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There, fation') in the Virgin-sign,
She long has ceas'd on earth to thine ;
Or is, at times, the deigns a smile,
'Tis chief o'er Britain's favour'd ifle,

For there.hr eyes with wonder fix'd !
That wonder too with pleasure mix'd!
She now beheld, in blooming youth,
The Patron of all worth and truth ;
Not where the virtues most resort,
On peaceful plains, but in a court!
Not in a cottage, all-unknown;
Sbe found him fcated on a throne !
What fables paint, what poets fing,
She found in fact--a Patriot-king!

But as a fight, so nobly new,
De erv'd, the thought, a ncar:r view;
To where, by filver-ttreaming Thames,
Ascends the palace of St. James,
Swift through surrounding thades of night,
The goddess Ahot her beamy tight.
She topp'd ; and the revealing ray
Blaz'd round her favourite, where he lay,
In sweet repose : o'er all his face,
Repose shed softer bloom and grace !
But fearful left her fun-bright gláre
Too soon might wake him into care,
(For fplendid toil: and weary state
Are every monarch's envy'd fate)
The stream of circling rays to shroud,
She drew an interpoting cloud.

In all the Glence of surprize,
She gaz’d him o'er ! She law arise,
For gods can read the human breaft,
Her own ideas there in prest!
And that his plan, to bless mankind,
The plan now brightening in his mind,
May story's wbitett page adorn, .
May thine through nations yet unborn,
She calls Urania to her aid.

At once the fair ethereal maid,
Daughter of Memory and Jove,'
Descending quits her laurel'd grove :
Loose to the gale her azure robe;
Borne, in her left, a starry globe,
Where each superior ton of fame
Will find infcribed his duathless name,
Her right fuítain's th’immortal lyre,
To praise due merit, or infpire,

Behold Astréa thus began
The friend of virtue and of man !
Calm reason fee, in early youth!
See, in a prince, the foul of truth!
With love of justice, tender sense
For suffering worth and innocence !
Who means to build his happy reign
On this bleft maxim, wise and plain-
Though plait, how seldom understood!
That, to be great, he must be good.
His brea't is open to your eye ;
Approach, Urania, mark, and try.
This bosom needs no thought to hide :
This virtue dares our search abide.

The facred fountains to secure
Of justice, undifturb'd and pure

From hopes or fears, from fraud or force,
To ruffe or to itain their course;
That these may How serene and free,
The law muft independent be :
Her ministers, as i. my 1.ght,
And mine alone, dispending right;
O pierci g eye, of judgment clear,
As honour, just, as truta, fincere.
With temper, firm, with fpirit, sage,
The Mansfields of each future age.

And this prime bleming is to spring
From youth in purple ! from a king!
Who, true to his mperial trust,
His greatness founds in being just;
Prepares, like yon a.'cending iun,
His glorious rac: with joy to run,
And, where his gracious eye appears,
To bless the world he lights and chears !

Such worth with equal voice to ing, Urania, Itrike thy boldest fring ; And truth, whose voice alone is praise, That here inspires, tall guide the lays. Begin ! awake his gentle ear With sounds that monarchs rarely hear. He merits, let him know our love, And you record, what ) approve.

She ended : and the heaven-born maida
With soft surprize, his form survey'd.
She saw what chastity of thought,
Within his stainless bosom wrought;
Then fix'd on earth her sober eye,
And, pausing, ofier'd this reply.

Nor pomp of song, nor paint of art,
Such truths should to the world impart.
My task is but, in simple verse,
These promis'd wonders to reheare:
And when on these our verse we raise,
The plaineft is the roblest praise,

Yet more ; a virtuous doubt remains :
Would such a prince permit my strains ?
Deferving, but fi ill thuning fame,
The homage due he might disclaim.
A prince, who rules, to fave, mankind,
His praise would, in their virtue, find;
Would deem their strict regard to laws,
Their faith and worth, his best applauife.
Then, Britons, your juft tribute bring,
In deeds, to emulate your king;
In virtues, to redeem your age
From venal views and party-rage.
On his example fately rest;
He calls, he courts you to be bleft ;
As friends, as brethren, to unite
In one firm league of juft and right.

My part is last; it Britain yet A lover boasts of truth and wit, To him thefe grateful lays to send, The Monarch's and the Muse's friend ; And whose fair name, in facred rhymes, My voice a ay give to late! times.

