Hence what loud outcries, and well-meaning

rage,

What endless quarrels at the present age

How many

blame? how often may we hear, "Such vice! well, fure, the last day must be

"" near!"

T’avoid such wild, imaginary pains,

The fad creation of distemper'd brains, Dispatch, dear friend! move, labour, sweat, run, fly!

Do aught-but think the day of judgement nigh.

PEEVISHNESS.

There are, who've lost all relish for delight:
With them no earthly thing is ever right.
T'expect to alter to their taste were vain,
For who can mend so fast as they complain ?
Whate'er you do fhall be a crime with such :
One while you've loft your tongue, then talk

too much.

Thus

Thus fhall you meet their wafpifh temper ftill, As hedge-hogs prick you, go which fide you will.

How many fuch in peevishness grown old,
With vigour ne'er do any thing but fcold!
Who fpirits only from ill-humour get,
Like wines that die, unless upon the fret.

2|�ས་ར་ར་

THE POETASTER.

'MONGST all the inftances of genius croft, The rhyming tribe are thofe who err the moft.

Each piddling wretch, who hath but common fense,

Or thinks he hath, to verfe fhall make pretence. Why not 'tis their diverfion, and 'twere hard,

If men of their eftates fhould be debarr'd. Thus wealth with them gives every thing be

fide;

As people worth fo much are qualified.

They've

They've all the requifites for writing fit,
All but that one-fome little fhare of wit.

wnamར་ཞ་

THE PEDANT.

SEE the pedantic teacher, winking dull,
The letter'd tyrant of a trembling school;
Teaching by force, and proving by a frown,
His lifted fafces ram the leffon down.

From tortur'd strains of eloquence he draws
Barbaric precepts and unmeaning laws.
By his own fenfe would Tully's words ex-
pound,

And a new Vandal tramples claffic ground.
Perhaps a bigot to the learned page,

No modern custom can his thoughts engage;
His little farm by Georgic rules he ploughs,
And
prunes by metre the luxuriant boughs.

BRI

BRITANNIA.

BRITANNIA fmiling views her golden plains, From mitred bondage free and papal chains. Her jocund fons pafs each unburthen'd day Securely quiet, innocently gay.

Lords of themselves, the happy ruftics fing, Each of his little tenement the king.

Twice did ufurping Rome extend her hand, To re-inflave the new-deliver'd land.

Twice were her fable bands to battle warm'd, With pardons, bulls, and texts, and murthers arm'd;

With Peter's fword and Michael's lance were

fent,

And whate'er ftores fupply'd the church's ar

mament.

Twice did the gallant Albion race expel
The Jefuit legions, as they know full well.

FANCY.

FANCY.

O parent of each lovely Mufe!
Thy spirit o'er my foul diffufe;
O'er all my artless fongs prefide,
My footsteps to thy temple guide,
To offer at thy turf-built shrine,
In golden cups no costly wine,
No murder'd fatlings of the flock,
But flowers and honey from the rock.
O nymph! with loosely flowing hair,
With buskin'd leg, and bosom bare,
Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd,
Waving in thy fnowy hand

An all-commanding magic wand,
Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens blow
'Mid cheerless Lapland's barren fnow,
Whose rapid wings thy flight convey
Through air, and over earth and sea,
While the vast various landscape lies
Confpicuous to thy piercing eyes.

MELAN