How would a virtuous* Houbnbym neigh Difdain, To fee his Brethren brook th' imperious Rein; Bear Slavery's wanton Whip, or galling Goad, Smoak through the Glebe, or trace the deftin'd Road; And robb'd of +Manhood by the murderous Knife, Suftain each fordid Toil of fervile Life.

Yet oh, what Rage would touch his generous Mind, To fee his Sons of more than human Kind;

A Kind, with each exalted Virtue blest,

Each gentler feeling of the liberal Breast,
Afford Diverfion to that Monster base,

That meaneft Spawn of Man's Half-monkey Race;
In whom Pride, Avarice, Ignorance, confpire,
That hated Animal, a Yaboo-Squire.

How are the THERONS of these modern Days, Chang'd from those Chiefs who toil'd for Grecian bays; Who fir'd with genuine Glory's facred Luft,

Whirl'd the swift Axle through the Pythian duft.
Theirs was the Pifan Olive's blooming Spray,

Theirs was the Theban Bard's recording Lay.
What though the Grooms of Greece ne'er took the odds?
They won no Bets-but then they foar'd to Gods;
And more an Hiero's Palm, a Pindar's Ode,
Than all th' united Plates of GEORGE bestow'd.

Vid. GULLIVER's Travels. Voyage to the Houbnhyms.
A Copy in the HADLEIAN Library reads HORSE-HOOD.

Greece! how I kindle at thy magic Name,
Feel all thy warmth, and catch the kindred Flame.
Thy Scenes fublime, and aweful Visions rife,
In ancient Pride before my mufing Eyes.
Here Sparta's Sons in mute Attention hang,
While juft Lycurgus pours the mild Harangue;
There Xerxes' Hofts, all pale with deadly Fear,
Shrink at her fated * Hero's flashing Spear.
Here hung with many a Lyre of filver String,
The laureate Alleys of Ilifus fpring :

And lo, where rapt in Beauty's heavenly Dream.
Hoar Plato walks his oliv'd Academe.

Yet ah! no more the Land of Arts and Arms,
Delights with Wisdom, or with Virtue warms.
Lo! the ftern Turk, with more than Vandal Rage,
Has blafted all the Wreaths of ancient Age:
No more her Groves by Fancy's Feet are trod,
Each Attic Grace has left the lov'd abode.
Fall'n is fair Greece! by Luxury's pleafing Bane
Seduc'd, fhe drags a barbarous foreign Chain.

Britannia watch! O trim thy withering Bays,
Remember thou haft rivall'd Grecia's Praife,
Great Nurse of Works divine! Yet oh! beware
Left thou the fate of Greece, my Country, fhare.

*LEONIDAS.

Recall

Recall thy wonted Worth with confcious Pride,
Thou too haft feen a Solon in a Hyde;

Haft bade thine Edwards and thine Henries rear
With Spartan Fortitude the British spear;
Alike has feen thy Sons deserve the Meed
Or of the moral or the martial Deed.

To the pie-houfe Memory of NELL BATCHELOR, an Oxford Pye-Woman.

I.

TER E deep in the Duft,

HE

The mouldy old Cruft,

Of Nell Batchelor lately was fhoven ;
Who was skill'd in the Arts

Of Pies, Puddings, and Tarts,
And knew ev'ry Ufe of the Oven.

II.

When fhe'd liv'd long enough,
She made her laft Puff,

A Puff by her Husband much prais'd;

Now here he doth lie,

And makes a dirt Pye,

In hopes that her Cruft will be rais'd.

THE

CASTLE BARBER's SOLILOQUY.

I

Written in the late WAR.

Who with fuch Succefs-alas! till

The War came on- have hav'd the Caftle;

Who by the Nofe, with Hand unfhaken,

The boldeft Heroes oft have taken ;

In humble Strain, am doom'd to mourn
My Fortune chang'd, and State forlorn!

My

My Soap fcarce ventures into Froth,
My Razors ruft in idle Sloth!

WISDOM! to you my Verfe appeals;
You share the Griefs your Barber feels:
Scarce comes a Student once a whole Age,
To ftock your defolated College.

Our Trade how ill an Army fuits!
This comes of picking up Recruits.
Loft is the Robber's Occupation,
No Robbing thrives- but of the Nation:
For hardy Necks no Rope is twisted,
And e'en the Hangman's felf is lifted.
Thy Publishers, O mighty Jackson!
With scarce a feanty Coat their Backs on,
Warning to Youth no longer teach,
Nor live upon a Dying Speech.

In Caffock clad, for want of Breeches,
No more the Caftle-Chaplain preaches.
Oh! were our Troops but fafely landed,
And every Regiment disbanded!
They'd make, I truft, a new Campaign
On Henley's Hill, or Campsfield's Plain :
Deftin'd at Home, in peaceful State,
By me fresh-fhav'd, to meet their Fate!

*The Governor of Oxford-Cafile.

Regard