GRACE.

BY THE SAME.

YE beaux efprits, fay, what is GRACE?
Dwells it in motion, fhape, or face?
Or is it all the three combin❜d,
Guided and foften'd by the mind?
Where it is not, all eyes may fee;
But where it is,all hearts agree:
'Tis there, when easy in its state
The mind is elegantly great;
Where looks give speech to ev'ry feature,
The sweetest eloquence of nature;
A harmony of thought and motion,
To which at once we pay devotion.
-But where to find this nonpareil !
Where does this female wonder dwell,
Who can at will our hearts command?
-Behold in public-CUMBERLAND!

ΤΟ

TO MR. DERRICK,

UPON HIS RECALLING HIS ORDERS AGAINST

DANCING MINUETS IN SACKS.

BY THE SAME.

LYCURGUS of Bath,

Be not given to wrath,
Thy rigours the fair fhould not feel

Still fix them your debtors,

Make laws like your betters,
And as fast as you make them-repeal.

SONNE T.

BY THE SAME.

MUST I, Clorinda, ever court?

Why all these pains your flame to fmother? Or is it that I'm made your sport

To recommend you to another.

Whate'er the caufe, of this be sure,

Love's keenest shaft has touch'd my heart;

Nor will the wound admit of cure,

Until we're either friends or-part.

UPON MR. MASON'S TAKING ORDERS.

BY THE SAME.

To Holderneffe, the mufes three,

Of Painting, Mufic, Poetry,

To him, their long-lov'd patron, friend,
In grievous pet this letter fend

Give ear, my Lord, while we complain,
Our fex to you ne'er figh'd in vain.
'Tis faid-A youth by you befriended,
Whom to your fmiles we recommended;
Seduc'd by you, abjures our charms,
And flies for ever from our arms!
Could D'Arcy, whom we lov'd, carefs'd,
In whofe protection we were bless'd,
Could he, to whom our Sire imparts
That fecret rare to taste our arts,
Could he, ungrateful, and unkind!

From us eftrange our Mafon's mind?
Could he, who serves and loves the nation,

So little weigh its reputation,

As in this fcarcity of merit,

To damp with grace poetic fpirit?
But be affur'd your scheme is vain-

He muft, he fhall be ours again :

Nor crape nor lawn fhall quench his fires,
We'll fill his breaft with new defires;

In vain you plead his ordination,

His caffock, gown, and grave vocation,
Whate'er he now has fworn, he swore,
With stronger zeal to us before:
He pafs'd our forms of confecration,
His lips receiv'd our inspiration;
To him were all our rites reveal'd,
From him no myft'ry was conceal'd-
Each kindred pow'r obey'd our call,
And grac'd the folemn feftival!

The Loves forfook their Cyprian bow'rs,

And round his temples wreath'd their flow'rs;

The Graces danc'd their mystic maze,

Our Father ftruck him with his rays;
And all our Sifters one by one,

Gave him full draughts of Helicon !
Thus bound our fervant at the shrine,
Ordain'd he was, and made divine.

ΟΝ ΤΗΕ

ACADEMY

FOR TEACHING GROWN PEOPLE TO DANCE.

BY THE SAME.

MARSEILLES no more fhall boaft his art,

Which form'd the youth of France; For you inftruct, great Duke and Hart,

Grown Gentlemen, to dance.

He only bends the pliant twig;

You ftrike a bolder ftroke;
You foften rocks, make mountains jig,

And bend the knotted oak.

ON JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY.

BY THE SAME.

TALK of war with a Briton, he'll boldly ad

vance,

That one English foldier will beat ten of France; Would we alter the boaft from the fword to the

pen,

Our odds are still greater, ftill greater our men :
In the deep mines of fcience tho' Frenchmen may

toil,

Can their strength be compar'd to Locke, Newton, and Boyle?

Let them rally their heroes, fend forth all their pow'rs,

Their verfe-men, and profe-men; then match them. with ours!

First Shakespeare and Milton, like gods in the

fight,

Have put their whole drama and epic to flight: