Would pay thy toils, reward thy care,
Confenting bend to every pray'r,
And all thy wishes crown?

X.

We faw a wretch, with trait'rous aid,

Our King's and Church's rights invade:
And thine, fair Liberty!

We faw thy Hero fly to war,

Beat down Rebellion, break her spear,

And fet the nation free.

XI.

Culloden's field, my glorious theme,
My rapture, vifion, and my dream,
Gilds the young Hero's days:

Yet can there be one English heart

That does not give thee, Poyntz, thy part,

And own thy share of praise?

XII.

Nor is thy fame to thee decreed

For life's fhort date: when William's head,

For victories to come,

The frequent laurel fhall receive:

Chaplets for thee our fons fhall weave,

And hang 'em on thy tomb.

ODE

ODE on the Death of MATZEL, a favourite Bull-finch, addrefs'd to Mr. ST PE, to whom the Author had given the Reversion of it when he left Dresden.

By the Same.

I.

ARY not, my St-pe, 'tis in vain

TR

To stop your tears, to hide your pain,

Or check your honeft rage;

Give forrow and revenge their scope,

My prefent joy, your future hope,

Lies murder'd in his cage.
II.

Matzel's no more, ye graces, loves,

Ye linnets, nightingales and doves,

Attend th' untimely bier;

Beat with your wings each mournful breast,

And drop the natʼral tear.

III. In

III.

In height of fong, in beauty's pride,
By fell Grimalkin's claws he died-

But vengeance shall have way;

On pains and tortures I'll refine;

Yet, Matzel, that one death of thine,
His nine will ill repay.

IV.

For thee, my bird, the facred Nine, Who lov'd thy tuneful notes, fhall join In thy funereal verse :

My painful task shall be to write

Th' eternal dirge which they indite,

And hang it on thy hearse.

V.

In vain I lov'd, in vain I mourn

My bird, who never to return

Is fled to happier fhades,

Where Lesbia fhall for him prepare

The place most charming, and most fair Of all th' Elysian glades.

VI.

There shall thy notes in cypress grove

Sooth wretched ghofts that died for love;

There shall thy plaintive strain

Lull impious Phædra's endless grief,
To Procris yield some short relief,
And foften Dido's pain..
VII.

'Till Proferpine by chance fhall hear
Thy notes, and make thee all her care,
And love thee with my love;

While each attendant's soul shall praise
The matchlefs Matzel's tuneful lays,

And all his fongs approve.

MARTIALIS EPIGRAMM A.

Lib. VI. Ep. 34. Imitated.

By the Same.

HOME, Chloe, and give me sweet kiffes,

COM

For fweeter fure never girl gave:

But why in the midst of my bliffes
Do you ask me how many I'd have?
I'm not to be ftinted in pleasure,

Then pr'ythee my charmer be kind,
For whilst I love thee above measure,

To numbers I'll ne'er be confin'd.

Count

F

Count the bees that on Hybla are playing,
Count the flow'rs that enamel its fields,
Count the flocks that on Tempe are straying,
Or the grain that rich Sicily yields;
Go number the stars in the heaven,
Count how many fands on the fhore,
When fo many kiffes you've given

I still shall be craving for more.

To a heart full of love let me hold thee,

To a heart which, dear Chloe, is thine;
With my arms I'll for ever enfold thee,

And twift round thy limbs like a vine.
What joy can be greater than this is?

My life on thy lips fhall be spent ;
But the wretch that can number his kiffes
With few will be ever content.

**{*}X{*}*<*>X:<*}:

*

The Progrefs of DISCONTENT.

A POE M.

Written at Oxford in the Year 1746.

WHEN now mature in claffic knowledge,

VOL. IV.

The joyful youth is fent to college,