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Stanas robes in beauteous order meet,
Aada barns beneath his awful feet.
Nwachangei eninently bright,
Imtis ilver staf of wond'rous height,
Els the Christian flag, which waving flies,
And hats and opens more than half the kies:
The C5 5hong a red, it sheds a stain
Wet it floats, on earth, and air, and main;
Febeste bill, and fets on fire the wood,
Aat the deep-dyed ocean into blood.

Thy pleasure points the fhaft and bends the bow,
The cluster blafts or bids it brightly glow:
'Tis thou that lead 'ft our pow'rful armies forth,
And giv't great Annethy fceptre o'erthe north.
"Grant I may ever, at the morning ray,
Open with pray'r the confecrated day;
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise,
And with the mounting fun afcend the ikies!
As that advances, let my zeal improve,
And glow with ardour of confummate love;
Nor ceafe at eve, but with the fetting fun
My endlefs worthip thall be ftill begun.

dible Glory! dreadful bright! Retorture to the guilty fight! Airy male, nor dare reveal Wd thoughts with the polluted dwell. (to make the Sun fhrink in his beam) Det affirm, they with it all a dream; Wut their fouls may with their limbs decay, tGod be build of his eternal fway. Br, if thou know'it the means, unfold By with transport might the fcene behold. A out by Repentance-by a mind vere its own offence to find? and groans, and never-ceafing care, the pious violence of pray`r? wita fervency till now unknown, hart before th' eternal throne, - temple, which the skies furround, Feto its Lord a narrow bound: [weigh, - whofe balance does the mountains We the wild tumultuous feas obey, W breath can turn thofe wat'ry worlds to

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fane,

The to tempeft, and that tempeft tame;
efon, all trembling, proitrate falls,
Aunties of thy goodness calls.
winds all part offence to fweep,
or bury in the deep :
Teknefs, may I ever fee,
Addate my foul to thee!

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"And, oh, permit the gloom of folemn night
To facred thought may forcibly invite.
When this world's thut, and awful planets rife,
Call on our minds, and raife them to the skies.
Compofe our fouls with a lefs dazzling fight,
And fhew all nature in a milder light;
How ev'ry boilt'rous thought in calms fubfides;
How the imooth'dipirit into goodness glides!
O how divine, to tread the milky way
To the bright palace of the Lord of day!
His court admire, or for his favour fue,
Or leagues of friendship with his faints renew!
Pleas'd to look down, and fee the world afleep,
While I long vigils to its Founder keep ![troul,

"Can't thou not shake the centre? Oh con-
Subdue by force, the rebel in my foul!
Thou, who canft ftill the raging of the flood,
Reftrain the various tumults of my blood;
Teach me, with equal firmness, to fuftain
Alluring pleasure, and aflauiting pain.
may I pant for Thee in each defire,
And with ftrong faith foment the holy fire!
Stretch out my foul in hope, and grasp the prize
Which in Eternity's deep bofom lies!
At the great day of recompence behold,
Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold!
Then, wafted upwards to to the blissful feat,

O

Beery, my paffions ebb and flow From age to age my grateful fong repeat;

Art, nor human motive know! It anger be my praife, Attaceful indignation raife.

My warm to fuccour the diftrefs'd,

the belen from the foul opprefs'd.

y underfanding ever read
velame, which thy wifdom made!

My Light, my Life, my God, my Saviour fee,
And rival angels in the praife of Thee!"

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ts them den Spring with flow rypride? To her Royal Highnefs the Princess of Wales.

torta Summer like a fparkling bride? the mother Autumn's bed to crown? Acid Winter lay her honours down? e great Ottoman, or greater Czar, one's arbitreis of peace and war. Midland, and earth and heav'n be join'd, eth'eternal Author to my mind! ans roar, or awful thunders roll, tights of thy dread vengeance thake

my foull

Weth's in bloom, or planets proudlyfhine,
Art, my heart, the Majefty divine!

ev'ry fcene of life, or peace, or war,
Hay, or want, thy glory be my care!
lewe in arms or fing beneath our vine?
Tane is the vintage, and the conquest thine:

THE moral lay, to beauty due,
I write, Fair Excellence, to you;
Well pleas'd to hope my vacant hours
Have been employ'd to fweeten yours.
Truth under fiction I impart,
To weed out folly from the heart,
And thew the paths that lead aftray
The wand'ring nymph from wiidom's way,
I fiatter none. The great and good
Are by their actions understood;
Your monument, if actions raife,
Shall I deface by idle praife?

