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Who, fuch a length of years, 'midst party rage

And veering patriots, with deserv'd applause, In place, in pow'r, has shewn, from youth to age,

True to his King and to his country's cause?

On whose firm credit, ere the terms were known,

Have Britain's wealthy fons so oft rely'd,
In whom such boundless confidence been shewn,

Or on whose word such millions been supply'd!

Hence to thy toil's each distant nation pays

That just regard which envy here denies ; Hence, future annals shall record thy praise,

And lasting trophies to thy honour rise:

Who, when of old the public torrent ran,

With boilt'rous rage, polluted from its source, In early life, with care and cost began

To check, to turn, and regulate its course?

Who, unreproach'd, has since for half an age,

In freedom's cause fuch ftedfast zeal approv'd? Who could th' esteem of Sire and Son engagey,

By each entrusted, and by each belov'd ?

And tho' detraction now these wreaths would tear, And break those bands whence all our triumphs

flow, Who plac'd our Tully in the consul's chair ? • To whose advice this statesman do we owe ? C5

Say,

Say, when Hortensius in the senate rose,

Who on his rival fix'd his sov’reign's choice ? That well weigh'd choice, deplor'd by Britain's fo,

And prais'd with transport by the public voice.

Still may the world, distinguish d pair, behold

What bliss your country to this union owes ! Still to the winds her conqu’ring flags unfold,

And pour her strength collected on her foes !

And oh! in glorious radiance tho' the flies

Of envy Aoat, on brisk but transient wing, Their harmless rage regard with scornful eyes,

Nor heed their buzz- you cannot fear their fing.

E p I G R À M

ON THE BATTLE OF MINDEN..

IN antient times the Roman laws decreed
A sure reward for ev'ry martial deed;
And he who sav'd one Roman life, 'tis said,
A Civic crown embrac'd the hero's head.
--Hail happy times, and juftly Golden nam'd!
He
gave

rewards, where Britons would be blam'd, He now, who saves our men, no crown obtains; Who saves our ships, we shoot him for his pains. Since these are fo, it follows then of course, Small's the reward «« for him who faves our horse."

ON

ÓN MR. PITT'S RESIGNATION, IN 176

NE'er yet in vain did heav'n its omens send
Some dreadful ills unusual signs portend !
When Pitt resign'd, a nation's tears will own,
" Then fell the brightest jewel in the crown."

ON THE DISMISSION

OF EARL TEMPLE FROM THE LIEUTENANCY OF

THE COUNTY OF BUCKS, IN 1763:
To honour virtue in the lord of Stowe,
The pow'r of courtiers can no further go;
Porbid him court, from council blot his name,
E'en these distinctions cannot rase his fame..
Friend to the liberties of England's state,
'Tis not to courts he looks to make him great ;
He to his much lov'd country trufts his cause,
And dares affert the honour of her laws.

ON THE THIRTIETH OF NOVEMBER, BEING ST. ANDREW'S DAY, AND THE BIRTH-DAY

OF THE PRINCESS, DOWAGER OF WALES.

HAIL black November, in whose foggy rear
Rich Autumn lingers ere he leaves the year ;
The late ripe cath'rine peach adorns thy traing.
And luscious medlars rot beneath thy reign.

C6

And

And now while. Andrew and Augusta smile,
Charming new funs to chear our gloomy ifle,
In the same flow'ry bed fair union shews,
Beauteously twin'd, a thistle and a rose.

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I.
BeAT on, proud billows ; Boreas, blow;

:: Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof; Your incivilities do plainly thew,

That innocence is tempest proof
Tho' furly Nereus frowns, my thoughts are calm :
Then strike, affliction,, for thy wounds are balm.

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II.
That which the world miscalls a jail,

A private closet is to me;
Whilft a good conscience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty :
Locks, bars, and solitude, together met,.
Make me no pris'ner, but an anchoret.

III.
Here fin, for want of food, must starve,

Where tempting objects are not seen ;
And these strong walls do only serve

'To keep rogues out, and keep me in.

Malice is now grown charitable, sure;
I'm not committed, but I'm kept secure,

IV.

And whilft I wish to be retir'd,

Into this private room I'm turn'd;
As if their wisdom had confpir'd

The salamander should be burn'd.
Or, like those fophifts who would drown a fith,
I am condemn'd to suffer what I wish.

V.

The Cynic hugs his poverty,

The pelican her wilderness ;.
And 'tis the Indian's pride to be

Naked on frozen Caucafus.
Contentment feels no smart ; ftoics, we fee,
Make torments ealy by their apathy.

VI.

I'm in this cabinet lock'd' up,

Like some high-prized margarite ;
Or like some great mogul or pope,

I'm cloister'd up from public sight..
Retir’dness is a part of majesty,
And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.

VII. These

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