For you, who mourn with counterfeited grief,
And ask fo boldly like a begging thief,
May foon fome other nymph inflict the pain,
You know fo well with cruel art to feign.
Though long you sported have with Cupid's dart,
fee eyes, and you may feel a heart.
You may
So the brisk wits, who stop the evening coach,
Laugh at the fear that follows their approach;
With idle mirth, and haughty scorn despise
The paffenger's pale cheek, and staring eyes:
But feiz'd by Justice, find a fright no jeft,
And all the terror doubled in their breast.
In Answer to a LADY who advised
RETIREMENT.
little know the heart that
I view this various fcene with equal eyes:
In crowded courts I find myself alone,
And pay my worship to a nobler throne.
Long fince the value of this world I know,
Pity the madness, and despise the show.
Well as I can my tedious part I bear,
And wait for my difmiffion without fear.
Seldom I mark mankind's detefted ways,
Not hearing cenfure, nor affecting praise;
And, unconcern'd, my future ftate I trust
To that fole Being, merciful and just.
An Address of the STATUES at STOWE, to Lord COBHAM, on his Return to his Gardens.
ROM every Muse and every art thy own,
Thy bow'rs our theatres, thy mind our throne!
Hail to thy virtues manumiz'd from state;
Hail! to thy leisure to be wifely great.
Fetter'd by duties and to forms enslav❜d,
How timely have thy years a remnant fav'd!
To tafte that freedom which thy fword maintain'd,
And lead in letter'd ease, a life unpain'd:
So Scipio (Carthage fall'n) refign'd his plume,
And fmil'd at the forgetfulness of Rome.
O greatly blefs'd! whofe evening fweeteft fhines,
And, in unclouded flowness, calm declines!
While free reflection with reverted eye,
Wan'd from hot noon-tide and a troubled fky,
Divides life well: the largest part, long known
Thy country's claim; the last and best thy own.
Here while detach'd, thy self-supported foul
Refumes dominion, and escapes controul;
Moves with a grandeur, monarchs wish in vain,
Above all fears, ftorms, dangers, hopes or pain;
A glance fometimes from thy fafe fummit throw,
And see the dusty world look dim below:
Through the dark throng difcern huge flaves of pride
Should'ring unheeded Happiness aside;
Thwarted and push'd and lab'ring into name,
And dignify'd with all the dirt of fame;
Then with a smile fuperior, turn away,
And lop th' exub'rance of fome ftraggling spray;
Wind through thy mazes to ferene delight,
And from the bursting bubbles fhade thy fight.
Yet where thou fhin'ft, like heav'n behind a cloud, Moving like light, all piercing, though not loud; The Muse shall find thee in thy bleft retreat, And breathe this honeft wish at Cobham's feet: Fresh as thy lakes, may all thy pleasures flow! And breezy like thy groves, thy paffions blow! Wide as thy fancy, be thy fpreading praise ! And long and lovely as thy walks, thy days!
ET others hail the rifing fun,
I bow to that whose course is run,
Which fets in endless night;
Whofe rays benignant bless'd this isle,
Made peaceful Nature round us smile
With calm, but cheerful light.
No bounty past provokes my praise,
No future profpects prompt my lays,
From real grief they flow;
I catch th' alarm from Britain's fears,
My forrows fall with Britain's tears,
And join a nation's woe.
See -as you pass the crowded ftreet,
Defpondence clouds each face you meet,
All their loft friend deplore:
You read in every penfive eye,
You hear in every broken figh,
That Pelham is no more.
If thus each Briton be alarm'd,
Whom but his distant influence warm'd,
What grief their breasts must rend,
Who in his private virtues bless'd,
By Nature's deareft tyes poffefs'd
The Hufband, Father, Friend!
What! mute ye bards? no mournful verfe,
No chaplets to adorn his hearfe,
To crown the good and just?
Your flowers in warmer regions bloom,
You seek no penfions from the tomb,
No laurels from the dust.
When pow'r departed with his breath,
The fons of Flatt'ry fled from death:
Such infects fwarm at noon.
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