I echo not the voice of Fame;
That dwelis delighted on your name:
Her friendly tale, however true,
Were flatt'ry, if I told it you.
M 2

The

The proud, the envious, and the vain,
The jilt, the prude, demand my rain;
To thefe, detefting praife, I write,
And vent in charity my fpite:
With friendly hand I hold the glafs
To all, promifcuous, as they pafs:
Should folly there her likeness view,
I fret not that the mirror's true:
If the fantastic form offend,
I made it not, but would amend.

Virtue, in ev'ry clime and age,
Spurns at the folly-foothing page;
While fatire, that offends the ear,
Of vice and paffion, pleases her.

Premifing this, your anger spare;
And claim the fable you who dare.
The birds in place, by fictions press'd,
To Jupiter their pray'rs addrefs'd':
By fpecious lyes the state was vex'd,
Their counfels libellers perplex'd;
They begg'd (to ftop feditious tongues)
A gracious hearing of their wrongs.
Jove grants the fuit. The Eagle fate
Decider of the grand debate.

The Pye, to truft and pow'r preferr'd,
Demands permiffion to be heard.
Says he, prolixity of phrafe

You know I hate. This libel fays,

"Some birds there are, who, prone to noife,
Are hir'd to filence wifdom's voice;
And skill'd, to chatter out the hour,
Rife by their emptinefs to pow'r."
That this is aim'd direct at me,
No doubt you'll readily agree;
Yet well this fage assembly knows,
By parts to government I rofe.
My prudent counfels prop the state;
Magpies were never known to prate.

The Kite rofe up. His honeft heart
In virtue's fufferings bore a part.
That there were birds of prey he knew:
So far the libeller faid true:
"Voracious, bold, to rapine prone,
Who knew no int'reft but their own;
Who hov'ring oe'r the farmer's yard,
Nor pigeon, chick, or duckling fpar'd."
This might be true; but, if applied
To him, in troth, the flanderer lyed.
Since ign`rance then might be mifled,
Such things, he thought, were beft unfaid.
The Crow was vex'd. As yester-morn
He flew acrofs the new fown corn,
A fcreaming boy was fet for pay,
He knew, to drive the crows away;
Scandal had found him out in turn,
And buzz'd abroad that crows love corn.
The Owl arofe with folemn face,
And thus harangu'd upon the cafe.
That magpies prite, it may be true;
A kite may be voracious too;
Crows fometimes deal in new-fown peafe;
He libels not, who trikes at thele:
The flander's here-" But there are birds,
Whole wildom lies in looks not words;

Blund'r
l'rers, who level in the dark,
And always fhoot befide the mark.”
He names not me; but these are hints,
Which manifeft at whom he fquints,
I were indeed that blund'ring fowl,
To question if he meant an owl.

Ye wretches, hence! the Eagle cries,
'Tis confcience, confcience that applies;
The virtuous mind takes no alarm, 1,
Secur'd by innocence from harm;
While Guilt, and his affociate Fear,
Are ftartled at the paffing air.

§ 31. FABLE II.

The Panther, the Ha and other Beafs.

THE man who feeks to win the fair
(So cuftom fays) muft truth forbear;
Muft fawn and flatter, cringe and lye,
And raife the goddess to the sky.
For truth is hateful to her ear;

A rudeness which fhe cannot bear.
A rudeness! Yes, I fpeak my thoughts;
For truth upbraids her with her faults.

How wretched, Chloe, then am I,
Who love you and yet cannot lye?
And ftiil, to make you lefs my friend,
I ftrive your errors to amend!
But fhall the fenfeless fop impart
The fofteft paffion to your heart;
While he, who tells you honest truth;
And points to happiness your youth,
Determines, by his care, his lot,
And lives neglected and forgot?

Trust me, my dear, with greater eafe,
Your tafte for flatt'ry I could please ;
And fimiles in each dull line,

Like glow-worms in the dark, fhould shine
What if I fay your lips difclofe
The frefhnefs of the op'ning rofe?
Or that your cheeks are beds of flow'rs,
Enripen'd by refreshing show'rs?
Yet certain as thefe flow'rs fhall fade,
Time ev'ry beauty will invade.
The butterfty of various hue,
More than the flow'r refembles you;
Fair, futt'ring, fickle, bufy thing,
To pleasure ever on the wing,
Gaily coquetting for an hour,
To die, and ne'er be thought of more.
Would you the bloom of youth fhould
'Tis virtue that muft bind it faft;
An eafy carriage, wholly free
From four referves or levity;
Good-natur'd mirth, an open heart,
And locks unfkill'd in any art;
Humility enough to own

The frailties which a friend makes known,
And decent pride enough to know
The worth that virtue can bestow.

Thefe are the charms which ne'er decay,
Though youth and beauty fade away;
And time, which all things elle removes,
Still heightens virtue, and improves,

You'll

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bofom with defire.

