V.

A folid, fenfeless form ingrate,
In attitude of fervile state,

Shall your perfections fhow:

Brifk NED your prowess fhall relate,
And CUMBERLAND fhall mourn your fate,.
THAT MONUMENT OF WOE.

EPIGRA M.

LORD BUTE, his ambition and wisdom, to shew, Refign'd the green ribbon, and put on the blue. To two ftrings already, the Peer's been preferr'd,--

Odd numbers are lucky---pray give him a third.

E P PIGRA

M,

ADDRESSED TO THE GENIUS OF SCOTLAND.

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

SCOTCH

SCOTCH LOYALTY, ALWAYS THE SAME,

AN EPIGRAM.

SCOTCHMEN are virtual rebels their own way, They fhun the Court, but in the camp betray; Of force and fraud, vile Sawney bears the feed, The down and prickles of his nation's weed.

THE

BIRTH DAY.

ROUND's chair, in triple rows,
The Courtiers stood to gaze,
And every tongue in flatt'ry dipt,
Bedaub'd him o'er with praise.

I pray you friend, fays furly JoнN,
Who ftood behind the chair,
Do, ope that window, and let out
This d-d corrupted air.

A MONODY IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.

URG'D to come down, and prefs'd to stay,
How fhall I while flow time away?

From

From l'Ennui how defend me ?

Oh! TOWNSHEND, could my hand like thine,, Command the comic pencil's line,

Yon groups would well befriend me..

That gift denied, perhaps the mufe.
Her pleafing aid may not refuse,
But tuneful notes infpire;

And now the mourns o'er HANB'RY's duft,,
May these revering fingers trust,

To touch his broken lyre.

Then strike the chord, for Sawbridge speaks,
And, reafon's foe, crude motion makes
From mental indigeftion;

Yet here the babbler's craft is shown,.

Who 'scapes by rifing ere 'tis known,
The damning roar for queftion..

TY, ftern fcowling, cannot bear
That worthless heads fhould 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,

Medufa

Medufa 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.

Ah CHARLES! Would fome bleft power divide,
Thy felf from thee, that hand might guide
The helm and rule the nation;

But now thy whole's fo ill combin'd,
We praise the tongue, and give the mind.
Our fcorn and execration.

When BURKE his thunder hurl'd around,
The trembling ftring refus'd to found,
Th' admiring nine carefs'd him:
And whilst he heaven and earth defied,
Smil'd on the mighty madman's pride,
Convinc'd the God poffeft him.

Like as the kind attendant fhower,
Ordain'd to check the lightning's power,
Secures the world from burning;

So DUNNING, that disgusting form,
And voice is fent to stay the form

Of dang'rous parts and learning.

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

From

From fam'd Hibernian quarry;
Sharp fet this weapon will be fit
To arm a SHELBURNE, ftab a PITT,
In fhort-will be a BARRE'.

Peace to the reft; for faction now
To fhield her fons, with poppied brow,
Bids Hartley ftand before me;

Goddess the potent charm I own,
Sleep lulls the house, the muse is flown,
And dullness creeps all o'er me.

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

ANODE,

ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE MONODY.

OBARD! whene'er you rhime again,
In blacker tints pray dip your pen,
The mufe's aid implore;
Perchance a tragic muse may stoop
To fing of that heroic groupe,

On t'other fide the floor.

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

Touch'd