THE PETITION.

THE various suppliants which address

Their pray'rs to Heaven on bended knees,

All hope alike for happiness,

Yet each petition disagrees. Fancy, not judgment, constitutes their bliss; The wise, no doubt, will say the same of this.

Ye gods, if you remember right,

Some eighteen years ago,

A form was made divinely bright,

And sent for us t' admire below:

I first distinguish'd her from all the rest,

And hope you'll therefore think my title best.

I ask not heaps of shining gold,

No, if the gods vouchsafe
My longing arms may her infold,
I'm rich, I'm rich enough!
Riches at best can hardly give content;
But having her, what is there I can want?

I ask not, with a pompous train

Of honours, all th' world t' outbrave; The title I wou'd wish to gain,

Is,-Her most fav'rite slave:

To bow to her, a greater bliss wou'd be
Than kings and princes bowing down to me.

To rule the world with power supreme,
Let meaner souls aspire;

To gain the sov'reignty from them

I stoop not to desire:

Give me to reign sole monarch in her breast, Let petty princes for the world contest.

Let libertines, who take delight

In riot and excess,

Thus waste the day, thus spend the night,
Whilst I to joys sublimer press:

Clasp'd in her snowy arms such bliss I'd prove,
As never yet was found, or felt in love.

In short, I ask you not to live

A tedious length of days;

Old age can little pleasure give,

When health and strength decays:

Let but what time I have be spent with her's, Each moment will be worth a thousand years.

AN EPITHALAMIUM.

HENCE, hence all dull cares,

All quarrels and jars,

Ye factious disturbers of pleasure, avoid!
Content, love, and joy,
Shall their powers employ,

To bless the glad bridegroom and beautiful bride.
Anger shall ne'er presune
To come within this room;
No doubt nor anxious fear,

Nor jealous thought shall enter here.
Ill-nature, ill-manners, contention, and pride,
Shall never, shall never the union divide.
O the pleasing, pleasing raptures,
Read in Hymen's nuptial chapters!

A LAMENTABLE CASE.
SUBMITTED TO THE BATH PHYSICIANS.

YE fam'd physicians of this place,
Hear Strephon's and poor Chloe's case,
Nor think that I am joking;

When she wou'd, he cannot comply,
When he wou'd drink, she's not a-dry;
And is not this provoking?

At night, when Strephon comes to rest,
Chloe receives him on her breast,

With fondly folding arms:

Down, down he hangs his drooping head,
Falls fast asleep, and lies as dead,
Neglecting all her charms.

Reviving when the morn returns,
With rising flames young Strephon burns,
And fain, wou'd fain be doing:
But Chloe now, asleep or sick,
Has no great relish for the trick,
And sadly baulks his wooing.

O cruel and disast'rous case,
When in the critical embrace
That only one is burning!
Dear doctors, set this matter right,
Give Strephon spirits over night,
Or Chloe in the morning.

A LADY'S SALUTATION TO HER GARDEN IN THE COUNTRY.

WELCOME, fair scene; welcome, thou lov'd retreat, From the vain hurry of the bustling great.

1 This is only the first few verses of a very long and dull poem in The Muse in Livery, which the author did not think proper to republish.-C.

Enclose the fond admirer of your charms;
Come then, ye bowers, receive your joyful guest,
Glad to retire, and in retirement blest;
Come, ye fair flowers, and open ev'ry sweet;
Come, little birds, your warbling songs repeat,
And oh descend to sweeten all the rest,
Soft smiling peace, in white-rob'd virtue drest;
Content unenvious, ease with freedom join'd,
And contemplation calm, with truth refin'd:
Deign but in this fair scene with me to dwell,
All noise and nonsense, pomp and show, farewell,
And see! oh see! the heav'n-born train appear!
Fix then, my heart; thy happiness is here.

AN EPIGRAM.

CRIES Sylvia to a reverend dean, "What reason can be given, Since marriage is a holy thing,

That there are none in Heaven?" "There are no women," he reply'd; She quick returns the jest"Women there are, but I'm afraid They cannot find a priest."

THE KINGS OF EUROPE.

A JEST.

WHY pray, of late, do Europe's kings
No jester in their courts admit?
They're grown such stately solemn things,
To bear a joke they think not fit.
But tho' each court a jester lacks,
To laugh at monarchs to their face:
All mankind behind their backs
Supply the honest jester's place.

THE PROGRESS OF LOVE.

BENEATH the myrtle's secret shade,
When Delia blest my eyes;

At first I view'd the lovely maid

In silent soft surprise.

With trembling voice, and anxious mind, I softly whisper'd love;

She blush'd a smile so sweetly kind,

Did all my fears remove.

