Early the following morn we rife,

And scratch and rub our dusty eyes,

Remount the Phaeton,

Whipping, ftamping, dry and wet,
Poifon'd with duft, half dead with fweat,
We crawl to Oxford Town.

The fix-foot hoftefs at the Bear
Tofs'd up her nofe and head in air-
"Supper at fuch an hour!

My stars and garters, who wou'd be,
"To have fuch guefts, a landlady,
"That had it in their power?"

At Nettlebed, at the Red Lyon,
There is a houfe you may rely on
Where we'd good meat and wine;
But here, alas! like College fools,
We must fubmit to college rules,
And pack to bed at nine.

Oxford, for learning very dear,
But ftill a town of wretched cheer,

A town to thofe fcarce civil

Who're mufter'd on the college rolls

A Town, with Chrift Church, and All Souls,

But not without the devil.

Say

Say fhall the mufe advent'rous rife

To thofe high spires which mate the fies,
With her Dadalian wing?

There, like Afmodeus, shall she fit,
And mark what's bad and what is fit,
To whisper, write, and fing ?-

---Yes, at fome more convenient time;
But now we're bankrupt in our rhime;

Therefore must humbly crave,

That you our compliments will bear,
With all that ease you're known to share,
Το every friend at Cave.

C

HYM N.

To PROSPERITY.

By Mifs SALLY CARTER.

ELESTIAL maid! receive this pray'ı,
If e'er thy beam divine

Should gild the brow of toiling care,
And blefs a hut like mine.

Let

Nor let me ever see a tear,

Regardless, from the poor!

O blefs me with an honeft mind,
Above all selfish ends,

Humanely warm to all mankind,
And cordial to my friends.

With confcious truth and honour still
My actions let me guide,
And give no fear, but that of ill,
No fcorn, but that of pride.

Thus form'd, thus happy, let me darę
On Heav'n's dread King to gaze,
Conclude my night in ardent pray'r,
And wake my morn with praise.

That hence my foul may hope to prove
The utmost faints can know ;
And share his gracious fmile above,
Whose laws fhe kept below.

TUN

TUNBRIDGE VERSE S.

To Mifs Frederick finging and playing on the Harpfichord. By Mr. CHARLES FOX.

W

WHEN Orpheus touch'd the trembling ftring,
He tam'd, as antient poets fing,

The Lybian lyon's rage;

He could the foreft from the hill

Move downwards, bending to his will;

And the loud ftorm affuage,

The lift'ning Dolphin willing bore
Arion to the friendly fhore,

Charm'd with his lenient fong:
And while he foftly fung and play'd,

The sweet musician fafe convey'd

The threat'ning waves along.

But, Frederick, when thou ftrik'ft the cord,

Phoebus himself, in just reward

For merit such as thine,

Attunes thy voice, directs thy lyre,

And bids each fifter mufe admire,

Left fhe with envy pine.

VOL. II.

L

MORN

MORNING TWILIGHT.

Written at that Seafon.

LONG the turfy heath, cool blows the gale,
And dewy odours fcent the morning air;
No found I hear, fave from the willow'd vale
The tinkle of a brook-that murmurs there!

In lonely filence wrapt, yon little mill

Looks penfive, as the moulder'd pile below; Shades hide the foreft, and the misty hill

Still keeps retiring night upon its brow!
O'er the chill earth, all comfortlefs! I tread!
The of Nature beams in other skies:
eye

I'll feek yon bending mountain's lofty head,
And peep upon his beauties ere he rife!

Forbear!---expiring ftars proclaim him nigh,
Faintly they wink, and lofe their filver light;
The ftreaky orient wears a deepen'd dye;
Green looks the upland and the river bright!