Where or the mov'd, a fervile crowd Og creatures cring`d and bow'd : s ev'ry week fhe held

fill'd;

(1=dern belles) with coxcombs
Whereale, and nonfenfe, and grimace,
and scandal, fill'd the place.
the gay fantastic thing
by the fpacious ring!

Lay, with important look,
Atrank, the Monkey spoke:
Gike me, madam! but I swear,
ever look'd fo fair:

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rudeness, but I vow

t quite divine till now;

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THE prudent nymph, whose cheeks disclose
The lily and the blushing rofe,

From public view her charms will screen,
And rarely in the crowd be feen;
This fimple truth fhall keep her wife-
"The faireft fruits attract the flies."

One night a Glow-worm, proud and vain,
Contemplating her glitt'ring train,
Cried, Sure there never was in nature
So elegant, fo fine a creature.
All other infects that I fee,
The frugal ant, induftrious bee,
Or filk-worm, with contempt I view;
With all that low, mechanic crew,

that hape! and then thofe eyes! Who fervilely their lives employ

, the gazer dies!” Bog, for goodneis hush,

fear you make me blush; be angry at this rate;

try, which I hate. Te deeper cunning vers'd, Tee of her mind rehears'd, knowledge, taste, and sense, er have valt pretence! Yes them always vain Cat they are not to attain; tingly his part,

Tapagmal'd in his art.

The Gatavow'd his am'rous flame,
Aadhort-for what he durft not name;
Yep da meeting in the wood
Me his meaning understood.
Ey at the bold addrefs,

wd, but yet the must confefs
might inflame his blood,
sphrale was fomewhat rude.
Hog her neatnefs much admir'd;
ai Als her fwiftness fir'd:
to feed her folly strove,
eir praifes fhar'd her love.
Hrfe, whofe gen'rous heart difdain'd
by fervile flatt'ry gain'd,
Wtful courage filence broke,

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with indignation broke:

att ring monkeys fawn and prate,
They raife contempt or hate;
It's turn'd to ridicule,

■ Apaded by the grinning fool.
fox your wit commends,

are you to his felfish ends;

the vile fatt'rer turn away, Igo make friendships to betray.

In bus'nefs, enemy to joy.

Mean, vulger herd! ye are my scorn;
For grandeur only I was born,

Or fure am fprung from race divine
And plac'd on earth to live and fhine.
Thofe lights that fparkle fo on high,
Are but the glow-worms of the sky;
And kings on earth their gems admire,
Because they imitate my fire.

She fpoke. Attentive on a fpray,
A Nightingale forbore his lay;
He faw the fhining morfel near,
And flew, directed by the glare;
Awhile he gaz'd with sober look,
And thus the trembling prey befpoke:
Deluded fool, with pride elate!
Know, 'tis thy beauty brings thy fate:
Lefs dazzling, long thou mightít have lain
Unheeded on the velvet plain:

Pride, foon or late, degraded mourns,
And beauty wrecks whom the adorns.

$313. FABLE IV. Hymen and Death.
SIXTEEN, d' ye fay? Nay then 'tis time;
Another year destroys your prime.
But ftay-the fettlement? That's made.”
Why then 's my fimple girl afraid ?
Yet hold a moment, if you can,
And heedfully the fable fcan.

The fhades were fled, the morning bluff'd,
The winds were in their caverns huih'd,
When Hymen, penfive and fedate,
Held o'er the fields his mufing gait.
Behind him, thro' the green-wood fhade,
Death's meagre form the god furvey'd;
Who quickly, with gigantic ftride,
Outwent his pace, and join'd his fide.

M 3

The

The chat on various fubjects ran,
Till angry Hymen thus began:
Relentless Death! whofe iron fway
Mortais reluctant muft obey,
Still of thy pow'r thall I complain,
And thy too partial hand arraign?
When Cupid brings a pair of hearts,
All over fuck with equal darts,
Thy cruel thafis my hopes deride,
And cut the knot that Hymen tied
Shall not the bloody and the bold,
The mifèr hearding up his gold,
The harlot rocking from the flew,
Alone thy fell revenge purfue?
But muit the gentle and the kind
Thy fury, und tinguifh'd, find?

The monarch calmly thus replied:
Weigh weil the caufe, and then decide.
That friend of yours you lately nam'd,
Crnid alone, is to be blam'd;
In let the charge be justly laid:
The idle boy neglects his trade,
Athey one in twenty years
À cupic to your temple bears.
The wretche, whom your office blends,
Slenus no, or Plucus fends;
It ace cae, and bitterness, and ftrife,
Are common to the nuptial life.

deve vel more than all mankind
Your vot'ries my compaflion find.
Yet crel am I call'd, and bafe,
Who teek the wretched to releafe;
The captive from his bonds to free,
Indiffoluble but for me.
'Tis I entice him to the yoke;
By me your crowded altars smoke:
For mortals boldly dare the nuofe,
Secure that Death will fet them loofe.