She said ; and, after thin ing o'er The inen in place near half a score, To frike at once all scandal mute, The goddess found, and fix'd on Bute.

TO THE

AUTHOR OF THE PRECEDING POEM.

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His courier now past frowning by :
Ye modern Durfeys, tell us why.

Slow, to the city last he went :
There, all was profe, of cent per cent.
There, alley-omniun, script, and bonus,
(Latin, for which a Muse would stone us,
Yet honest Gideon's classic ftile)
Made our poor Nuncio ftare and smile.

And now the clock had struck eleven ;
The messenger muft back to heaven;
But, just as he his wings had ty'd,
Look'd up Queen-Square, the North-east fade.
A blooming creature there he found,
With

pen

and ink, and books around,
Alone, and writing by a taper :
He'read unseen, then stole her paper.
It much amus'd him on his way;
And reaching heaven by break of day,
He thew'd Apollo w liat he stole.
The god perus'd, and lik'd the whole :
Then, calling for his pocket book,
Some right celestial vellumn took ;
And what he with a sun-beam there
Writ down, the Muse thus copies fair :

If I no men my fons must call,
“ Here's one fair daughter worth them all:
" Mark then the sacred words that follow,
“ Suphia's mine"-o fign'd

APOLLO.

BY S. J. ESQUIRE.. WELL

ELL-now, I think, we shall be wiser,

Crie: Grub, who reads the Advertiser, Here's Truth in Rhyine ya glorious treat! It surely murit abuse the great ; Perhaps the king ;--without dispute "Twill fall moft devilish hard on Bute.

Thrice he reviews his parting shilling,
At lait resolves, though much unwilling,
To break all rules imbib'd in youth,
And give it up for Rhyine and Truth :
He reads-- he frown Why, what's the matter?
Damn it here's neither senie, nor fatyr-
Here, take it, boy, there's nothing in't:
Such fellows to 'pretend to priot!

Blame not, good cit, the poet's rhymes,
The fault's not his, but in the times :
The times, in which a monarch reigns,
Form'd to make happy Britain's plains;
To stop in their destructive course,
Domestic phrensy, foreign force,
To bid war, faction, party cease,
And blefs the weary'd world with peace.
The times in which is seen, strange fight!
A court both virtuous and polite,
Where merit best can recommend,
And science finds a constant friend.

How then should fatyr dare to sport,
With such a king, and such a court,
While Truta looks on with rigid eye,
And tells her, every line 's a lye?

1

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THE DISCOVERY:

UPON READING SOME VERSES, WRITTEN BY

A YOUNG LADY AT A BOARDING-SCHOOL,

1

Behold me, where I livering ftand;
Eid gentle Pity tiretch her hand
To want and age, disease and pain,
That all in one sad object reign.
Still feeling bad, itill fearing worse,
Exiftence is to me a curse :
Yet, how to close this weary eye?
By my own hand I dare pot die :
And death, the friend of human woss,
Who brings the last and sound repose ;
Death does at dreadful distance keep,
And leaves one wretch to wake and weep!

A

THE

REWARD:

SEPTEMBER, M,DCC,LX.
POLLO lately sent to know,

If he had any fons below:
For, by the trash he long had feen
In male and female Magazine,
A hundred quires not worth a groat,
The race must be extinct, he thought.

His messenger to court repairs ;
Walks softly with the croud up stairs :
But when he had his errand told,
The courtiers fneerd, both young and old.
Augustus knit his royal brow,

And bade him let Apollo know it, That from his infancy till now,

He lov'd nor poetry nor poet.

His next adventure was the Park, When it grew fashionably dark : There beauties, boobies, strumpets, rakes, Talk níuch of commerce, whist, and itakes; Who tips the wink, who drops the card : But not one word of Verse or Bard.

The stage, Apollo's old domain, Where his true fons were wont to reign,

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Of Bumbo, when a bard is seen
Charg'd with his dedication-book?

But gods are never in the wrong
What then displeas'd the power of song?

The case was this: Where noble arts
Once fiourilh'd, as our fathers tell us,
He now can find, for men of parts,
None but rich blockheads and mere fellows;
Since drums and dice and dislipation
Have chac'd all taste from all the nation,
For is there, now, one table spread,
Where sense and science may be fed ?
Where, with a smile on every face,
Invited Merit takes his place?
These thoughts put Phicebus in the spleen,
(For gods, like men, can feel chagrin)
And left him on the point to shroud
His head in one eternal cloud ;
When, lo! his all-discerning eye
Chanc'd one remaining friend to spy,
Just crept abroad, as is his way,
To bask him in the noon-tide ray.

