Already tofs'd on boift'rous feas,
His object was domestic ease;
Not all the fmiles of court,
Not all that lavish princes give,
Or greedy favourites receive,

Could tempt him out of port.

But, by the will of adverse fate,
When foul rebellion fhook the state,
And poison'd half the realm;
No luke-warm prudence cou'd controul
The patriot spirit of his foul;
He boldly grafp'd the helm.

He only heard his country's call,
Eafe, comfort, quiet, fafety, all

That wifdom's thought to teach,
Submitted to the vaft defire
To keep the empire ftill entire,

Or perish in the breach.

ΑΝ

AN ODE OF CONDOLENCE,

ADDRESSED TO LORD GE GME.

By the Author of the Congratulatory Ode.
(See page 109.)

My Lord, you're hurt by foolish praise;
At yon vile fycophants dull lays,
Indignant blushes rife!

They add fuperfluous difgrace;
-Your friend with honey daubs
To drive away the flies!

Did FERDINANDO ever mutter,

your face,

"You robb'd your babes of bread and butter,"

Or lov'd domestic ftrife! -Sacred you keep the marriage tie,

And never caft a wanton eye

On female- -but your wife.

DARTMOUTH, 'tis true, had left his poft; 'Ere all America was loft,

He call'd for your affiftance ;

Your character the faint surprises,
For higher ftill your courage rifes,

As danger's at a diftance!

But

But fince your Lordship's at the helm,
You'd scarcely fave both King and Realm,
Were Rebels on the borders!
RICHMOND and SHELBURNE must knock under,
The miniftry may fafely blunder,
You'll folve discordant orders.

One truth, at laft, our ftatefmen feel,
That rebel Yankies fcorn to kneel,
To this or t’other Lord;

DARTMOUTH fings penitential pfalms,”
G-RM-E refumes his Minden qualms,
And drops his wooden fword.

Early in BRAG's your courage fhone,
And Fontenoy first made you known;
-Expos'd your timid heart;
You dar'd the field, and honour died;
Callous to shame-you rofe in pride,
To play a traitor's part.

In twenty odes your acts I'll fing,
How you traduc'd the fame of Byng,

• His Lordship was then Lieutenant-Colonel to Brag's Regiment,

-Betray'd your high, command: You pleaded Clergy to the crime, Yet ftill the Mufe with cauftic rhime, Shall burn your trembling hand!

The laurel wither'd on your head,
We'll wreathe the olive in its stead:
And when you're mixt with duft,
Your tomb fhall boaft a fecret fpell,
The German tongue your deeds fhall tell,
-Yon Afpin form your bust!
December 5, 1775.

A NO DE,

ADDRESSED TO LORD GE GE; ON

HIS APPROACHING DISSOLUTION.

BY THE SAME.

1

I.

My Lord, to celebrate your praise,
Your perishable fame to raife,

And brighten S →'s name :

My flowing numbers wildly great,
Shall speak your merit-now compleat!
Resisting more than fhame...

II.

Alas! how callous to this wound,
No spark of honour to be found,
Within your cancred heart :

Yet ftill to keep your naufeous breath,
Survive a fentence worse than death,
Out-plays a traitor's part!

III.

Yes! Hiftory's remoteft page,.
To Britons with indignant rage,

When you diffolve in crumbling duft,
And moulded clay fhall form your buft,

Then S---LLE's name fhall live!

IV.

Your victories fhall marble grace,

Your German trophies we shall trace,

Display'd o'er Minden's plain :

While Fame revers'd *, her trumpet founds,
Reclining honour counts her wounds,
Departing in difdain.

V.