Her lovely yielding form I prest,
Sweet maddening kisses stole;

And soon her swimming eyes confest
The wishes of her soul:

In wild tumultuous bliss, I cry,
"O Delia, now be kind!"

She press'd me close, and with a sigh,
To melting joys resign'd.

SONG,

MAN's a poor deluded bubble,
Wand'ring in a mist of lies,
Seeing false, or seeing double,

Who wou'd trust to such weak eyes?

Yet presuming on his senses,

On he goes most wond'rous wise: Doubts of truth, believes pretences; Lost in errour, lives and dies.

AN EPIGRAM,

OCCASIONED BY THE WORD "ONE PRIOR," IN
THE SECOND VOLUME OF BISHOP BURNET'S
HISTORY.

ONE Prior!-and is this, this all the fame
The poet from th' historian can claim!
No; Prior's verse posterity shall quote,
When 'tis forgot one Burnet ever wrote.

MELPOMENE:

OR THE REGIONS OF TERROUR AND PITY.
AN ODE.

QUEEN of the human heart! at whose command
The swelling tides of mighty passion rise;
Melpomene, support my vent'rous hand,
And aid thy suppliant in his bold emprise;
From the gay scenes of pride

Do thou his footsteps guide

To Nature's awful courts, where nurst of yore, Young Shakspeare, Fancy's child, was taught his various lore.

So may his favour'd eye explore the source, To few reveal'd, whence human sorrows charm:

So may his numbers, with pathetic force, Bid terrour shake us, or compassion warm, As different strains control The movements of the soul; Adjust its passions, harmonize its tone; To feel for other's woe, or nobly bear its own.

Deep in the covert of a shadowy grove, [play;
'Mid broken rocks where dashing currents
Dear to the pensive pleasures, dear to love,
And Damon's Muse, that breathes her melt.
This ardent prayer was made: [ing lay,
When lo! the secret shade,
As conscious of some heavenly presence, shook--
Strength, firmness, reason, all-m' astonished
soul forsook.

Ah! whither goddess! whither am I borne?
To what wild region's necromantic shore?
These panics whence? and why my bosom torn
With sudden terrours never felt before?
Darkness inwraps me round;
While from the vast profound

Emerging spectres dreadful shapes assume, And gleaming on my sight, add horrour to the gloom.

Ha! what is he whose fierce indignant eye, Denouncing vengeance, kindles into flame? Whose boisterous fury blows a storm so high, As with its thunder shakes his lab'ring frame. What can such rage provoke?

His words their passage choke: His eager steps nor time nor truce allow, And dreadful dangers wait the menace of his brow.

Protect me, goddess! whence that fearful shriek
Of consternation? as grim Death had laid
His icy fingers on some guilty cheek, [may'd:
And all the powers of manhood shrunk dis-
Ah see! besmear'd with gore
Revenge stands threatening o'er

A pale delinquent, whose retorted eyes
In vain for pity call-the wretched victim dies.

Not long the space-abandon'd to despair,

With eyes aghast, or hopeless fix'd on earth, This slave of passion rends his scatter'd hair, Beats his sad breast, and execrates his birth: While torn within he feels

The pangs of whips and wheels; And sees, or fancies, all the fiends below, Beckoning his frighted soul to realms of endless

woc.

Before my wondering sense new phantoms dance, And stamp their horrid shapes upon my brain-A wretch with jealous brow, and eyes askance, Feeds all in secret on his bosom pain. Fond love, fierce hate assail; Alternate they prevail: [conspire, While conscious pride and shame with rage And urge the latent sparks to flames of torturing

fire.

The storm proceeds-his changeful visage trace: From rage to inadness every feature breaks. A growing phrenzy grins upon his face,

And in his frightful stare distraction speaks: His straw-invested head

Proclaims all reason fled;

And not a tear bedews those vacant eves

Behold that beauteous maid! her languid head

Bends like a drooping lily charg'd with rain: With floods of tears she bathes a lover dead, In brave assertion of her honour slain. Her bosom heaves with sighs; To Heaven she lifts her eyes, With grief beyond the power of words opprest,

gled sighs.

Yet, yet again!-a murderer's hand appears

Grasping a pointed dagger stain'd with blood! His look malignant chills with boding fears, That check the current of life's ebbing flood, In midnight's darkest clouds The dreary m screant shrouds His felon step-as 'twere to darkness given To dim the watchful eye of all-pervading Heaven.

And hark! ah mercy! whence that hollow sound? [hair? Why with strange horrour starts my bristling Earth opens wide, and from unhallow'd ground A pallid ghost slow-rising steals on air. To where a mangled corse Expos'd without remorse Lies shroudless, unentomb'd, he points the away

Points to the prowling wolf exultant o'er his prey.

