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

And veering patriots, with deferv'd applause, In place, in pow'r, has fhewn, from youth to age, True to his King and to his country's cause ?

On whofe firm credit, ere the terms were known,
Have Britain's wealthy fons so oft rely'd,
In whom fuch boundless confidence been fhewn,
Or on whose word fuch millions been supply'd !

Hence to thy toils each diftant nation pays

That juft regard which envy here denies ; Hence, future annals fhall record thy praise, And lafting trophies to thy honour rife.

Who, when of old the public torrent ran,
With boift'rous rage, polluted from its fource,.
In early life, with care and coft began

To check, to turn, and regulate its course?

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

In freedom's cause fuch ftedfast zeal approv'd ♪ Who could th' efteem of Sire and Son engage,, By each entrusted, and by each belov'd?

And tho' detraction now thefe wreaths would tear, And break thofe bands whence all our triumphs

flow,

Who plac'd our Tully in the consul's chair ?

To whofe advice this ftatefman do we owe?

Say, when Hortenfius in the fenate rofe,

Who on his rival fix'd his fov'reign's choice? That well weigh'd choice, deplor'd by Britain's foes, And prais'd with transport by the public voice.

Still may the world, diftinguish'd pair, behold

What bliss your country to this union owes !
Still to the winds her conqu'ring flags unfold,
And pour her ftrength collected on her foes!

And oh ! in glorious radiance tho' the flies
Of
envy float, on brisk but tranfient wing,
Their harmless rage regard with scornful eyes,
Nor heed their buzz- you cannot fear their fling.

EPIGRAM

ON THE BATTLE OF MINDEN..

IN antient times the Roman laws decreed
A fure reward for ev'ry martial deed;
And he who fav'd one Roman life, 'tis faid,
A Civic crown embrac'd the hero's head.-
-Hail happy times, and justly Golden nam'd!
gave rewards where Britons would be blam'd,
He now,
who faves our men, no crown obtains
Who faves our fhips, we fhoot him for his pains.
Since thefe are fo, it follows then of course,
Small's the reward for him who faves our horfe."

He

ON

ON MR. PITT'S RESIGNATION, IN 1761

NE'er yet in vain did heav'n its omens fend;
Some dreadful ills unufual figns portend!
When Pitt refign'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;
Forbid him court, from council blot his namé,
E'en thefe diftinctions cannot rafe 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 whofe foggy rear:
Rich Autumn lingers ere he leaves the year;
The late ripe cath'rine peach adorns thy train,
And luscious medlars rot beneath thy reign.

And now while. Andrew and Augufta fmile,
Charming new funs to chear our gloomy ifle,.
In the fame flow'ry bed fair union. fhews,,
Beauteously twin'd, a thistle and a rofe.

STANZAS BY LORD CAPEL;

WRITTEN WHEN HE WAS A PRISONER

IN THE

TOWER, DURING CROMWELL'S USURPATION.

I..

BEAT on, proud billows; Boreas, blow;
Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;
Your incivilities do plainly fhew,

That innocence is tempeft proof..

Tho' furly Nereus frowns, my thoughts are calm : Then strike, affliction,, for thy wounds are balm.

II.

That which the world mifcalls a jail,

A private closet is to me;
Whilft a good confcience is my bail,
And innocence my liberty:

Locks, bars, and folitude, together met,.
Make me no pris'ner, but an anchoret.

III.

Here fin, for want of food, must starve,
Where tempting objects are not feen;

And these strong walls do only ferve
To keep rogues out, and keep me in.

Malice is now grown charitable, fure;
I'm not committed, but I'm kept fecure.

IV.

And whilft I wish to be retir'd,

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

The falamander fhould be burn'd.
Or, like those fophifts who would drown a fish,
I am condemn'd to fuffer 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 fmart; ftoics, we fee,
Make torments eafy by their apathy.

VF.

I'm in this cabinet lock'd' up,
Like fome high-prized margarite;
Or like fome great mogul or pope,
I'm cloifter'd up from public fight..
Retir'dness is a part of majesty,

And thus, proud fultan, I'm as great as thee.

VII. Thefe