Their conquering ftandards to Hibernia bore,
Though now thy valour, to thy country loft,
Shines in the foremost ranks of Gallia's hoft,
Think not that France fhall borrow all thy fame-
From British fires deriv'd thy genius came:
Its force, its energy, to these it ow'd,
But the fair polish Gallia's clime beftow'd:
The Graces there each ruder art refin'd,

And liveliest wit with foundeft fenfe combin'd.
They taught in fportive Fancy's gay attire
To drefs the graveft of th' Aonian choir,
And gave to fober Wifdom's wrinkled cheek
The fmile that dwells in Hebe's dimple fleek.
Pay to each realm the debt that each may ask:
Ee thine, and thine alone, the pleafing task,
In pureft clegance of Gallic phrafe
To cloath the fpirit of the British lays.
Thus every flower which every Mufe's hand
Has rais'd profufe in Britain's favourite land,
By thee tranfplanted to the banks of Seine,
Its sweetest native odours fhall retain.
And when thy noble friend, with olive crown'd,
In concord's olden chain has firmly bound
The rival nations, thou for both shalt raise
The grateful fong to his immortal praise.
Albion fhail think the hears her Prior fing;
And France, that Boileau ftrikes the tuneful ftring,
Then fhalt thou tell what various talents join'd,
Adorn, embellish, and exalt his mind'
Learning and wit, with fweet politeness grac'd;
Wifdom by guile or cunning undebas'd;
By pride unfullied, genuine dignity;
A nobler and fublime fimplicity.

Such in thy verfe fhall Nivernois be fhewn:
France fhall with joy the fair refemblance own;
And Albion fighing bid her fons afpire
To imitate the merit they admire.

Such fpotlefs honour; fuch ingenuous truth,
So mild, fo gentle, fo compos'd a mind,
Such ripen'd wisdom in the bloom of youth!
To fuch heroic warmth and courage join'd;
He too, like Sydney, nurs'd in Learning's arms,
For nobier war forfook her fofter charms:
Like him, poffefs'd of every pleafing art,
The fecret wifh of every female's heart:
Like him, cut off in youthful glory's pride,
He, unrepining, for his country dy'd,

ON

GOOD HUMOUR.

WRITTEN AT EATON-SCHOOL, 1729.

ELL me, ye fons of Phoebus, what is this

Tewithalle fons, but tew, too few, poffefs?

A virtue 'tis to ancient maids unknown,
And prudes who spy all faults except their own.
Lov'd and defended by the brave and wife,
Though knaves abuse it, and like fools defpife.
Say, Wyndham, if 'tis poffible to tell,
What is the thing in which you most excel?
Hard is the queftion, for in all you please;
Yet fure good-nature is your nobleft praise;
Secur'd by this, your parts no envy move,
For none can envy him whom all must love.
This magic power can make ev'n folly please,
This to Pitt's genius adds a brighter grace,
And fweetens every charm in Cælia's face.

EPITAPH ON CAPTAIN GRENVILLE;* KILLED IN LORD ANSON'S ENGAGEMENT IN

1747.

YE weeping Mufes, Graces, Virtues, tell

If, fince your all accomplish'd Sydney fell,

You, or afflicted Britain, e'er deplor'd
A lofs like that these plaintive lays record!

*Thefe verfes having been originally written when the author was in Oppofition, concluded thus (much better, perhaps, than at present).

"But nobler far, and greater is the praise
"So bright to thine in thefe degenerate days:
"An age of heroes kindled Sidney's fire;

His inborn worth alone could Grenville's
deeds inspire."

But fome years after, when his Lordship was with Ministry, he erafed these four lines, See GENT. MAG. Vol. XLIX. p. 601. N.

II.

Ot finest crystal were thofe bottles made,

Yet what was there inclos'd he could not fee: Wherefore in humble wife the Saint he pray'd, To tell what treafure there conceal'd might be.

III.

"A wonderous thing it is," the Saint replied,
"Yet undefin'd by any mortal wight;
"An airy effence, not to be defcried,

Subtle and thin, that MAIDENHEAD is hight.

IV.

"From earth each day in troops they hither come, "And fill each hole and corner of the Moon: "For they are never eafy while at home, "Nor ever owner thought them gone too foon.

V.

"When here arriv'd, they are in bottles pent, "For fear they fhould evaporate again; "And hard it is a prifon to invent,

"So volatile a fpirit to retain.

XI.

"Be not enrag'd," replied th' Apostle kind→→ "Since that this maidenhead is thine by right, "Take it away; and, when thou haft a' mind,, "Carry it thither whence it took its flight."

XII.

"Thanks, Holy Father!" quoth the joyous Knight, "The Moon fhall be no lofer by your grace: "Let me but have the ufe on't for a night, "And I'll restore it to its prefent place."

ΤΟ Α YOUNG LADY.

WITH THE TRAGEDY OF

VENICE PRESERVED.

tender Otway's moving fcenes we find What power the gods have to your sex affign'd Venice was loft, if on the brink of fate A woman had not propt her finking state: In the dark danger of that dreadful hour, Vain was her fenate's wifdom, vain its power; But, fav'd by Belvidera's charming tears, Still o'er the fubject main her towers the rears, And ftands a great example to mankind, With what a boundless fway you rule the mind, Skillful the worst or nobleft ends to ferve, And ftrong alike to ruin or preferve.

