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النشر الإلكتروني

Howe'er the youth, with forward air,
Bows to the fage, and mounts the car:
The lach resounds, the coursers fçring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gath'ring crowds with eager eyes,
And fhouts, pursue him as he Aies.

Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain,
The felf-fame track he marks again,
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.

Amazement seized the circling crowd;
The youths with emularion glow'd ;
Ev'n bearded fages haiļd the boy,
And all, but Plato, gaz'd with joy ;
For he, deep-judging fage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field;
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, Auth'd with hope, had caught his eye,
Alas! unhappy youth, he cried,
Expect no praise from me, (and ligh’d,)
With indignation I survey
Such skill and judgment thrown away,
The time profusely squander'd there,
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at less expense,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern inen, and guide the state.



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Where London's column, pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;
There dwelt a Citizen of fober fame,
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name ; .
Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth :
His word would pass for more than he was worth.
One folid dish his weekday meal affords,
An added pudding solemniz’d the Lord's :
Constant at Church, and 'Change ; his gains were sure,
His givings rare, fave farthings to the poor.

The devil was piqued such saintship to behold,
And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old :
But Satan now is wifer than of yore,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.

Rous’d by the Prince of Air the whirlwinds sweep
The furge, and plunge his Father in the deep;
Then fuil against his Cornish lands they roar,
And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.

Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes :
Live like yourself,” was foon my Lady's word;
And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board.

Alleep and naked as an Indian·lay,'
An honest factor stole a gem away:
He pledg'd it to the knight; the knight had wit,
So kept the diamond, and the rogue was bit.
Some Tcruple rose, but thus he eas'd his thought,
“ I'll now give fixpence where I gave a groat;
" Where once I went to Church I'll now go twice
« And am so clear too of ail other vice."



The tempter saw his time; the work he plied ;
Stocks and fubfcriptions pour on ev'ry side,
'Till all the Dæmon makes his full descent
In one abundant show'r of cent per cent,
Sinks deep within him, and poffefses whole,
Then dubs Director, and secures his soul.

Behold Sir Balaam now a man of spirit,
Afcribes his gettings to his parts and merit;
What late he call’d a blessing, now was wit,
And God's good Providence, a lucky hit.
Things change their titles, as our manners turn :
His counting-house employ'd the Sunday morn:
Seldom at Church ('twas such a busy life),
Bat duly feat his family and wife.
There (so the Devil ordain’d) one Christmas tide
My good old lady catch'd a cold and died.

A Nymph of quality admires our Knight,
He marries, bows at Coart, and grows polite :
Leaves the dull Cits, and joins (to please the fair)
The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air.
In Britain's Senate he a seat obtains,
And one more pensioner St. Stephen gains,
My Lady falls to play ; fo bad her chance,
He must repair it; takes a bribe from France ;
The House impeach him; Coningsby harangues ;
The Court forsake him, and Sir Balaam hangs.
Wife, son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own,
His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the Crown :
The Devil and the King divide the prize,
And fad Sir Balaam curses God and dies.



Far in the windings of a vale,

Fast by a shelt'ring wood,
The fafe retreat of health and peace,

An humble cottage stood.
There beauteous EMMA flourilh'd fair

Beneath her mother's eye,
Whose only with on earth was now

To see her bleft, and die.
The foftest blush that nature spreads,

Gave colour to her cheek;
Such orient colour smiles through Heav'n

When May's sweet mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones scorn

The charmers of the plains;
That sun which bids their diamond blaze,

To deck our lily deigns.
Long had the fir'd each youth with love,

Each maiden with despair;
And though by all a wonder own'd,

Yet knew not the was fair;
"Till EDWIN came, the pride of swains,

A soul that knew no art,
And from whose eyes serenely mild,

Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual Alame was quickly caught,

Was quickly too reveal'd ;
For neither bosom lodg'd a wish,

Which virtue keeps conceal'd.


What happy hours of heart-felt bliss

Did love on both beltow ! But bliss too mighty jong to last,

Where fortune proves a foe.
His fifter, who, like Invy form’d,

Like her in mischief joy'd,
To work them harm with wicked skill

Each darker art employd.
The father, too, a fordid man,

Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the rock From whence his riches

grew. Long had he seen their mutual flame,

And seen it long unmov'd;
Then with a father's frown at last

He sternly disapprov'd.
In Euwin's gentle heart a war

Of differing passions Atrove;
His heart, which durft not disobey,

Yet could not cease to love.
Denied her fight, he oft behind

The spreading hawthorn crept,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot

Where EMMA walk'd and wept.
Oft too in Stanemore's wintry waste,

Beneath the moonlight shade,
In fighs to pour his foften'd soul,

The midnight mourner Atray'd.
His cheeks, where love with beauty glow'd,

A deadly pale o'ercast;
So fades the fresh rose in its prime,

Before the northern blaft.


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