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And Fancy then, with wild ungovernd woe, “ Sing on, my bird—the liquid notes prolong, Shall her lov'd pupil's native taste explain ;

At every note a lover sheds his tear ; For mournful sable all her hues forego,

Sing on, my birdt is Damon hears thy song ; And ask sweet solace of the Muse in vain! Nor doubt to gain applause when lovers hear. Ah, gentle forms, expect no fond relief:

“ He the sad source of our complaining knows; Too much the sacred Nine their loss deplore:

A foe to Tereus, and to lawless love! Well may ye grieve, nor find an end of grief

He mourns the story of our ancient woes; Your best, your brightest favourite is no more.

Ah could our music his complaints remove ! “ Yon' plains are govern'd by a peerless maid;

And see pale Cynthia mounts the vaulted sky, ELEGY V.

A train of lovers court the checquer'd shade;

Sing on, my bird, and hear thy mate's reply. He compares the turbulence of love with the tran

“ Erewhile no shepherd to these woods retir'd; quillity of friendship.

No lover blest the glow-worm's pallid ray;
TO MELISSA, HIS FRIEND. But ill-starr'd birds, that listening not adnyird,

Or listening envy'd our superior lay.
From Love, from angry Love's inclement reign,
I pass a while to Friendship's equal skies;

“ Cheer'd by the Sun, the vassals of his power, Thou, generous majd, reliev'st my partial pain,

Let such by day unite their jarring strains ! And cheer'st the victim of another's eyes.

But let us choose the calm, the silent hour,

Nor want fit audience while Dione reigns." 'T is thou, Melissa, thou deserv'st my care:

How can my will and reason disagree?
How can my passion live beneath Despair !
How can my bosom sigh for aught but thee?

ELEGY VII.
Ah dear Melissa! pleas'd with thee to rove,

He describes his vision to an acquaintance. My soul has yet surviv'd its dreariest time;

Cælera per terras omnes animalia, &c. VIRG. til can I bear the various clime of Love; Love is a pleasing, but a various clime!

Ox distant heaths, beneath autumnal skies,

Pensive I saw the circling shades descend; So smiles immortal Maro's favourite shore,

Weary and faint I heard the storm arise, Parthenope, with every verdure crown'd!

While the Sun vanish'd like a faithless friend. When straight Vesuvio's horrid cauldrons roar, And the dry vapour blasts the regions round.

No kind companion led my steps aright;

No friendly planet lent its glimmering ray; Oh blissful regions ! oh unrivall’d plains !

E'en the lone cot refus'd its wonted light, When Maro to these fragrant haunts retir'd!

Where Toil in peaceful slumber clos'd the day. Oh fatal realms! and oh accurst domains !

| Then the dull bell had given a pleasing sound; When Pliny, 'mid sulphureous clouds, expir'd!

The village cur 't were transport then to hear; So smiles the surface of the treacherous main, In dreadful silence all was hush'd around,

As o'er its waves the peaceful halcyons play ; While the rude storm alone distress'd mine car, When soon rude winds their wonted rule regain,

As led by Orwell's winding banks I stray'd, And sky and ocean mingle in the fray.

Where towering Wolsey breath'd his native air; But let or air contend, or ocean rave;

A sudden lustre chas'd the Aitting shade, E'en Hope subside amid the billows tost;

The sounding winds were hush'd, and all was fair. Hope, still emergent, still contemns the wave,

Instant a grateful form appear'd confest; And not a feature's wonted smile is lost,

White were his locks with awful scarlet crown'd, And livelier far than Tyrian seem'd his vest,

That with the glowing purple ting'd the ground. ELEGY VI.

Stranger," he said, “ amid this pealing rain, TO A LADY,

Benighted, lonesome, whither wouldst thou stray? ON THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS.

Does wealth or power thy weary step constrain ?

Reveal thy wish, and let me point the way. Come then, Dione, let us range the grove,

ti For know, I trod the trophy'd paths of power; The science of the feather'd choirs explore:

Felt every joy that fair ambition brings; Hear linnets argue, larks descant of love,

And left the lonely roof of yonder bower, And blame the gloom of solitude no more.

To stand beneath the canopies of kings. My doubt subsidest is no Italian song,

“ I bade low hinds the towering ardour share; Nor senseless ditty, cheers the vernal tree :

Nor meanly rose to bless myself alone: Ah! who, that hears Dione's tuneful tongue,

I snatch'd the shepherd from his fleecy care, Shall doubt that music may with sense agree?

