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A folid, senseless form ingrate,
Shall your perfections show:
THAT MONUMENT OF WOE::
LORD Bute, his ambition and wisdom, to shew, Resign'd the green ribbon, and put on the blue. To two ftrings already, the Peer's been pre
ferr'd,--Odd numbers are lucky---pray give him a third.
ADDRESSED TO THE GENIUS OF SCOTLAND.
WEEP Scotia weep, and thy hard fate deplore,
SCOTCH LOYALTY, ALWAYS THE SAME,
AN EPIGRA M.
SCOTCHMEN are virtual rebelstheirownway, They thun the Court, but in the camp betray ; Of force and fraud, vile Sawney bears the seed, The down and prickles of his nation's weed.
THE BIRTH DAY.
ROUND _'s chair, in triple rows,
The Courtiers stood co gaze, And every tongue in fatt'ry dipt,
Bedaub'd him o'er with praise.
I pray you friend, says furly John,
Who ftood behind the chair, Do, ope that window, and let out
This d corrupted air.
A MONODY IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
URG'D to come down, and press’d to stay,
Irom l'Ennui how defend me?
Yon groups would well befriend me.
That gift denied, perhaps the muse
But tuneful notes inspire ;
To touch his broken lyre.
Then strike the chord, for Sawbridge speaks,
From mental indigestion ;
The damning roar for question.
TY, stern scowling, cannot bear
But under foot would trample;
A fit and great example.
What tho' away thy audience run,
Medusa could not still 'em ;
To empty or to fill 'em.
Ah CHARLES! Would fome blest power divide,
The helm and rule the nation;
Our scorn and execration.
When Burke his thunder hurld around,
Th' admiring nine caress'd him:
Convinc'd the God posleft him.
Like as the kind attendant shower,
Secures the world from burning;
Of dang'rous parts and learning.
Wit, malice, cunning, knowledge, sense,
From fam'd Hibernian quarry ;
In short-will be a BARRE'.
Peace to the rest ; for fa&tion now
Bids Hartley stand before me ;
And dullness creeps all o'er me.
FROM ST. STEPHEN'S CHAPEL, NOV, 21:
O Bard! whene'er you rhime again,
The muse's aid implore ;
On t'other side the floor.
And yet-to raise their laurels higher,