One talks of mildew and of froft,

And one of storms of hail,

And one of pigs that he has loft
By inaggots at the tail.

Quoth one, A rarer man than you
In pulpit none shall hear:

But yet, methinks, to tell you true,
You fell it plaguy dear.'

Oh, why are farmers made so coarfe, Or clergy made so fine!

A kick that scarce would move a horfe May kill a found divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home;
'Twould cost him, I dare say,
Less trouble taking twice the sum,
Without the clowns that pay.

Dr. DARWIN,

Author of "THE BOTANIC GARDEN."

Two Poets,* (poets, by report,
Not oft so well agree)
Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court!
Confpire to honour Thee.

They beft can judge a poet's worth
Who oft themselves have known

The pangs of a poetic birth
By labours of their own.

We, therefore, pleas'd, extol thy fong,
Though various yet complete,
Rich in embellishment as strong,
And learn'd as it is sweet.

No envy mingles with our praise,
Though, could our hearts repine
At any poet's happier lays,

They would-they must at thine!

But we, in mutual bondage knit
Of friendship's closest tie,
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit
With an unjaundiced eye;

And deem the Bard, whoe'er he be,

And howsoever known,

Who would not twine a wreath for Thee,
Unworthy of his own.

ON

Mrs. MONTAGUE's

FEATHER-HANGINGS.

THE Birds put off their ev'ry hue

To dress a room for Montague.

The Peacock fends his heav'nly dyes,

His rainlows and his starry eyes;

The Pheafant, plumes, which round infold

His mantling neck with downy gold;

The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show;
And, river-blanch'd, the Swan, his snow.

4

All tribes beside of Indian name, That glossy shine or vivid flame, Where rises, and where sets the day, Whate'er they boast of rich and gay, Contribute to the gorgeous plan, Proud to advance it all they can. This plumage neither dashing show'r Nor blasts that shake the dripping bow'r Shall drench again or discompose, But fcreen'd from ev'ry storm that blows, It boasts a splendour ever new, Safe with protecting Montague. To the fame patroness refort, Secure of favour at her court, Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, Which, though new-born, with vigour move, Like Pallas springing arm'd from JoveImagination scatt'ring round Wild roses over furrow'd ground, Which Labour of his frown beguile, And teach Philofophy a fmileWit flashing on Religion's fide, Whose fires to facred Truth applied,

The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice more,
Like fun-beams on the golden height
Of fome tall temple playing bright-
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that to which he keeps confin'd
The various treafures of his mind-
All these to Montague's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.

There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest foar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine fafe without a fear to fade.
She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright Regent of the day;
The Plume and Poet both we know
Their luftre to his influence owe,
And the the works of Phœbus aiding,
Both Poet faves and Plume from fading.