In wretched Jaffier, we with pity view A mind, to Honour falfe, to Virtue true, In the wild form of struggling paffions toft, Yet faving innocence, though fame was loft; Greatly forgetting what he ow'd his friendHis country, which had wrong'd him, to defend. But the, who urg'd him to that pious deed, Who knew fo well the patriot's caufe to plead, Whofe conquering love her country's fafety won, Was, by that fatal love, herself undone.

* "Hence may we learn, what paffion fain would "hide,

"That Hymen's bands by prudence should be tied. Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown, "If angry Fortune on their union frown: Soon will the flattering dreams of joy be o'er, "And cloy'd imagination cheat no more; Then, waking to the fenfe of lafting pain, With mutual tears the bridal couch they ftain;

There, known to few, obfcur'd, and loft, to lie-
Is there a temple of the Deity,

Except earth, fea, and air, yon azure pole;
And chief, his holieft fhrine, the virtuous foul?
Where-e'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move,
This wide, this boundless universe is Jove.
Let abject minds, that doubt because they fear,
With pious awe to juggling priests repair;
I credit not what lying prophets tell-
Death is the only certain oracle.

Cowards and brave muft die one deftin'd hour-
This Jove has told; he needs not tell us more.

TO MR. GLOVER;

ON HIS

POEM OF LEONIDAS.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1734.

O on, my friend, the noble task pursue,

G And think thy genius is thy country's 'due;

To vulgar wits inferior themes belong,
But Liberty and virtue claim thy song..

Yet cease to hope, though grac'd with every charm,
The patriot verfe will cold Britannia warm ;
Vainly thou ftriv'ft our languid hearts to raise,
By great examples drawn from better days:
No longer we to Sparta's fame afpire,
What Sparta fcorn'd, inftructed to admire;
Nurs'd in the love of wealth, and form'd to bend
Our narrow thoughts to that inglorious end:
No generous purpose can enlarge the mind,
No focial care, no labour for mankind,
Where mean felf interest every action guides,
In camps commands, in cabinets prefides;
Where luxury confumes the guilty ftore,
And bids the villain be a slave for more.

Hence, wretched nation, all thy woes arife,

Avow'd corruption, licens'd perjuries,
Eternal taxes, treaties for a day,
Servants that rule, and fenates that obey.

O people, far unlike the Grecian race,
That deems a virtuous poverty difgrace,
That fuffers public wrongs and public shame,
In council infolent, in action tame!
Say, what is now th' ambition of the great?
Is it to raise their country's finking state;
Her load of debt to ease by frugal care,
Her trade to guard, her harrass'd poor to spare?
Is it like honeft Somers, to infpire

The love of laws, and Freedom's facred fire?

Is it, like wife Godolphin, to sustain

The balanc'd world, and boundless power re

ftrain

Or is the mighty aim of all their toil,
Only to aid the wreck, and share the spoil?
On each relation, friend, dependant,' pour,
With partial wantonnefs, the golden shower,
And, fenc'd by ftrong corruption, to despise
An injur'd nation's unavailing cries'

Rouze, Britons, rouze! if fenfe or fhame be weak,
Let the loud voice of threatening danger speak.
Lo! France, as Perfia once, o'er every land
Prepares to ftretch her all-oppreffing hand.
Shall England fit regardless and fedate,
A calm fpectatrefs of the general fate;
Or call forth all her virtue, and oppofe,
Like valiant Greece, her own and Europe's foes?
O let us feize the moment in our power,
Our follies now have reach'd the fatal hour;
No later term the angry gods ordain ;
This crifis loft, we shall be wife in vain.

And thou, great poet, in whofe nervous lines
The native majefty of freedom shines,
Accept this friendly praife; and let me prove
My heart not wholly void of public love;

Though not like thee I ftrike the founding ftring
To notes which Sparta might have deign'd to

fing,

PROLOGUE

то

SPOKEN BY MR. QUIN.

COME not here your candour to implore
For fcenes, whofe author is, alas! no more;

He wants no advocate his cause to plead ;
You will yourselves be patrons of the dead.
No party his benevolence confin'd,

No fect-alike it flow'd to all mankind.

He lov'd his friends (forgive this gufhing tear:
Alas! I feel, I am no actor here)

He lov'd his friends with such a warmth of heart,
So clear of intereft, fo devoid of art,

Such generous friendship, fuch unshaken zeal,
No words can speak it; but our tears may tell
O candid truth, O faith without a stain,
O manners gently firm, and nobly plain, ›
O fympathizing love of others' blifs,
Where will you find another breast like his ?
Such was the man-the poet well you know:
Oft has he touch'd your heart with tender woe:
Oft in this crouded house, with just applaufe,
You heard him teach fair Virtue's pureft laws;
For his chafte Mufe employ'd her heaven-taught
lyre

None but the nobleft paffions to inspire,
Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,
One line, which dying he could wish to blot.
Oh! may to night your favourable doom
Another laurel add, to grace his tomb :
Whilft he, fuperior now to praise or blame,
Hears not the feeble voice of human fame.

EPILOGUE

то

LILLO'S ELMERICK.

YOU, who, fupreme o'er every work of wit,
In judgment here, unaw'd, unbiass'd, fit,
The palatines and guardians of the pit ;
If to your minds this merely modern play
No useful fenfe, no generous warmth convey;
If fuftain here, through each unnatural scene,
In firain'd conceits found high, and nothing mean ;
If lofty dullness for your vengeance call:
Like Elmerick judge, and let the guilty fall.
But if fimplicity, with force and fire,
Unlabour'd thoughts and artlefs words infpire:
If, like the action which these scenes relate,
The whole appear irregularly great;
If mafter-ftrokes the nobler paffions move;
Then, like the king, acquit us, and approve."

POEMS