Ah! who to pomp or grandeur would aspire? Kings are not rais'd above misfortune's frown: That form so graceful even in mean attire, Sway'd once a sceptre, once sustain'd a crown. From filial rage and strife,

To screen his closing life, He quits his throne, a father's sorrow feels, And in the lap of want his patient head conceals. More yet remain'd-but lo! the pensive queen Appears confest before my dazzled sight; Grace in her steps, and softness in her mien, The face of sorrow mingled with delight. Not such her nobler frame, When kindling into flame,

And bold in virtue's cause, her zeal aspires To waken guilty pangs, or breathe heroic fires. Aw'd into silence, my rapt soul attendsThe power, with eyes complacent, saw my And, as with grief ineffable she bends, [fear; These accents vibrate on my listening ear. "Aspiring son of art,

Know, tho' thy feeling heart Glow with these wonders to thy fancy shown, Still may the Delian god thy powerless toils dis

"But dost thou worship Nature night and morn, And all due honour to her precepts pay? Canst thou the lure of affectation scorn, Pleas'd in the simpler paths of truth to stray? Hast thou the Graces fair Invoh'd with ardent prayer? 'Tis they attire, as Nature must impart, The sentiment sublime, the language of the heart. "Then, if creative Genius pour his ray, Warm with inspiring influence on thy breast; Taste, judgment, fancy, if thou canst display, And the deep source of passion stand confest: Then may the listening train, Affected, feel thy strain; Feel grief or terrour, rage or pity move; Change with the varying scenes, and every scene approve."

Humbled before her sight, and bending low,

I kiss'd the borders of her crimson vest;
Eager to speak, I felt my bosom glow,
But fear upon my lip her seal imprest.
While awe-struck thus I stood,
The bowers, the lawn, the wood,

The form celestial, fading on my sight, Dissolv'd in liquid air, and fleeting gleams of light.

ON HIS FIRST ARRIVAL AT THE LEASOWS, 1754.

The woods? or waves there not a magic wand
O'er the translucent waters? Sure, unseen,
Some favouring power directs the happy lines
That sketch these beauties; swells the rising bills,
And scoops the dales to Nature's finest forms,
Vague, undetermin'd, infinite: untaught
By line or compass, yet supremely fair."
So spake Philemon, as with raptur'd gaze
He travers'd Damon's farm. From distant plains
He sought his friend's abode; nor had the fame
Of that new-form'd Arcadia reach'd his ear.

And thus the swain, as o'er each hill and dale,
Thro' lawn or thicket he pursued his way:
"What is it gilds the verdure of these meads
With lines more bright than fancy paints the flowers
Of Paradise? what Naiad's guiding hand
Leads, thro' the broider'd vale, these lucid rills,
That murmuring as they flow, bear melody
Improve the music of the woodland choir?
Along their banks; and thro' the vocal shades,
What pensive Dryad rais'd yon solemn grové,
Where minds contemplative, at close of day
Retiring, muse o'er Nature's various works,
Her wonders venerate, or her sweets enjoy?---
What room for doubt? some rural deity,
Presiding, scatters o'er th' unequal lawns,
In beauteous wildness, yon fair-spreading trees:
And mingling woods and waters, hills and dales,
And herds and bleating flocks, domestic fowl,
And those that swim the lake, sees rising round
More pleasing landscapes than in Tempe's vale
Penèus watered. Yes, some sylvan god
Spreads wide the varied prospect; waves the woods,
Lifts the proud hills, and clears the shining lakes:
While, from the congregated waters pour'd,
The bursting torrent tumbles down the steep
In foaming fury; fierce, irregular,
Wild, interrupted, cross'd with rocks and roots
And interwoven trees; till, soon absorb'd,
An open cavern all its rage entombs.
So vanish human glories! such the pomp
Of swelling warriors, of ambitious kings,
Who fret and strut their hour upon the stage
Of busy life, and then are heard no more!

"Yes, 'tis enchantment all-and see, the spells,
The powerful incantations, magic verse,
Spells!-incantations!-ah, my tuneful friend!
Inscrib'd on every tree, alcove, or urn.—

Thine are the numbers! thine the wond'rous work!
Yes, great magician! now I read thee right,
And lightly weigh all sorcery, but thine.
No Naiad's leading step conducts the rill:
Nor sylvan god presiding skirts the lawn
In beauteous wildness, with fair spreading trees;
Nor magic wand has circumscrib'd the scene.
'Tis thine own taste, thy genius, that presides,
Nor needs there other deity, nor needs [swain,
More potent spells than they."- -No more the
For lo, his Damon, o'er the tufted lawn
Advancing, leads him to the social dome.