And bade his wholesome dictates guard the throne. And come, my Muse! that lov'st the sylvan shade; “ Low at my feet the suppliant peer I saw; Evolve the mazes, and the mist dispel :

I saw proud empires my decision wait; Translate the song; convince my doubting maid, My will was duty, and my word was law, No solemn dervise can explain so well.-

My smile was transport, and my frown was fate." Pensive beneath the twilight shades I sate,

« Ah me!" said I, “ nor power I scek, nor gain ; The slave of hopelets vows, and cold disdain! Nor urg'd by hope of fame these toils endure ; When Philomel address'd his mournful matc, | A simple youth, that feels a lorer's pain,

And thus I construed the mellitucnt strain. And, from his friend's condolence, hopes a cure.

“ He, the dear youth, to whose abodes I roam, Couldst thou reprove me, when I nurs'd the flame

Nor can mine honours, nor my fields extend; On listening Cherwell's osier banks reclin'd? Yes for his sake I leave my distant home,

While, foe to Fortune, unseduc'd by Fame, Which oaks embosom, and which hills defend. I sooth'd the bias of a careless mind. « Beneath that home I scorn the wintry wind; Youth's gentle kindred, Health and Love were met!

The Spring, to shade me, robes her fairest tree; What though in Alma's guardian arms I play'd? And if a friend my grass-grown threshold find, How'shall the Muse those vacant hours forget? O how my lonely cot resounds with glee!

Or deem that bliss by solid cares repaid? “ Yet, though averse to gold in heaps amassid, Thou know'st how transport thrills the tender breast, I wish to bless. I languish to bestow;

Where Love and Fancy fix their opening reiga; And though no friend to Fame's obstreperous blast, How Nature shines, in livelier colours drest, Still, to her dulcet murmurs not a foe.

To bless their union, and to grace their train. “ Tuo proud with servile tone to deign address; So first when Phæbus met the Cyprian queen,

Too mean to think that honours are my due, And favour'd Rhodes beheld their passion crown'd, Yet should some patron yield my stores to bless, Unusual flowers enrich'd the painted green;

I sure should deem my boundless thanks were few. And swift spontaneous roses blush'd around. “ But tell me, thou! that, like a meteor's fire, Now sadly lorn, from Twitnam's widow'd bower,

Shot'st blazing forth; disdaining dull degrees ; The drooping Muses take their casual way; Should I to wealth, to fame, to power aspire, And where they stop, a flood of tears they pour ;

Must I not pass more rugged paths than these? And where they weep, no more the fields are gay. “ Must I not groan beneath a guilty load,

Where is the dappled pink, the sprightly rose ? Praise him I scorn, and him I love betray? The cowslip's golden cup no more I see: Does not felonious Envy bar the road ?

Dark and discolour'd every flower that blows, Or Falsehood's treacherous foot beset the way? To form the garland, Elegy! for thee! “ Say, should I pass through Favour's crowded gate, Enough of tears has wept the virtuous dead;

Must not fair Truth inglorious wait behind ? Ah might we now the pious rage control; Whilst I approach the glittering scenes of state, Hush'd be my grief ere every smile be fled, My best companion no admittance find ?

Ere the deep swelling sigh subvert the soul ! “ Nurs'd in the shades by Freedom's lenient care, If near some trophy spring a stripling bay, Shall I the rigid sway of Fortune own?

Pleas'd we behold the graceful umbrage rise ; Taught by the voice of pious Truth, prepare But soon too deep it works its baneful way, To spurn an altar, and adorn a throne

And, low on earth, the prostrate ruin lies « And when proud Fortune's ebbing tide recedes,

And when it leaves me no unshaken friend, Shall I not weep that e'er I left the meads,

EL EGY IX. Which oaks embosom, and which hills defend ? “ Ob! if these ills the price of power advance,

He describes his disinterestedness to a friend. Check not my speed u bere social joys invite !"

I Ne’er must tinge my lip with Celtic wines ; The troubled vision cast a mournful glance,

The pomp of India must I ne'er display; And, sighing, vanish'd in the shades of night. Nor boast the produce of Peruvian mines,

Nor with Italian sounds deceive the day. Down yonder brook my crystal beverage flows;

My grateful sheep their annual feeces bring; ELEGY VIII.

