the fenate to thank those who had voted for him, faid to one of them, noted for having a remarkable ugly countenance,

Sir, I have great reafon to be thankful to my friends in general, but I confefs myself under a particular obligation to you for the very remarkable countenance you have fhewa me on this occafion."

Anfwer, by J. Whitcombe, to his own Queftion, infertet
January 6.

BEFORE I give the folution, it is neceffary to point
out the error made in the compofition of the question,
viz. in not mentioning that the leffer fegment of the
bafe fhould be neareft the perpendicular, which being al-
mitted, the answer will be as follows:

CONSTRUCTION.

DRAW AC the given base, which divide at B in the given ratio: then, on AB the greater fegment, =10 chains, defcribe (per Simpfon's Geo

metry V. 22.) a fegment of a circle which

E

G

B

will contain an angle equal to the given one 10 160 12', and from E, the centre thereof, let fall the EG, and at Cerect CD to AC, and from where it meeets the periphery of the circle produced as ar D; daaw DA and DB, then will DAC be the required triangle.

CALCULATION.

Draw EA, EB, and ED, which evidently will be all equal, as being radius of the fame circle; alfo draw aD || to AC; then in the ifofceles A AEB there is given Ab = 10 chains, and the 4 AEB = twice the given one 32° 24', to find EA EB 17,9216 + and EG =

2

17,21.

1

17,21. Then on the A EaD there is given ED = 17,9216, and aD = 9 chains, to find aE= 15,5 nearly. Then EG aEaG DC = 1,71 chains nearly,

and BC + DC BD, the length of the walk, = 4,35+chains, from whence the areas may eafily be determined.

Anfwer, by Robert Hafel, of Bristol, to W. Gale's Queftion, inferted January 6.

SUPPOSE 12 his years, half is 6 × 22 = 132 + 16 1484144 fquare root, of which 12 is his

age.

**We have received the like anfwer from Jofeph Gritton, of Dorchefter; W. Kite, of Stockland; John Quant, of Hinton St. George; and Thomas Wilson, of Falmouth.

A QUESTION, by J. Whitcombe, of Plymouth.

Y a quadratic I fain would know

BY

The value of x and y below.*

A

*Givenx + y + x ÷ 4 = 17,375
y + xx 4 = 45,5

A QUESTION, by J. Gritton, of Dorchefter.

ONE day laft autumn as I was walking in the fields near Dorchefter, I obferved a cloud moving towards me, I took the of its altitude 40°, and by obfervation found the distance of its fhadow on the ground (it being in a direction between me and the fun) 95,875 yards, and also the fun's altitude 45°. From thefe data I demand the height of the cloud.

POETRY.

P O E TRY.

PO

A POETICAL EPISTLE by Mr. ISAAC HAWKINS
BROWNE to HIMSELF, not in his Works.

W Dodley adopts you all his own.

WELL, this poetic itch creeps on,

Firft, Phoebe gave the lucklefs hint;
Now, your epiftles flare in print;
This week on every stall they lie
Difplay'd, the next beneath a pie;
Inftead of purple and the coif,
Curll prints your works, and writes your life.
If Mævius fcribble, 'tis to feed
A bard infpir'd by daring need:
But having wherewithal to dine

What vengeance damns thee to the nine ?
You write to please-a task indeed!—
Tafte differs, juft as men who read :
This loves an eafy line, and that'
Deems all that is not glaring, flat.
Some, wit and thought can fcarce endure
Swift is too vulgar, Pope obfcure;
Whim, weather, envy, party, fpite,
Sit heavy on the tribe that write;
Sad lot of authors! vain your toil!
Away with all your midnight oil!
Your charity to human kind!
Who holds a taper to the blind?
A poet, wrapt in fong fublime,
Suits not our fublunary clime;
Few are endued with eagle eyes,
To mark his progrefs through the skies;

And

And when he wings his lofty flight,
He perifhes from vulgar fight.
Yet fpite of folly or caprice.
Suppofe ('tis but hypothefis)

-Your mufe could win her way to praise,
And Chesterfield approve the lays;
Now fudden wreaths your temples crown,
Proclaim'd a poet-about town,
Thee, toafts admire, and peers carefs;
Frail and fallacious happiness!
Peers treat their poets as their whores,
Enjoy, then turn them out of doors;
For wit (if always in your power)
Is but a cordial for an hour;
Shown like a freth imported ape,
Awhile you fet the town agape;
Beaux, belles, and captains form a ring,
To fee the new facetious thing
This happy minion of the nine,
We wonder when he means to thine
Fool! would you prattle, tete a tete,
With all the fair, and all the great;
Mark whom their favours are bestow'd on,
Cibber, and Heidegger, and Boden.
Poets are arbiters of fame;

True, but who loves or fears a name?
Is it for fame, Sir,

For fame, that

Such hate a poet, or defpife;
Their profpect in oblivion lies.

Search far and wide where virtue dwells,

In camps, or colleges, or cells.
Heroes alike, and bards, instead
Of panegyric, figh for bread.

Or call forth all the powers of fable,
Defcribe a ftatefman juft and able,"
Who, fkill'd in play, difdains to pack,
What will you gain? the butt of sack?
Let Colley fing, in numbers meet,
Our leagues, and wars, and Spithead fleet;
Satire be thine, a flowery field,
Yet has a ferpent oft conceal'd.
A jury finds his words in print,
But Curlls interpret what is meant,

Grant

Grant it were fafe, not Oldham's stormi
Of fatire could a foul reform.

To curb the time, can poets hope,
Peter but ineers, though lafh'd by Pope.
Would you from dice or pox reclaim,
Brand this or that flagitious name:
What boots it sharpers or intriguers !
But afk, were Chartres, Oldfield, boggars
No, born for modern imitation,
Worthies that throve in their vocation.
Not e'en thy Horace, happy bard,
Was by the barren muse preferr'd,
While yet a friend to freedom hearty,
An honeft, but a ftarving party.
He pafs'd for but a fimple wretch,
And lov'd his bottle and a catch:
He deem'd himfelf no very wife man,
Nor aim'd at better than exciseman;
To breeding had fuch poor pretence,
Moft thought he wanted common fense.
Nor courtly Athens, though polite
As Paris, could improve the wightt
Where'er he pafs'd, the mob was eager
To laugh at fo grotefque a figure.
Yet Horace o'er the fparkling bowl,
I grant, had talents for a droll;

And hence, though fprung from dunghill earth,
He pleas'd the courtiers with his mirth;
Next wifely ventur'd to renounce

His principles, and rofe at once,
Rofe from a bankrupt to the fum
Of human happiness-a plumb!
Then drank, and revell'd, and grew big,
Yet ftill an awkward, dirty pig.
Lo! then the people felt his gall,
"Twas "Sturdy beggars, d-n ye all !"
Mindlefs of others love or fpite,
He car'd not, fo he pleas'd the knight;
And wrote, and wrote, as was the fashion,
To praise the knight's administration,
Nay once, all worldly zeal fo warm is,
He wrote in praise of standing armies.
Sach arts your puzzling Horace grew by
Such might have rais'd an arrant booby.