AGRICULTURE.

A POEM.

The source of this enchantment? Dwells it in

this attempt to delineate such objects of pubuc

IF the writer of the following piece could hope to produce any thing in poetry, worthy the public attention; it would give him particular plea- | sure to lay the foundation of his claim to such a distinction in the happy execution of this work. But he fears it will be thought, that the projected building is too great for the abilities of the architect; and that he is not furnished with a variety of materials sufficient for the proper finishing and embellishment of such a structure. And when it is further confessed, that he hath entered on this design without the assistances of learning, and that his time for the execution of it was either snatched from the hours of business, or stolen from those of rest; the mind in either case not likely to be in the happiest disposition for poetry; his prospect of success will grow still more clouded, and the presumption against him must gather additional strength.

Under these and many other disadvantages, which he feels and laments; conscious of all his deficiencies, and how unequal he is to the task of executing this plan, even up to his own ideas; what shall he plead in excuse for his temerity in persisting thus far to prosecute the attempt? All he can say is, that he hath taken some pains to furnish himself with materials for the work; that he hath consulted men as well as books, for the knowledge of his subjects, in which he hopes he hath not been guilty of many mistakes; that it hath not been an hasty performance; nor is it at last obtruded on the public, without the approbations of several persons, whose judgments, were it not probable they may have received a bias from the partiality of friendship, he could have no reason to doubt. But that he may know with certainty whether this is not the case, to the public he submits it; willing to receive from thence his determination to prosecute or suppress the remainder of his plan. If he bere receives a check, he will quietly acquiesce in the general opinion; and must submit to be included among those who have mistaken their talent. But as the difficulties he had to struggle with would in case of success have increased his reputation, he hopes if he hath failed they will soften his disgrace.

The author's original design was to have written a poem, intitled, Public Virtue, in three books, 1. Agriculture. 2. Commerce. 3. Arts. The first book was all he ever executed.

CANTO THE FIRST.

ARGUMENT.

bandry to be encouraged, as it is the source of wealth and plenty. Advice to landlords not to oppress the farmer. The farmer's three great virtues. His instruments of husbandry. His servants. Description of a country statute. Episode of the fair milkmaid. The farm-yard described. The pleasures of a rural life. Address to the great to study Agriculture. allegory, attempting to explain the theory of vegetation.

Or culture, and the various fruits of earth;
Of social commerce; of the nobler arts,
Which polish and adoru the life of man:
Objects demanding the supreme regard
Of that exalted monarch, who sustains
The sceptre of command o'er Britain's sons;
The Muse, disdaining idle themes, attempts
To sing. O thou, Britannia's rising hope!
The favourite of her wishes! thou, O prince,
On whom her fondest expectations wait,
Accept the verse; and, to the humblest voice
That sings of public virtue, lend an ear.

An

Genius of Britain! pure Intelligence! Guardian, appointed by the One Supreme, With influential energy benign, To guide the weal of this distinguish'd isle; Oh wake the breast of her aspiring son, Inform his numbers, aid his bold design, Who, in a daring flight, presumes to mark The glorious track her monarchs should pursue. From cultivation, from the useful toils Of the laborious hind, the streams of wealth And plenty flow. Deign then, illustrious youth! To bring th' observing eye, the liberal hand, And with a spirit congenial to your birth, Regard his various labours thro' the year: So shall the labourer smile, and you improve The happy country you are born to rule.

The year declining, now hath left the fields Divested of their honours: the strong glebe, Exhausted, waits the culture of the plough, To renovate her powers, 'Tis now, intent On honest gain, the cautious husbandman Surveys the country round, solicitous To fix his habitation on a soi! Propitious to his hopes, and to his cares.

[toils

O ye, whom Fortune in her silken robe Inwraps benign; whom Plenty's bounteous hand Hath favour'd with distinction: Oh look down, With smiles indulgent, on his new designs; Assist his useful works, facilitate His honest aims, nor in exaction's gripe Enthrall th' endeavouring swain. Think not his Were meant alone to foster you in ease And pamper'd indolence: nor grudge the meed, Which Heaven in mercy gives to cheer the hand, The labouring hand of useful industry. Be yours the joy to propagate content; With bounteous Heav'n co-operate, and reward The poor man's toil, whence all your riches spring. As in a garden, the enlivening air

Is fill'd with odours, drawn from those fair flowers Which by its influence rise: so in his breast Benevolent who gives the swains to thrive, Reflected live the joys his virtues lent.

But come, young farmer, though by fortune fix'd On fields luxuriant, where the fruitful soil Gives labour hope; where sheltering shades arise, Thick fences guard, and bubbling fountains flow;