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But ftriving, void of grace and fear,
To please, with rhyme, your nicer ear,
May fhew myself the more a fool,
Juft object of your ridicule.

Oft I revolv'd, devoid of ftrife,

Th' amusement of scholastic life;
(Bleft ftate! where joy and truth abound,
And pleasures, void of cares, are found!)
And there the learned page explore,
And con our quondum leffons o'er :
Or, from the hours of durance free,
To every heart glad liberty;
Unknown to fickness, care, or pain,
Contend at cricket once again :
Or, bleft beyond our greatest hope,
When favour'd with a wider fcope,
With you, with Bullock, Turner, ftray,
Where Norwood hills invite the way:
At Allen's, tir'd, fometimes regale
With wine, or punch, or buns and ale.

Ah! Turner, much lamented youth,
Adorn'd with Learning, Virtue, Truth!
Had Fate permitted longer stay,

Nor fnatch'd thee from thy friends away,
Thou should't have fill'd some nobler place,
Thy country's ornament and grace!

Receive

Receive, thou dear departed fhade,
This tribute to thy mem❜ry paid;
And may it, while it speaks thy fame,
Tell how I love, revere thy name.

The days of pleasures paft, I weet,
Are yet in recollection sweet:
Oh! may fucceeding days reflect
A pleasure still in retrospect;
And leave no bitter thoughts behind,
To ruffle or disturb the mind:

That, when shall come the final day,
When we the debt of Nature pay,
We may refign without a tear,

Have much to hope, but nought to fear.

The clofing of poor Turner's eyes,
Has led my Mufe to moralize;
Forgive me, if I call anew

His image, Cranmer, to your view,
And cause you freshly to deplore
Your friend and mine, alas! no more!

Sometimes, when bufinefs will admit,
I fearch the Regifters of Wit:
To History I'm often led,

There view the actions of the dead:

By

By this inftructive science shown,
From others faults I learn my own:
Or, to poetic flights inclin'd,

When time permits, and Mufe is kind,
In rhyme I trifle out an hour,

And fing in verfe, of Nature's pow'r :
To love-fick damfels friendly prove,
And fcribble out a cure for Love :
Or, thro' Imagination's aid,
Enraptur'd, court fome painted maid.

Amusements like to thefe I find,
Enlarge th' ideas of the mind;
Afford more pleafing sweet content,
Than hours of riot, taverns fpent.

Whilst I a vacant hour employ,
To give you pain, or give you joy,
Methinks, with Fancy's airy flight,
I fee you in th' assembly bright,
With eafy, lightfome ftep advance,
Rejoicing in the mazy dance :
Or else with Beaux and Belles fit down,
To play at cards for half-a-crown;
"Till, captiv'd by fome Beauty's art,
You lofe your cafh, or lofe your heart.

I thought

I thought t' enquire your gay defigns,
And health, at first, in twenty lines:
But foon as e'er I could begin,
Thought upon thought crowding in,
And drove me with fuch rapid force,
I could not eafy stop my course.
So boys in Thames their pleasure take,
One step and then another make;
Till quite depriv'd at length of stay,
They're carried by the tide away.

But, not to lead you more about,
Nor weary quite your patience out,
If a few minutes you can spare,
From your attention to the fair,
I should be glad to have a letter,
In verfe, or profe if you think better:
How grand the balls, how fine the place,
How gay and fplendid fhines his Grace;
How Nash, diverfions all his care,
Affects of youth the sprightly air
How hearts to conquer, beauties try,
And throw around th' alluring eye,

;

To me, if willing, you might fend,
Who am your fervant, and your friend.

Vauxhall, April 3, 1753.

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JOSEPH MAWBEY.

ON

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MARK the new fcene *, how Wealth and Art unite
T'enrich the foil, and give the eye delight:
Here fhady waftes and rufhy bogs bore fway,
Now fields of corn the ploughman's toil obey,
And lowing paftures cheer the welcome day.
See roads new trac'd for universal good,
With ftately bridges to furmount the flood.
The goddess Culture gains a new domain,
Enliv'ning all, and, with her busy train,
Spreads a rich mantle over hill and plain :
Whilft Nature views the happy changes made,
With pleafing wonder, like a country maid,
Who, dreft in elegance, with rich array,
Scarce knows herself, blufhing to look fo gay.

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Bowood, in Wiltshire, the feat of the Right Honourable the Earl of Shelburne, &c. &c

THE

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