This Phoebus noting, call'd aloud
To every interpofing cloud;
And bade their gather'd mists ascend,
That he might warm his good old friend :
Then, as his chariot roll'd along,
Tuu'd to his lyre this grateful song.

« With talents, such as God has given
To common mortals, fix in seven;
Who yet have titles, ribbons, pay,
And govern whom they should obey;
With no more frailties than are found
In thousand others, count them round;
With much good-will, instead of parts,
Express'd for artists and for arts ;
Who smiles, if you have smartly spoke ;
Or nods applause to his own joke ;
This bearded child, this grey-haird boy,
Still plays with life, as with a toy;
Still keeps amusement full in view :
Wife? Now and then but oftener new;
His coach, this hour, at Watson's door ;
The next, in waiting on a whore.

Whene'er the welcome tidings ran
Of monster strange, or stranger man,
A Selkirke from his desart-isle, .
Or Alligator from the Nile ;
He saw the monster in its shrine,
And had the man, next day, to dine.
Or was it an hermaphrodite ?
You found him in a two-fold hurry ;
Neglecting, for this he-the-fight,
The single charms of Fanny Murray.
Gathering, from fuburb and from city,
Who were, who would be, wile or witty;
The full-wigg'd sons of pills and potions';
The bags, of maggot and new notions;
The fage, of microscopic-eye,
Wbo reads him lectures on fly;
Grave Antiquaries, with their fams;
And Poets, squirting epigrams:
With some few Lords of those that think,
"And dip, at times, their pen in inki
Nay, Ladies too, of diverse fame,
Who are, and are not, of the game.

For he has look'd the world around,
And pleasure, in each quarter, found.
Now young, now old, now grave, now gay,
He finks from life by soft decay;
And fees at hand, without aftright,
Th' inevitable hour of night.”

But here, some pillar of the state,
Whofe life is one long dull debate ;
Some pedant of the fable gown,
Who spares no failings, but his own,
Set up at once their deep-mouth'd hollow :
Is this a subject for Apollo !
What! can the God of wit and verse
Such trifles in our ears rehearse?

“ Know, puppies, this man's easy life,
Serene from cares, unvex'd with strife,
Was oft employd in doing good ;
A science you ne'er understood:
And Charity, ye fons of Pride,
A multitude of faults will hide.
I, at his board, 'more sense have found,
Than at a hundred dinners round.
Taite, learning, mirth, my western eye
Could often, there, {collected spy :
And I have gone well-pleasłd to bed,
Revolving what was sung or said.

do And he, who entertain'd them all
With much good liquor, strong and small ;
With food in plenty, and a welcome,
Which would become my Lord of Melcombe*,
Whose soups and sauces duly season'd,
Whose wit well tin'd, and sense well reason'd,
Give Burgundy a brighter stain,
And add new flavour to Champagne
Shall this man to the grave descend,
Unown'd, unhonour'd as my friend?
No: by my deity I swear,
Nor Mall the vow be loft in air ;
While you, and millions such as you,
Are such or ever from iny view,
And lost in kindred-darkness lye,
This good old man skall never die :
No matter where I place his name,
His love of learning shall be fame.

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TY BURN:

TO THE

MARINE SOCIETY.'

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IT
T has been, all examples show it, .

The privilege of every poet,
From ancient down through modern time,
To bid dead matter live in rhyme ;
With wit enliven senseless rocks;
Draw repartee from wooden blocks;
Make buzzards fenators of note,
And rooks harangre, that geese may vote.

These moral fictions, first design'd
To mend and mortify mankind,

* This Piem 2.75 certainly written in 1757 ; but the reader has only to remember, that Atollo is the God of Prophecy as well as of Pietry. MALLIT,

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Old Æfop, as our children know,
Taught twice ten huadred years ago.
His fiy, upon the chariot-wheel,
Could all a statesmai's merit lecl;
And, to it; ow. in portauce juít,
Exclaim with Bufo, Woata duit!
His horse-dung, when the Hood ran high,
In Colon's air and accent cry,
While tumbli g down the turbid stream,
Lord love us, how wę apple: iwim!

