Then don't be angry with my diction,
Becaufe 'tis truth instead of fiction.
Farewell!-may all my wifhes follow,
And I fhall be your great Apollo.

CANDIDUS.

THOUGHTS

On Walking in ETON-COLLEGE.
'TWAS at the filent evening hour-
When Senfibility's foft pow'r
Had ftill each wilder passion laid-
TO ETON'S walls I penfive stray'd.

There, as I trod her court around,
Nor human voice nor ftep I found.
"And ab! cried I, "is this the place
Weich Poets bave been fond to praise?
Where Scince oft' bas proudly row`d?
The feat which every Mule bas lov'd?
Where WARRIORS, STATESMEN, COUR-
TIERS, KINGS,

Learnt their firft thought of Men and Things?
Where PATRIOTS caught the generous flame,
Which gave their deeds to deathless fame,
Where lifting Bards were learnt to fing,
And taught their early vows to bring?

"Ah, yes!—this ruftic College fhews
Where Sages, Bards, and Patriots rofe!
And ah!" in fullen tone I faid,
As round her walls I penfive ttray'd,
"Had Fortune heard my early claim,
I too might then have rose to fame!
I might have join'd the Patriot band,
And, virtue-bound, walk'd hand in hand,
To ftem Ambition's spreading way—
Or dark Corruption's haunts betray-
I might have rose the sword to wield,
And vict'ry led along the field:
Or (happier still) through Science stray'd,
And ev ry grace of mind display'd,”

Thus, as I difcontented cried, Methought a murmuring voice replied, And feem'd, along the gloomy way, In whispering friendly tone to fay

"Go, penfive youth, and learn to prize What thoughtless minds too oft despise. 'Tis true-this ruftic manfion shews Where Warriors, Statesmen, Courtiers rofe : But caft thy penfive eyes around, See now how ftill the hallow'd ground! No noises wake th' attentive ear! No gay-clad feet now wander here!

"Thus the fweet Bard, whofe gentle lay Could charm diftrefs and woe awayThe hero-whofe ambitious foul For conqueft rov'd from pole to poleAnd others of a various name, Who here first trod the path to fame, Muft all in folemn filence lay Sad! as thefe dreary walls betray. Learn, penfive mortal, 'then to know, That rank or wealth are "paffing shew.”

To MIRA, on her WEDDING DAY. By Mr. WEEB.

ASSUME, my Verfe, thy wonted art,

While all in expectation stand,

Can't thou not paint the willing heart

That coyly gives the trembling hand? Canft thou not fummon from the sky

Soft Venus and her milk-white Doves? Mark-in an eafy yoke they fly,

An emblem of unfever'd loves.

Now, Mira, art thou pale with fear;

Look not, thou Sweetnefs, thus forlorn; She fmiles-and now fuch tints appear As fteal upon the filver morn.— Quick, Hymen, to the temple lead; Cupid, thy victory pursue; In blushes rofe the confcious Maid; Trust me, fhe'll fet in blufhes too. Well may the lover fondly gaze

On thy bright cheek, and bloom of youth, Impatient of the calmer praife

Of sweetness, innocence, and truth. Yet thefe fhall to thy latest hour,

Thefe only fhall fecure thy blifs : When the pale lip hath loft its power, The fe fhall give nectar to the kiss.

Sure had he living view'd thy tender youth,

The blush of honour, and the grace of truth, Ne'er with Belinda's charms his fong had glow'd,

But from thy form the lov'd idea flow'd: His wanton fatire ne'er the fex had scorn'd, For thee by virtue and the muse adorn'd!

STANZAS to the Memory of the late Mr. E. RACK.

By the Rev. R. POLWHELE.

GO then, benignant fpirit, go,
And with congenial spirits rest,
Efcap'd from every earthly woe,

By friendship's holiest wishes bleft.
Merit, though fnatch'd from moital eye,
Lives to affection's memory dear ;
And worth like thine fhall claim a figh-
From all who knew thee c'aim a tear,
Oft with fupreme delight Į trace

Thy varied life, an active scene!
Or mark the friend of human race,
In fickness and in death ferene.
Tho' in thy humble birth was found

No flatt'ring hope of future fame ;
And circumfcrib'd in narrow bound,

The hamlet only knew thy name;
Yet what can * circumfcribe the foul?
Soon, with a spirited disdain,
Thy genius fpurn'd the bafe controul
Of fickle fortune's galling chain,
Untutor'd in the claffic school,

Thy native fenfe could yet convey
To wandering youth each moral rule,

And guide them in the doubtful way, Once too, thy breaft the fav'ring Mule

Saw with ambition's ardour warm; But foon the bade her fairy views

Cheat thy fund eye with fleeting charm: Yet was the bright poetic pay

No longer to thy brową decreed ; Behold, thy labours to repay,

The wreath of truth thy nobler meed!

To spread each falutary art

By liberal plans, with skill defign'd, And in historic strain impart

Some fresh inftruction to the mind-These were thy aims! On these shall Fame Thy beautiful memorial raife; And Gratitude diffuse her flame

Thro' mapy a heart in future days And, frequent, as her steps retire

Far from a world of pomp and strife, Religion fhall, herself, admire

That evening mild which clos'd thy life.

A

fuch delights my fancy cheer'd,

A Bard of Albion's Isle appear'd,
Who here had loiter'd down the day,
While fixty moons had waned away;
And at his lyre's majestic found
The shepherd train would flock around,
Beneath a wood's extenfive fhade,
Where many a fragrant zephyr play'd.

