For fhe was juft, and friend to virtuous lore,
And pafs'd much time in truly virtuous deed;
And in thofe elfins ears would oft deplore

The times when Truth by Popish rage did bleed,
And tortious death was true Devotion's meed;

And fimple Faith in iron chains did mourn, That nould on wooden image place her creed;

And lawny faints in fmould'ring flames did burn: Ah, dearest Lord! forefend thilk days fhould e'er return. In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish ftem,

By the fharp tooth of cank'ring Eld defac'd, In which, when he receives his diadem,"

Our fov'reign prince and lie feft liege is plac'd, The matron fate; and fome with rank fhe grac'd, The fource of children's and of courtier's pride! Redrefs'd affronts (for vile affronts there pafs'd).

And warn'd them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them betide.

Right well fhe knew each temper to defcry,

To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise; Some with vile copper prize exalt on high,

And fome entice with pittance finall of praise; And other fome with baleful sprig fhe 'frays:

E'en abfent, she the reins of pow'r doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd the fways;

Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold, "Twill whifper in her ear, and all the scene unfold. Vol. IV. 13.

B

Lo!

Lo! now with flate the utters the command!
Eftfoons the urchins to their talks repair ;
Their books, of flature finall, they take in hand,
Which with pellucid horn fecured are,
To fave from finger wet the letters fair.
The work fo gay that on their back is feen
St. George's high atchievements does declare,
On which thilk wight that has ygazing been,
Kens the forth-coming rod; unpleafing fight, I ween!
Ah! lucklefs he, and born beneath the beam
Of evil ftar! it irks me whilft I write !
As erf the bard*, by Mulla's filver fiream,
Oft as he told of deadly dolorous plight,
Sigh'd as he fung, and did in tears indite ;

For, brandifhing the rod, fhe doth begin
To loofe the brogues, the ftripling's late delight!
And down they drop; appears his dainty skin,

Fair as the furry coat of whiteft ermilin.

O ruthful scene! when from a nook obfcure
His little fifter doth his peril fee;

All playful as the fate, fhe grows demure,
She finds full foon her wonted fpirits flee;
She meda es a pray'r to fet him free:
Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny
(If gentle pardon could with dames agree)

To her fad grief that fwells in either eye,
And wrings her fo, that all for pity fhe could die.

No

* Spenfer.

No longer can fhe now her fhrieks command;
And hardly fhe forbears, thro' awful fear,
To rufhen forth, and with prefumptuous hand,
To flay harfh juftice in its mid career.
On thee the calls, on thee, her parent dear!
(Ah! too remote to ward the fhameful blow;
She fees no domestic vifage near,

And foon a flood of tears begins to flow,

And gives a loose at laft to unavailing woe.

But, ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace?
Or what device his loud laments explain?

The form uncouth of his disguised face ?

The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain?
The plenteous fhow'r that does his cheek diftain ?
When he in abject wife implores the dame,
Ne hopeth aught of sweet reprieve to gain ;
Or when from high fhe levels well her aim,

And, thro' the thatch, his cries each falling ftroke proclaim.
The other tribe, aghaft, with fore difmay

Attend, and conn their tasks with mickle care;

By turns, aftonied. ev'ry twig furvey,

And from their fellow's hateful wounds beware, Knowing, I wift, how each the fame may share; Till fear has taught them a performance meet, And to the well-known cheft the dame repair,

Whence oft with fugar'd cakes fhe doth 'em greet, And gingerbread y-rare: now, certes, doubly sweet!

See, to their feats they hye with merry glee,
And in befeemly order fitten there,
All but the wight of bum y-galled; he

Abhorreth bench, and ftool, and form, and chair
(This hand in mouth y-fix'd, that rends his hair);
And eke with fnubs profound, and heaving breaft,
Convulfions intermitting! does declare

His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest, And fcorns her offer'd love, and shuns to be caress'd.

His face befprent with liquid crystal shines ;

His blooming face, that feems a purple flow'r, Which low to earth its drooping head declines,

All finear'd and fullied by a vernal show'r. Oh the hard bofoms of defpotic pow'r !

All, all but fhe, the author of his fhame,

All, all but fhe, regret this mournful hour;

Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r fhall claim, If fo I deem aright, tranfcending worth and fame. Behind fome door in melancholy thought, Mindlefs of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines; Ne for his fellows joyaunce careth ought, But to the wind all merriment refigns, And deems it fhame if he to peace inclines; And many a fullen look askaunce is fent, Which for his dame's annoyance he designs ; And ft'll the more to pleasure him she's bent, The more doth he, perverse, her 'haviour past resent.

Ah,

Ah, me how much I fear left pride it be!
But if that pride it be which thus infpires,
Beware, ye dames! with nice difcernment fee,
Ye quench not too the fparks of nobler fires :
Ah! better far than all the Mufe's lyres

(All coward arts) is valour's gen'rous heat;
The firm fix'd breast which fit and right requires,

Like Vernon's patriot foul, more juflly great Thus craft that pimps for ill, or flow'ry falfe deceit. Yet, nurs'd with fkill, what dazzlings fruits appear! E'en now fagacious forefight points to show A little bench of heedlefs bifhops here, And there a chancellor in embryo,

Or bard fublime, if bard may e'er be fo:

As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er fhall die! Tho' now he crawl along the ground fo low;

Nor weeting how the Mufe fhould foar on high, Wifheth, poor flary 'ling elf! his paper kite may fly.. And this perhaps, who, cens'ring the defign, Low lays the house which that of cards doth build, Shall Dennis be, ifrigid Fates incline;

And many an epic to his rage fhall yield,

And many a poet quit th' Aonian field :

And, four'd by age, profound he fhall appear, As he who now, with 'fdainful fury thrill'd,

Surveys mine work, and levels many a fneer, And furlshis wrinkly front, and cries, What stuff is here.