Fair in my garden buds the damask rose, He describes his early love of poetry, and its con

And, from my grove, I hear the throstle sing. seqnences.

My fellow swains ! avert your dazzled eyes;
TO MR. GRAVES, 1745.

In vain allur'd by glittering spoils they rove,

The Fates ne'er meant them for the shepherd's prize, (Written after the death of Mr Pope. ] Yet gave them ample recompense in love. Ah me! what envious magic thips my fuld? They gave you vigour from your parent's veins ;

What mutter'd spell retards their late increase ? They gave you toils; but tuils your sinews brace; Such lessening fleeces must the swain behold, They gave you nymphs, that own their amorous That e'er with Doric pipe essays to please.

And shades, the refuge of the gentle race. (pains, I saw my friends in evening circles meet;

To carve your loves, to paint your mutual fames, I took my vocal reed, and tun'd my lay;

See! polish'd fair, the beech's friendly rind ! I heard them say my vocal reed was sweet: To sing soft carols to your lovely dames,

Ab, fool! to credit what I heard them say! See vocal grots, and echoing vales assign'd! Ill-fated bard! that seeks his skill to show, Wouldst thou, my Strephon, Love's delighted slave!

Then courts the judgment of a friendly ear! Though sure the wreaths of chivalry to share, Not the poor veteran, that permits his foe Forego the ribbon thy Matilda gave,

To guide his doubtful step, has more to fear. And, giving, bade thee in remembrance wear? Nor could my Graves mistake the critic's laws, Ill fare my peace, but every idle toy,

Till pious friendship mark'd the pleasing way: If to my mind my Delia's forin it brings, Welcome such erreur ! ever blest the cause! Has truer worth, imparts sincerer joy,

E'en though it led me boundless leagues astray: Than all that bears the radiant stamp of kings.

SATIONS.

O my soul weeps, my breast with anguish bleeds, Fortune, I yield! and see, I give the sign;

When Love deplores the tyrant power of Gain! At noon the poor mechanie wanders home; Disdaining riches as the futile weeds,

Collects the square, the level, and the line, I rise superior, and the rich disdain.

And, with retorted eye, forsakes the dome. Oft from the stream, slow wandering down the glade, Yes, I can patient view the shadeless plains; 10 Pensive I hear the nuptial peal rebound;

Can unrepining leave the rising wall: “ Some miser weds," I cry," the captive maid, Check the fond love of art that fir'd my veins,

And some fond lover sickens at the sound.” And my warm hopes in full pursuit, recal. Not Somerville, the Muse's friend of old,

Descend, ye storms ! destroy my rising pile; Though now exalted to yon ambient sky,

Loos'd be the whirlwind's unremitting sway; So shunn'd a soul distain'd with earth and gold, Contented I, although the gazer smile,

So lov'd the pure, the generous breast, as I. To see it scarce survive a winter's day. Scorn'd be the wretch that quits his genial bowl, Let some dull dotard bask in thy gay shrine,

His loves, his friendships, e'en his self, resigns ; As in the Sun regales his wanton Herd; Perverts the sacred instinct of his soul,

Guiltless of envy, why should I repine, And to a ducate's dirty sphere confines.

That his rude voice, his grating reed's preBut come, my friend, with taste, with science blest, ferr'd ?

Ere age impair me, and ere gold allure; Let him exult, with boundless wealth supply'd, Restore thy dear idea to my breast,

Mine and the swain's reluctant homage share; The rich deposit shall the shrine secure. But ab! his tawdry shepherdess's pride, Let others toil to gain the sordid ore,

Gods! must my Delia, must my Delia bear? The charms of independence let us sing ; Must Delia's softness, eleganoe, and ease, Blest with thy friendship, can I wish for more ? Submit to Marian's dress? to Marian's gold? I'll spurn the boasted wealth of Lydia's king. Must Marian's robe from distant India please?

The simple fleece my Delia's limbs enfold:

“ Yet sure on Delia seems the russet fair ; ELEGY X.

Ye glittering daughters of disguise, adieu !!!

So talk the wise, who judge of shape and air, TO FORTUNE;

But will the rural thane decide so true ? SUGGESTING HIS MOTIVE FOR REPINING AT HER DISPEN- Ah! what is native worth esteem'd of clowns?

