AIR, IN ARTAXERXES. "The foldier, tir'd of war's alarms, Oh! be the example copied in each heart, In all the blooming pride of beauty crown'd, With what he deems his beft reward, your fmiles. EPIGRA M.. LORD BUTE, his ambition and wisdom, to shew, EPIGRAM. ON DOCTOR FRANKLIN'S POINTED ELECTRICAL CONDUCTORS BEING TAKEN, DOWN AT BUCK INGHAM HOUSE, AND MR. WILSON'S BLUNT CONDUCTORS ERECTED IN THEIR STEAD, OUR public buildings to defend From the keen lightning's brunt, Some pointed rods would recommend, Others prefer the BLUNT. Let me too, 'midst this learned throng, Alas! we've tried the blunt too long, We now want SHARP CONDUCTORS. F. R. S. ODE, WRITTEN BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ; POET LAUREAT, AND PERFORMED AT ST. JAMES'S ON THE FOURTH OF JUNE, 1776, BY HIS MA- YE western gales, whofe genial breath You foothe the fultry heats of noon, This is your feafon, lovely gales, Why, therefore, in yon dubious sky, "Sits Expectation in the air.”. Can Britain fail?—the thought were vain ; The powerful emprefs of the main But But strives to smooth th' unruly flood, While yet, ye winds, your breezy balm Your genuine powers exert; And humanize the heart! Propitious gales, O wing your way! A BAL A BALL A D, WRITTEN, OR RATHER SPOKEN, BY A GENTLEMAN, AT COMING INTO A COFFEE-HOUSE, FROM THE ABOVE MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT. SAY no more of the breezes-fome wine and to. A plague on his weft, 'tis an arrant † firocco; Then he talk'd, filly fellow, of tumult and war, And he fet Expectation aloft in the air, Like a witch on her broom looking out of the north, To fee if the storm she had rais'd was gone forth. Time was, that a laureat sweetly would fing Of the virtue, or valour, or wit of the king. That time is no more, and we now cannot hear, Any praise of our monarch once in a year. A peftilential fouth-welt wind. A fouth-west blow on ye And blifter you all o'er." Caliban. Tempeft, Act. IV. But |