A roving Nymph fo lightly trod,
She fcarcely mark'd the velvet fod,
And with her numbers charm'd the ear
Of lift'ning Eve, who ftay'd to hear!
Hufh'd was the lonely lover's flute !
The doleful nightingale was mute,
Whene'er the struck her British lyre
With Grecian force, and Sappho's fire!

Nor diftant far a Youth reclin'd,
Whofe wild harp warbled to the wind,
So foftly fweet, fo clearly strong,
That Arno's felf admir'd the fong.

And now with eager hafte I strove
To join the Band that charm'd the grove.
But ah, my labour all was vain,
For adverse powers my course restrain.
Confufed at length my vifion grew,
Fantaftic phantoms rose to view;
Envy I faw, in yellow veft,
Malignant, tear her shrivell'd breast;

GRAT

And

Your thoughts expreffive fpeak in all your eyes,

But none can judge my feelings or Sur prize!

Yes, I've Surpriz'd you-just like Amfterdam,

Forc'd in the Guards-and thus I took you-
Dam!
From force alone each prudent Damsel flies ;
But as a Briton-only dreads Surprize.
So cautious, therefore, am I lately grown,
(Tho' quite the Thing-am perfectly the
Too)

I ne'er stir out—except I've a Chaperon.

is true my gaib I change-but not my heart,

And strive to please alike in ev'ry part ;— As Wilding-Villamour-Irish, or French; As Man of Fashion, and as-tempting

Wench;

This vulgar tale the author has contrived to raife to the dignity of the tragic mufe, by fuppofing the culprit to be of fome rank, of the name of Clifford, and upon the verge of matrimony to Julia, who had absolutely re jected his rival and friend, Dudley, who hav ing joined the royal army, had it in his power to ferve his rival, in confequence of Kirk's offer to pardon one friend to any of his officers. This act of generofity was too refined for Dudley's ideas; but when he finds his friend had been actually executed, notwithftanding Julia had facrificed her innocence to fave his life, he challenges and kills the treacherous Kirk, and in the conflict receives a mortal wound himself, while Julia dies diftracted.

The author, we are told, is a native of Bath, Mr. P. Hoare (fon of Mr. Hoare the Painter), now at Lisbon for the recovery of his health.

As

As no fictitious incident adorns,
The genuine truth all pompous diction
fcorns;

Your pity only he attempts to move
By artless scenes of a difaftrous love.
Yet, as he paints unparallel'd distress,
To your own feelings trufts for his fuccefs.
And though the Mufe her powerful aid with
draws,

Nature herself shall plead the Poet's caufe. Let then the trembling Bard, ye generous fair,

With weeping JULIA your compassion fhare: And as to-night he trufts to you his fame, Ah! doom him not to infamy and fhame. This first attempt with candour deign to hear; And, fhould you drop the fympathetic tear, (That brightest gem that decks the brightest eyes)

Th' unfeeting Critic's cenfure-he'll despise.
For Envy's felf must patronize our cause,
If fuch a brilliant audience fmiles applaufe.
[N. E. Thofe lines with inverted commas
were omitted on the stage.]

EPILOGUE.
Written by Mr. GRAVES.

METHINKS I hear fome Youthful Critic
fay,

(Who comes to fee the Ladies, not the Play)

"I hate thefe horrid fcenes, where peo

ple die,

"And cut each other's throats, the Lord knows why:

"'Tis not my tafte-I'd rather laugh

than cry.

"Indeed the play's too tragical by half; "Give us fome comic strokes-to make us laugh."

Turn then your thoughts from these enormous crimes,

And view a while our merry modern times : Our manners quite a different afpećt wear; And things more smooth and civiliz'd appear. Though prone to vice, we're cowards e'en in guilt:

We cheat, forge notes-but rarely blood is fpilt.

Th' young highwayman will hardly swear or curfe ;

But in the prettief manner-takes your purfe."

Sometimes indeed we threaten feats more cruel,

When Courtiers box, or Taylors fight a duel;

prove,

But who, like JULIA, ever dies for love? Yet this poor maid, her feelings all alive, Could not, 'tis faid, her lover's fate furvive; Bat frantic died---Such Things, we hear, bave been,

Such things we've heard of--but have never feen.

Our Beaux, indeed, both Commoners and Lords,

Wear fcarlet coats, and fometimes draw their (words;

Not for a JULIA, but some trifling bet, Some billiard fquabble, or fome gambling debt.

Money's their idol, Beauty pleads in vain, Without Ten Thousand Pounds to bribe the

fwain ;

Give him the Cash, he values not the Lafs,
He fees a prettier person in his glass.
Young Nymphs may ogle.--Drefs is all his
pride,

And Hymen's torch is almoft laid aside.
Thus Beauty fades--- fops fcorn the marriage,
yoke,

And an Old Maid's become a standing joke. Nor is it thus in private life alone,

Far lefs fevere our folemn courts are grown. "If villains force, or treacherously intice, "Some maid or wife to tread the paths of vice;

"The laughing Town efteems th' offence but flight,

"And views th' offender in a humorous light:

"The Counsel† pleads, and entertains the court,

"And the poor culprit yields his judge fine fport;

"He joins the laugh, fcarce finds himself to blame,

"And, having laugh'd away all fear and fhame,

"He only waits the first convenient time "(And can you blame him?) to repeat his crime."

Go to the Senate, hear fome grand debate; Some weighty queftion of the Church or State:

Things