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V.

A folid, senseless form ingrate,
In attitude of servile state,

Shall your perfections show:
Brisk Ned your prowess shall relate,
And CUMBERLAND shall mourn your fatey

THAT MONUMENT OF WOE::

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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.

E PIGRA

M,

ADDRESSED TO THE GENIUS OF SCOTLAND.

WEEP Scotia weep, and thy hard fate deplore,
Since dire rebellion quirs thy smiling fhore ;
Around her standard, stubborn Yankies fight,
And rob North Britons of their ancient right:
Who in full chorus lift their voice and fing,
" Scotchmen alone should fight against their
King."

SCOTCH

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,
How fall I while flow time away?

From

Irom l'Ennui how defend me?
Oh! TOWNSHEND, could my hand like thine,,
Command the comic pencil's line,

Yon groups would well befriend me.

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That gift denied, perhaps the muse
Her pleasing aid may not refuse,

But tuneful notes inspire ;
And now the mourns o'er HANB'ry's duft,
May these revering fingers trust,

To touch his broken lyre.

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Then strike the chord, for Sawbridge speaks,
And, reason's foe, crude-motion makes

From mental indigestion ;
Yet here the babbler's craft is shown,
Who 'scapes by rising ere 'tis known,

The damning roar for question.

TY, stern scowling, cannot bear
That worthless heads should honours wear,

But under foot would trample;
And who his patriot word will doubt,
That recollects he turn'd one out

A fit and great example.

What tho' away thy audience run,
ADAIR proceed, that boar begun,

Medusa

Medusa could not still 'em ;
For when you're up, if guts complain,
The long hour comes to ease their pain,

To empty or to fill 'em.

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Ah CHARLES! Would fome blest power divide,
Thyself from thee, that hand might guide

The helm and rule the nation;
But now thy whole's so ill combin'd,
We praise the tongue, and give the mind

Our scorn and execration.

When Burke his thunder hurld around,
The trembling ftring refus'd to found,

Th' admiring nine caress'd him:
And whilft he heaven and earth defied,
Smil'd on the mighty madman's pride,

Convinc'd the God posleft him.

Like as the kind attendant shower,
Ordain'd to check the lightning's power,

Secures the world from burning;
So DUNNING, that disgusting form,
And voice is sent to stay the storm

Of dang'rous parts and learning.

Wit, malice, cunning, knowledge, sense,
Together braze with impudence

From

From fam'd Hibernian quarry ;
Sharp set this weapon will be fit,
To arm a SHELBURNE, Atab a Pitt,

In short-will be a BARRE'.

Peace to the rest ; for fa&tion now
To fhield her fons, with poppied brow,

Bids Hartley stand before me ;
Goddess the potent charm I own,
Sleep lulis the house, the muse is Aown,

And dullness creeps all o'er me.

FROM ST. STEPHEN'S CHAPEL, NOV, 21:

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O Bard! whene'er you rhime again,
In blacker tints pray dip your pen,

The muse's aid implore ;
Perchance a tragic muse may loop
To fing of that heroic groupe,

On t'other side the floor.

And yet-to raise their laurels higher,
Als not the chord of your dull lyre,

Touch'd

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