But farther instances to cite,
Would tire the hearer's patience quite.
No: what their numbers and their worth,
How these admire, while ihole hold forth,
From Hyde-park on to Clerkenwell,
Let clubs, let coffee-houses tell;
Where England, through the world renown'u,
In all its wisdom may be found :
While I, for ornament and use,
An orator of wood produce,

Why should the gentle reader stare?
Aare wooden orators 10 rare?
Saint St-phen's Chapel, Rutus? Hall,
That hears them in the pleader bawl,
That bears them in the patriot thunder,
Can tell if such things are a wonder,
So can Saint Dunitan's in the West,
When good Romaine barangues his best,
And tells his staring congregation,
That tober sense is sure damination ;
That Newton's guilt was worse than treason,
For ufing, what God gave him, reason.

A pox of all this prefaciog !
Smart Balbus cries : come, name the thing:
That such there are we all agree :
What is this wood?-lyburn tree.

Hear then this reverend oak barangue ;
Who makes men do so, ere they hang.

Patibulum loquitur. " Each thing whatever, when aggriev'd, of right complains, to be reliev'd. When regies fo rais'd the price of wheat, That few folks could aftord to eat, (Just as, when doctor's fees run high, Few patients can aliord to die) The poor durit into murinurs break; For lofers must have leave to speak : Then, froin reproaching, fell to mawling Each neighbour-rogue' they found forestalling. As there again, their knaves and fetters, Durit vent complaints againit their betters ; Whose only crine was in defeating Their scheine of growing rich hy cheating : So, shall not I my wrongs relate, An injur'd Minister of Itate ? 'The finister of care and pain May, fure, with better grace complain, For reasons ho let's frong and true, Marine Society, of you! Of you, as every carinan know3, Mly late and inost fatal foes,

My property you ba!ely steal, Which een a Briti" oak can feel; Feel and refent! what worder then It ihould be felt by British men,

When France, insulting, durft invade

Their clearest property of trade?
For which both nations, at the bar
Of that supreme tribunal, war,
To thow their reasons have agreed,
And lawyers, by ten thousands, fee'd;
Who now, for legal quirks and puns,
Plead with the rbetoric of great guns ;
And each his client's cause maintains,
By knocking out th; opponent's brains :
While Europe all—but we adjourn
This wise digression, and return.

Your ru es and statute's have undone me:
My sureit cards begin to shun me.
My native subjects dare rebel,
Those who were born for me and hell:
And, but for you, the scoundrel-line
Had, every mother's son, died mine.
A race unnumber'd as unknown,
Whom town or suburb calls her own;
Of vagrant love the various spawn,
Frønn rags and filth, from lace and lawn,
Sons of Fleet-ditch, or bulks, of benches,
Where peer aod porter meet their wenches,
For neither health vor frame can wean us,
From mixing with the midnight Venus.

Nor let my cits be here forgot :
They know to fin, as well as fot.
When Night demure walks forth, array'd
In her thin negligee of made.
Late risen from their long regale
Of beef and beer, and bawdy tale,
Abroad the common-council fally,
To poach for game in lane or alley ;
This gets a son, whose first essay
Will filch his father's till away ;
A daughter that, who may retire,
Somc few years hence, with her own fre :
And, while his hand is in her placket,
Thelial virtue picks his pocket.
Charge-alley too, is grown so nice,
A broker dares refine on vice :
With lord-li e fcorn of marriage vows,
In her own arms he cuckolds spouse ;
For young and freíh wh le he wn: Id wiin her,
His loufe thought glows with Kitty Fisher;
Or, after nobler quarry running,
Profanely paints her out a Gunning.

Now these, of each degece and fort,
At Wapping dropp'd, perhaps at Court,
Bred up for me, to swear and lie,
To laugh at hell, and heaven defy;
Thefe, Tyburn's regimental trair,
Who risk their necks to spread my reign,
From age to age, by right divine,
Hereditary rogues, were mine :
And each, by discipline fevere,
Improv'da heyond all tháme and fear,
From guilt to guilt advancing daily,
My conftant friend the good Old-Bailey
To me made over, late or soon;
I think, at latest, once a noon :
But, by your interloping care,
Not one in ten fall he my share.

Ere 'tis too late your error see,
You foes to Britain, and to me.

To me : agreed-But to the nation;
I prove it thus by clemonftration.

