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Who cannot flatter, bribe, betray;
Who cannot write or vote for *.

l'ar from the vermin of the town,
Here let me rather live, my own,
Doze o'er a pipe, whose vapour bland
In sweet oblivion lulls the land;
Of all which at Vienna passes,
As ignorant as ** Brass is:
And scorning rascals to caress,
Extol the days of good Queen Bess,
When first Tobacco blest our isle ;
Then think of other Queens—and smile.

Come, jovial pipe, and bring along
Midnight revelry and song;
The merry catch, the madrigal,
That echoes sweet in City-Hall;
The parson's pun, the smutty tale
Of country justice o'er his ale.
I ask not what the French are doing,
Or Spain, to compass Britain's ruin:

Britons, if undone, can go
Where Tobacco loves to grow.

ODE TO ADVERSITY.

BY GRAY.

DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort’ring hour

The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain ;

And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When first thy Sire, to send on earth

Virtue, his darling child, design’d, - To thee he gave the heavenly birth,

And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore;

What sorrow was, thou bail'st her know, And from her own she learnt to melt at others woe. Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy,

And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse; and with them go
The summer-friend, the flatt'ring foe;

By vain prosperity receiv’d, To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.

Wisdom in sable garb array'd,

Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid,

With leaden eye that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemn steps attend;
Warm Charity, the general friend,

With Justice, to herself severe,
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head,

Dread Goddess, lay thy chastning hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Nor circled with the vengeful band,

(As by the impious thou art seen) With thund'ring voice, and threat'ning mien,

With screaming Horror's fun'ral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.

Thy form benign, O Goddess, wear,

Thy milder influence impart;
Thy philosophic train be there

To soften, not to wound, my heart."
The gen'rous spark extinct revive;
Teach me to love, and to forgive;

Exact my own defects to scan;
What others are, to feel; and know myself a man.

TO HER GRACE

THE DUCHESS OF ROXBURGH.

BY PETER PINDAR.

DEAR Lady DUCHESS, when d'ye go
To view the Academic show;

That is to say, the Painting ExHIBITION? Where pictures, join’d with pictures, blazeBlues, scarlets, yellows, rival rays,

Somewhat like Pitt's and Fox's Coalition.

Few sparks of Genius shine, I'm told
The forms unanimated, cold;

Tame attitudes; and very lifeless faces:-
And dead indeed must Art appear,
When, Duchess, you know who is there,

Displaying all the life of NATURE's graces.

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