"T is thy false glare, O Fortune! thine they see: Ask not the cause why this rebellious tongue 'T is for my Delia's sake I dread thy frowns,

Loads with fresh curses thy detested sway! And my last gasp shall curses breathe on thee.. Ask not, thus branded in my softest song,

Why stands the flatter'd name which all obey? 'T is not, that in my shed I lurk forlorn, Nor see my roof on Parian columns rise;

ELEGY XI. That, on this breast, no mimic star is borne, He complains how soon the pleasing novelty of Rever'd, ah! more than those that light the skies.

life is over. 'T is not that, on the turf supinely laid,

TO MR. JAGO.
I sing or pipe but to the focks that graze;
And, all inglorious, in the lonesome shade,

Au me, my friend ! it will not, will not last! My finger stiffens, and my voice decays.

This fairy-scene, that cheats our youthful eyes!

The charm dissolves; th' aerial music's past; Nut, that my fancy m.nrns thy stern command, The banquet ceases and the vision fies. A

When many an embryo dome is lost in air; While guardian Prudence checks my eager hand,

Where are the splendid forms, the rich perfumes, And, ere the turf is broken, cries, “ Forbear!

Where the gay tapers, where the spacious dome?

Vanish'd the costly pearls, the crimson plumes, “Forbear, vain youth! be cautious, weigh thy gold,

And we, delightless, left to wander home! Nor let yon rising column more aspire; Ah! better dwell in ruins, than behold

Vain now are books, the sage's wisdom vain; Thy fortunes mouldering and thy domes entire.

What has the world to bribe our steps astray,

Ere Reason learns by study'd laws to reign, “ Honorio built, but dar'd my laws defy;

The weakend passions, self-subdued, obey. lle planted, scornful of my sage commands ; The peach's vernal bud regal'd his eye;

Scarce has the Sun seven annual courses rollid, The fruitage ripen'd for more frugal hands."

Scarce shown the whole that Fortune can supply; See the small stream that pours its murmuring tide Since, not the miser so caress'd his gold,

As I, for what it gave, was heard to sigh.
O'er some rough rock that would its wealth dis-
Displays it aught but penury and pride?

On the world's stage I wish'd some sprightly part;

[play, Ah! construe wisely wbat such murmurs say.

To deck my native fleece with tawdry lace!

'T was life, 't was taste, and—oh my foolish heart! How would some flood, with ampler treasures blest, Substantial joy was fix'd in power and place.

Disdainful view the scantling drops distil ! How must Velino ' shake his reedy crest!

And you, ye works of art ! allur'd mine eye, How every cygnet mock the boastive rill!

The breathing picture, and the living stone (deny,

“ Though gold, though splendour, Heaven and Fate " A river in Italy.

Yet might I call one Titian stroke my own!"

[graphic]

Smit with the charms of Fame, whose lovely spoil,

ELEGY XIII.
The wreath, the garland, fire the poet's pride,
I trimm'd my lamp, consum'd the midnight oil

TO A FRIEND,
But soon the paths of Health and Fame divide ! ON SOME SLIGHT OCCASION ESTRANGED FROM NIN.
Oft too I pray'd, 't was Nature form'd the prayer, Health to my friend, and many a cheerful day
To grace my native scenes, my rural home;

Around his seat may peaceful shades abide! To see my trees express their planter's care,

Smooth flow the minutes, fraught with smiles, away, And gay, on Attic models, raise my dume.

And, till they crown our union, gently glide. But now 't is o'er, the dear delusion 's o'er!

Ah me! too swiftly fleets our vernal bloom! A stagnant breezeless air becalms my soul: Lost to our wonted friendship, lost to joy! A fond aspiring candidate no more,

Soon may thy breast the cordial wish resume, I scorn the palm, before I reach the goal.

Ere wintry doubt its tender warmth destroy. O youth! enchanting state! profusely blest ! Say, were it ours, by Fortune's wild command, Bliss e'en obtrusive courts the frolic mind;

By chance to meet beneath the torrid zone; Of health neglectful, yet by health carest; Wouldst thou reject thy Damon's plighted hand? Careless of favour yet secure to find.

Wouldst thou with scorn thy once-lov'd friend Then glows the breast, as opening roses fair ;

disown? More free, more vivid, than the linnet's wing; Life is that stranger land, that alien clime: Honest as light, transparent e'en as air,

Shall kindred souls forego their social claim ?. Tender as buds, and lavish as the Spring. Lanch'd in the vast abyss of space and time, Not all the force of manhood's active might,

Shall dark suspicion quench the generous flame! Not all the craft of subtle age assign'd,

Myriads of souls, that knew one parent .nould, Not science shall extort that dear delight,

See sadly sever'd by the laws of chance! Which gay delusion gave the tender mind. Myriads, in Time's perennial list enroll?d, Adieu soft raptures, transports void of care !