First, that there is much good in ill,
My great apoftie Mandevile
Has made nioft clear. Read, if you please,
His moral fable of the bees.
Our reverend clergy next will own,
Were all men good, their trade were gone ;
That-were it not for useful vice,
Their learned pains would bear no price :
Nay, we thould quickly bid defiance
To their demonstrated alliance,

Next, kingdoms are compos'd, we know,
of individuals, Jack and Joe.
Now there, our sovereigu lords the rabble,
For ever prone to growi and squabble,
The monstrons many-headed beast,
Whom we must not offend, but feast,
like Cerberus, should bave their fop:
And what is that, but trulling up?
How happy were their hearts, and gay,
At each return of hanging-day?
To see Page swinging they admire.
Beyond cy'n Madox on his wire!
No baiting of a bull or bear,
To Perry dangling in the air!
And then, the being drunk a week,
For joy, fome Sheppard would not squeak!
But now that those good times are o'er,
How will they mutiny and roar!
Your scheme absurd of fober rules
Will fink the race of men to mules ;
For ever drudging, sweating, broiling,
For ever for the public toiling :
Hard masters! who, just when they need 'em,
With a few thistles deign to feed 'ein,

Yet more for it is Teldom known
That fault or folly stands alone
You next debauch their infant-inind
With fumes of hunourable wird :
Which must beget, in heads untry'd,
That worst of human yices, pride.
All who my humble paths forsake,
Will reckon, each, to be a Blake ;
There, on the deck, with arms a-kimbo,
Already firuts the future Bemhow ;'
By you bred up to take delight in
No earthly thing but oaths and fighting.
Th:se sturdy sons of blood and blows,
By pulling Monreur by the nose,
By making licks and cuffs the fathion,
Will put all Europe in a panion.
The grand alliance, now quadruple,
Will pay us lione, “ jusqu'au centuple :")
So the French king was heard to cry-
And can a king of Frenchmen lie?

These, and more mifchiefs I foresee
From foodling brats of base degree.
As muł.rooms that on dunghills riss,
The kindred-weeds beneath despise;
So these their fellows will conteni,
Who, in revenge, will rage at the n :
Fnr, through each rank, what more offends,
Thao to behold the rile of friends?
Still wh:n our equals grow too great,
We may applaud, bui we must bate,

VOL. VII,

Then, will it be endur'd, when John
Has put my hempen ribbon on,
To see his ancient mess-mate Cloud,
By you made turbulent and proud,
And early taught my tree to bilk,
Pass in another all of filk?

Yet, one more mournful case to puts
A hundred mouths at once you sut!
Half Grub-street, filenc'd in an hour,
Must curse your interposing power!
If my loit sons no longer steal,
What son of hers can earn a meal?
You ruin many a gentle bard,
Who liv'd by heroes that die hard !
Their brother-hawkers too! that sung
How great from world to world they swung;
And by fad sonnets, quaver'd loud,
Drew tears and half-pence from the crowd.

Blind Fielding toom-a mifchief on him!
I wish my sons would meet and stone him!
Sends his black squadrons up and down,
Who drive my best boys;back to town.
They find that travelling now abroad,
To ease rich rascals on the road,
Is grown a calling much unfate;
That there are surer ways by half,
To which they have their equal claim,
Of earning daily food and fane :
So down, at home, they fit, and think
How beft to rob, with pen and ink.

Hence, red-hot letters and esays,
By the John Lilburn of these cays;
Who guards his want of shame and sense,
With Thield of sevenfold impudence,
Hence cards on Pelham, cards on Pitt,
With much abuse and little wit.
Hence libels against Hardwicke penn'd,
That only hurt when they commend :
Hence oft ascrib'd to Fox, at least
All that defames his name-fake bealta
Hence Cloacina hourly views
Unnumber'd labours of the Muse,
That sink, where myriads went before,
And seep within the chaos hoar :
Wbile her brown daughters, under ground,
Are fed with politics profound.
Each eager hand a fragment fnaps,
More excrensent than what it wraps.

These, fingly, contributions raise,
Of casual pudding and of praise.
Others again, who form a gang,
Yet take due measures not to hang,
In magazines their forces join,
By legal methods to purloin .
Whole weekly, or whose monthly, seat is
First to decry, then steal, your treat se.
So rogies in France perform their job;
Afaffinating, ere they rob.

But, this long warrative to close :
They who would grievances expose,
In all good policy,' 110 less,
Should Thew the inethods to redress.
If commerce, Goking in one scale,
By fraud or hazard comes to fail :
The task is next, all statesinen know it,
To find another where to throw it,

KI

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