'Midft the wide flames that civil discord spread, When by base arts the royal Martyr bled, Still loyal Pomfret fpurn'd the tyrant's hate; Laft in these northern climes that fcorn'd to pay

A fervile homage to his lawless fway,

And in inglorious eafe furvive their monarch's fate.

Long, haughty Lambert, did thy veteran powers
With iron tempeft shake these folid towers,

And round the walls the millive murder fend:
In vain, brave Morrice, did thy martial train
With loyal zeal the hoftile fhocks sustain,

And 'gainst Rebellion's fons these royal domes defend.

Hark! the loud engines tear the trembling walls, And from its base the maffive fabric falls, And all at once these antient honours fade : This princely pile with all it's fplendid spoils, Sinks 'midst the havock of intestine broils, In proftrate ruins loft and dark Oblivion laid.

* Pomfret Castle was the last fortress in the north of England that furrendered to the Parliament's forces, after the murder of King Charles, and was befieged and destroyed by General Lambert.

THE SCOTS DE CRE E.

IN Scotland once a King they had

The first that there did reign,
Tho' no man ever knew his dad
Yet Fergus was his name.

This muckle Monarch on a day,
To fhew his Scottish pride,
Did to his nobles proudly say,
As they ftood by his fide:

"Ken ye the man, or King, quo' he,

"So great or wife as I?

"His wit and strength I fain would fee, "For I the world defy."

His muckle Lairds stood in amaze,
And durft no answer make,

For fear his paffion they should raise,
And he their craigs would break.

But one much wifer than the reft,
Had heard Religion's fame,
Told him that he, at his requeft,
Would tell a Monarch's name.

At

At which the mighty Monarch rose,
All fire, like a true Scot,
Bid him the fecret then difclofe,

Or he should go to pot.

His name, quoth he, Jehovah is,
The King of kings is he,
The fountain of all happiness,
The fupreme Deity.

"De'il fau me, if e'er I heard

"Of fike a King before, "Or ever ken'd I fike a Laird,

"By fea or on the shore.

"Gang ye're ways, gud-man, to that fame King, "And let him understand,

"That you from me this meffage bring,

"Yotell him, he acknowledge muft, "That I'm the greater Laird,

Or I'll his cities lay in duft,

"His people put to th' fward."

This wonder of the Scottish Court
Did for a while retire,

To ufe his harmless rural sport,
And quench his Monarch's fire.

Some time he staid, then came to Court,
And ken'd was by the King,

"Weel man, quo' he, did'st reach the port ?
"What meffage doft thou bring ?"

"Troth have I, Sir, and thus he says, This meffage he does fend

"If you will love, and trust always "In him, he'll be your friend."

"Do's he, gud troth? then deel a' me, "If any Scotish man

"From this day e'er his kingdom fee, "Or e'er invade his land."

Thus, by a wife decree at firft;

The Scotfmen loft their Heaven, But to employ them, (thus accurs❜d) The itch to them was given.

ON THE MODERN PLAID-WEARERS.

WHAT do I fee ridiculously clad

Our English beaux and belles in Highland plaid?
The dress of rebels! by our laws forbid !
No matter why fhould friends or foes be hid?

By

By this dictinctive badge are traitors shown,
Sure as free mafons by their fignals known.
Come to the mufter, Perkin, take thy roll,
And of thy flaves in liv'ry fum the poll.

Yet fay, ye daftards, who in peaceful days
Look big, drink healths, and hope a traitor's praise,
In what dark corner did ye lurk, when late
To the last crifis Edward pufh'd his fate?
Sculking behind the laws ye wifh'd to break,
Ye dar'd risk nothing for your Prince's fake;
Tamely ye faw his promis'd fuccours fail,
And William's arms, like Aaron's rod, prevail.
True to no fide, ye bats* of human kind,
Defpifs'd by both, for public fcorn defign'd,
Still by your drefs diftinguifh'd from the reft,
Be James's forrow and be George's jeft.

FURYALUST

AN EPIGRAM.

SEE Natta's coach along the village runs,
Drawn by four fcrubs, purfued by thrice four duns:
Landskips and arms adorn the gay machine,

Without all Vanity, all Vice within.