Forbid by Fate to change one transient glance ! Parent of raptures, dear deceit, adieu !

But we have met—where ills of every form, And you, her daughters, pining with despair, Where passions rage, and hurricanes descend: Why, why so soon her fleeting steps pursue!

Say, shall we nurse the rage, assist the storm? Tedious again to curse the drizzling day!

And guide them to the bosom of a friend! Again to trace the wintery tracks of snow !

Yes, we have met-through rapine, fraud, and wrong: Or, sooth'd by vernal airs, again survey,

Might our joint aid the paths of peace explore ! The self-same hawthorns bud, and cowslips blow! Why leave thy friend amid the boisterous throng,

Ere Death divide us, and we part no more? O life! how soon of every bliss forlorn! We start false joys, and urge the devious race:

For oh! pale sickness warns thy friend away; A tender prey; that cheers our youthful morn,

For me no more the vernal roses bloom ! Then sinks untimely, and defrauds the chase.

I see stern Pate his ebon wand display;

And point the wither'd regions of the tomb.

Then the keen anguish from thine eye shall starte ELEGY XII.

Sad as thou follow'st my untimely bier;

“ Fool that I was--if friends so soon must part, HIS RECANTATION.

To let suspicion intermix a fear!"
No more the Muse obtrudes her thin disguise !

No more with aukward fallacy complains,
How every fervour from my bosom flies,
And Reason in her lonesome palace reigns.

ELEGY XIV.
Ere the chill winter of our days arrive,

Declining an invitation to visit foreign countries, No more she paints the breast from passion free;

he takes occasion to intimate the advantages of I feel, i feel one loitering wish survive

his own. Ah, need I, Florio, name that wish to thee?

TO LORD TEMPLE. The star of Venus ushers in the day,

While others, lost to friendship, lost to love, The first, the loveliest of the train that shine!

Waste their best minutes on a foreign strand, The star of Venus lends her brightest ray,

Be mine, with British nymph or swain to rove, When other stars their friendly beams resign.

And court the genius of my native land. Still in my breast one soft desire remains,

Deluded youth! that quits these verdant plains, Púre as that star, from guilt, from interest free, To catch the follies of an alien soil ! Has gentle Delia tripp'd across the plains,

To win the vice his genuine soul disdaius, And need I, Florio, name that wish to thee?

Return exultant, and import the spoil ! While, cloy'd to find the scenes of life the same, In vain he boasts of his detested prize;

I tune with careless hand my languid lays; No more it blooms, to British climes convey'd, Some secret impulse wakes my former flame, Cramp'd by the impulse of ungenial skies,

And fires my strain with hope of brighter days. See its fresh vigour in a moment fade ! I slept not long beneath yon rural bowers; Th’ exotic folly knows its native clime;

And lo! my crook with flowers adorn'd I see: An aukward stranger, if we waft it o'er; Has gentle Delia bound my crook with flowers, Why then these toils, this costly waste of time

And need I, Florio, name my hopes to thee? To spread soft poison on our happy shore ?

I covet not the pride of foreign looms;

ELEGY XV. In search of foreign modes I scorn to rove; IN MEMORY OF A PRIVATE FAMILÝ" IN Nor, for the worthless bird of brighter plumes,

WORCESTERSHIRE, Would change the meanest warbler of my grove.

From a lone tower with reverend ivy crown d, No distant clime shall servile airs impart,

The pealing bell awak'd a tender sigh; Or form tbese limbs with pliant ease to play; Still as the village caught the waving sound, Trembling I view the Gaul's illusive art,

A swelling tear distream'd from every eye. That steals my lov'd rusticity away.

so droop'd, I ween, each Briton's breast of old, 'Tis long since Freedom Aed th’ Hesperian clime ; | When the dull curfew spoke their freedom fled ;

Her citron groves, her flower-embroider'd shore; Por, sighing as the mournful accent rollid, She saw the British oak aspire sublime,

Our hope, they cry'd, our kind support is dead! And soft Campania's olive charins no more. 'T was good Palemon-near a shaded pool, Let partial suns mature the western mine

