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BY BRIAN EDWARDS, ESQ.

SCARCE had the tender hand of Time
Maria's bloom brought forth,
Nor yet advanc'd to Beauty's prime,
Tho' ripe in Beauty's worth:

When Fate untimely feal'd her doom,
And fhew'd, in one short hour,

A lovely fky, an envious gloom,
A rainbow and a show'r.

VOL. VI.

B

WRITTEN

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW AT AN INN, UNDER SOME INFAMOUS VERSES.

BY THE SAME,

WHEN Dryden's clown, unknowing what he fought,

His hours in whistling spent, for want of thought,
The guiltlefs Oaf his vacancy of sense
Supplied, and amply too, by innocence.

Did modern fwains, poffefs'd of Cymon's pow'rs,
In Cymon's manner waste there weary hours,
Th' indignant trav'ller would not blushing see
This chrystal pane disgrac'd by infamy!

Severe the fate of modern fools, alas!
When Vice and Folly mark them as they pafs:
Like pois'nous vermin o'er the whiten'd wall,
The filth they leave--ftill points out where they crawl!

EPIGRA M.

BY THE SAME.

POET, faid Chloe, with a laugh,
Your Mufe fhall write my epitaph.
If, tombstone-like, my lovely maid,
I were on that soft bofom laid,

Fond love fhould write, if you should die,
Both epitaph and elegy.

ON

ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL MONTGOMERY.

BY THE SAME.

MONTGOMERY falls! let no fond breast repine, That Hampden's glorious death, brave chief, was thine,

With his fhall Freedom confecrate thy name;
Shall date her rifing glories from thy fame;
Shall build her throne of empire on thy grave:
What nobler fate can patriot virtues crave!

ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR.

BY THE SAME.

Prob Curia inverfique mores!

HOR.

GENIUS of Albion! whither art thou fled!
Thou, who waft wont at Freedom's call to rife,

With thund'ring voice, and heav'n-directed eyes, And mock th' oppreffor's rage, or fmite the tyrant dead!

Oftretch again thy faving hand,
In mercy to this groaning ifle!
No common ills thine aid demand;

Corruption triumphs in her spoil;
Fierce Discord hurls her torch on high;
Nor public weal, nor focial tie

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Can fix the fordid, felfifh mind:
Ambition breaks Law's feeble chain,
Swol'n Lux'ry leads her bloated train,
And Ruin ftalks behind!

II.

Beyond the rough Atlantic tide,
Infpir'd by Virtue and by Thee,
Thy junior fous ftill dare be free ;-

Nor e'er fhall fubtle fraud divide

The gen'rous band. Oh! while the tempeft low'rs, Reflect our caufe is one-that Freedom's foes are ours!

III.

Peace to thy fhade, lamented King;
Great Brunswick, fecond of thy race,
Call'd England's happy throne to grace,
What time fair Freedom made each valley ring.
From the cold tomb could'st thou arise,
How would this profpect fear thine eyes,
And drive thee back in wild affright!

For lo! fierce iffuing from their native north,

The howling furies murd'rous ftorms fend forth; Glut the Gaul's proud revenge, and spread vile Slav'ry's night!

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