See, Woman still has rul'd the roast, From Eve to Pompadour !

What tho', like puppets on a stage,
We bounce, and huff, and rant, and rage,
Yet peep behind the scene,

You'll find that Woman's sportive hand

Still plays the wires, and at command
Exhibits a machine.

Ye mighty earthly potentates!
Ye mightier ministers of states!

Who strike mankind with awe;
Confess, and let it check your pride,
You only rule the world beside,
As Woman gives the law.

Let the Grand Signior stalk elate,
Round his Seral, in idle state:
Let Marmontel explain,
How coquetry and Hymen join'd
This greatest of Bashaws to bind,
And snap his laws in twain.

The pension'd, garter'd, ribbon'd Peer,
Parades it in his courtly geer,

As you, ye Fair, determine:
Commission'd Heroes strut in lace,
And Bishops learn'd, the mitre grace,
And Judges sage, the ermin.

You frown-war's dreadful bolts are hurl'd Around a desolated world;

Death riots in his play:

You smile-the fatal tumults cease,
Hush'd by the lenient voice of peace,
And all the world is gay.

Each Hero, from the well-fought day,
Flies quick to you, and begs to lay
His laurels at your feet:
Bards trim the flow'ry wreath for you,
Be sure its fragrance and its hue

Is far less bright and sweet.

Tho' Academics sit immur'd,
By pedantry they're not secur'd
From your resistless power:
E'en Kings themselves are seen t'obey;
Sure proof of universal sway!

Conviction asks no more.

What tho', when Hymen's bonds unite,
Some females, in the day's broad light
Seem to resign their sway?
Yet Pen, if Homer tells us true,
At night would constantly undo
The web she wove by day.

Nor only in Experience' school
Learn we the truth of Woman's rule,
This Nature's bounty proves;
To her she safely may appeal,
By her impress'd with empire's seal,
The Graces, Smiles, and Loves.

Dares any two-legg'd human brute
The victory with these dispute?
Soon may the rebel rue it!
May Cupid's longest, sharpest dart,
Convince him of his duteous part,
And force him too to do it!

'Gainst such a magazine of charms
Shall puny reason point his arms,
Or hold the cobweb shield?
When Pedantry is known to fail,
How shall Philosophy prevail?

E'en Pride must quit the field.

What, tho' some bards, by spleen betray'd,
Have summon'd Satire to their aid,
Your power to undermine?
Yet, spite of Swift's blaspheming page,
Of Juvenal's indignant rage,

You mock their vain design.

But ye, victorious, injur'd Fair!
Forget these bards, these monsters rare!
And view that num'rous train,
Who gallantly have fought your cause,
Constant abettors of your laws,
Best subjects of your reign!

Let soft Tibullus' tender vein,
Ill-fated Hammond's plaintive strain,
Sad Shenstone's heart-felt moan:
Let Ovid's, Cowley's gayer line,
Where Love and Wit united shine,
The vile offence atone!

Should every bard, should every man,
Join, in despite of Nature's plan,
To deviate from their duty;

One bard, like Abdiel, faithful found,

'Midst millions false, should stand his ground, Still true to Love and Beauty.

OXFORD, 1775.

ERASTUS,

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