A group of ancient elms umbrageous rose; To shed its lustre o'er th' Iberian maid;

The flocking rooks, by instinct's native rule, Mien, beauty, shape, O native soil, are thine; This peaceful scene, for their asylum, chose. Thy peerless daughters ask no foreign aid. A few small spires to Gothic fancy fair,

Amid the shades emerging, struck the view; Let Ceylon's envy'd plant ' perfume the seas,

'Twas here his youth respir'd its earliest air; Till torn to season the Batavian bowl ; Ours is the breast whose genuine ardours please,

'T was here his age breath'd out its last adieu. Nor need a drug to meliorate the soul.

One favour'd son engag'd his tenderest care;

| One pious youth his whole affection crown'd: Let the proud Soldan wound th’ Arcadian groves, In his young breast the Virtues sprung so fair,

Or with rude lips th' Aonian fount profane; | Such charms display'd, such sweets diffus'd The Muse no more by flowery Ladon roves,

around. She seeks her Thomson on the British plain.

But whilst gay transport in his face appears, Tell not of realms by ruthless War dismay'd; A poxious vapour clogs the poison'd sky;

Ah! hapless realms that War's oppression feel! Blasts the fair crop—the sire is drown'd in tears, In vain may Austria boast her Noric blade,

And, scarce surviving, sees his Cynthio die! If Austria bleed beneath her boasted steel.

O'er the pale corse we saw bim gently bend; Beneath ber palm Idume vents her moan;

Heart-chill'd with grief—"My thread,” he cry'd, Raptur'd she once beheld its friendly shade!

“ is spun; And hoary Memphis boasts her tombs alone,

If Heaven had meant I should my life extend, The mournful types of mighty power decay'd !

Heaven had preserv'd my life's support, my son.

“ Snatch'd in thy prime! alas, the stroke were mild, No crescent here displays its baneful horns ;

Had my frail form obey'd the Fate's decree! No turban'd host the voice of Truth reproves;

Blest were my lot, o Cynthio! O my child ! Learning's free source the sage's breast adorns,

Had Heaven so pleas'd, and I had died for thee." And poets, not inglorious, chant their loves.

Five sleepless nights he stemm'd this tide of woes; Boast, favour'd Media, boast thy flowery stores ;

Five irksome suns he saw, through tears, forlorn! Thy thousand hues by chymic suns refin'd:

On his pale corse the sixth sad morning rose; T is not the dress or mien thy soul adores,

From yonder dome the mournful bier was borne. 'T is the rich beauties of Britannia's mind.

'T was on those downs, by Roman hosts annoy'd While Grenville's breast ? could Virtue's stores af Fought our bold fathers; rustic, unrefin'd! ford,

Freedom's plain sons, in martial cares employ'd ! What envy'd flota bore so fair a freight?

They ting'd their bodies, but unmask'd their The mine compar'd in vajn its latent hoard,

mind. The gem its lustre, and the gold its weight.

'T was there, in happier times, this virtuous race, Thee, Grenville, thee with calmest courage fraught, Of milder merit, fix'd their calm retreat ;

Thee the lov'd image of thy native shore ! War's deadly crimson had forsook the place, Thee by the Virtues arm'd, the Graces taught, And Freedom fondly lov'd the chosen seat.

When shall we cease to boast, or to deplore ? No wild ambition fir'd their tranquil breast, Presumptuous war, which could thy life destroy,

To swell with empty sounds a spotless name; What shall it now in recompense decree?

If fostering skies, the Sun, the shower were blest, While friends that merit every earthly joy,

Their bounty spread; their fields' extent the same, Feel every anguish ; feel the loss of thee ! Those fields, profuse of raiment, food, and fire, Bid me no more a servile realm compare,

They scorn'd to lessen, careless to extend;

Bade luxury to lavish courts aspire,
No more the Muse of partial praise arraign;
Britannia sees no foreign breast so fair,

And avarice to city-breasts descend.
And, if she glory, glories not in vain.

None, to a virgin's mind, preferr'd her dower ;

To fire with vicious hopes a modest heir: The cinnamon

The sire, in place of titles, wealth, or power, 2 Written a few years after the time of captain Assign'd him virtue; and his lot was fair. Grenville's death, which happened in 1747. "The carldom of Temple was not created till 1749.

The Penns of Harborough. VOL. XI,

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