FABLE V.

§314 WHY, Cælia, is your spreading waist So loofe, fo negligently lac'd? Why must the wrapping bed-gown hide Your thowy bofom's fwelling pride? How ill that dreis adorns your head, Diftain'd and rumpiled from the bed! Thote clouds that hade your blooming face A little water might difplace, As Nature ev'ry morn bestows The cryftal dew to cleanse the rofe. Thole treffes, as the raven black, That wav'd in ringlets down your back, Uncomb`d, and injur'd by neglect, Deltroy the face which once they deck'd. Whence this forgetfulness of dreis? Pray, Medam, are you married?—Yes. Nay, then deed the wonder ceases; No matter now how loofe your dreis is; The end is won, your fortune's made; Your fee now many take the trade.

The Poet and his Patron,

Alas! what pity 'tis to find
This fault in nalf the temale kind!
From hence procted avertion, ftrife,
And all that fours the wedded life.

Beauty can only point the dart,
"Tis neatnefs guides it to the heart;
Let neatnefs then and beauty ftrive
To keep a wav`ring flame alive.

'Tis harder far (you'll find it true)
To keep the conqueft, than fubdue;
Admit us once behind the fcreen,
What is there farther to be feen?
A newer face may raife the flame,
But ev'ry woman is the fame.

Then study chiefly to improve
The charm that fix'd your husband's love.
Weigh well his humour. Was it drefs
That gave your beauty pow'r to blefs?
Purfue it ftill; be neater feen;
'Tis always frugal to be clean;
So fhall you keep alive defire,
And time's twift wing fhall fan the fire.
In garret high (as itores fay)
A Poet fung his tuneful lay;

So foft, fo fmooth, his verfe you'd swear
Apollo and the Mules there:

Thro' all the town his praifes rung;
His fonnets at the playhoufe fung;
High waving o'er his lab'ring head,
The goddefs Want her pinions fpread,
And with poetic fury fir'd
What Phoebus faintly bad infpir'd.

A noble youth, of taite and wit,
Approv'd the sprightly things he writ,
And fought him in his cobweb dome,
Discharged his rent, and brought him home.
Behold him at the ftately board!
Who but the Poet and my Lord!
Each day deliciously he dines,
And greedy quafts the gen'rous wines;
His fides were plump, his tkin was fleek,
And plenty wanton'd on his cheek;
Aftonish'd at the change fo new,
Away

th' infpiring goddess flew.
Now, dropt for politics and news,
Neglected lay the drooping mufe,
Uninindful whence his fortune came,
He ftifled the poetic flame;
Nor tale, nor fonnet, for my lady,
Lanipoon, nor epigram, was ready.

With just contempt his Patron faw
(Refolv'd his bounty to withdraw);
And fhus, with anger in his look,
The late-repenting fool befpoke:

Blind to the good that courts thee grown, Whence has the fun of favour fhone? Delighted with thy tuneful art, Esteem was growing in my heart; But idly thou reject the charm That gave it birch, and kept it warm. Unthinking fools alone defpife The arts that taught them firit to rife.

$315. FABLE VI. The Wolf, the Sheep,

and the Lamb.

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May unor feize his midnight hour,
Whods upon a parent's pow'r,
And cams, by purchase vile and base,
The caning maid for his embrace;
Ace virtue fickens; and the breast,
Mere peace had built her downy neft,
Bs the troubled feat of care,

pines with anguish and despair.
A We, rapacious, rough, and bold,
Wafely plunders thinn'd the fold,
Coming his ill-spent life,

And cavd with thefts would take a wife.
Hope known, the favage race
Is crowds attends the place;
Fry, a mighty wolf he was,
and bad dominion in his jaws.

fas rite whelp each mother brought,
And humbly his alliance fought;
B cold by age, or elfe too nice,

found acceptance in his eyes.
It appen'd as at early dawn,
Hey crois'd the lawn,

4 from the fold, the fportive Lamb
4 wanton by her fleecy Dam;
Cupid, foe to man and beaft,
Dan arrow at his breaft.
The rous breed the robber knew,
Andling o'er the meadow flew;
The blett fpeed the Wolf o'ertook,
Acteons thus the Dam bespoke :
Shaw, fare, and fufpend your fear,
Trano enemy is near:

in faughter oft imbru'd,
A have known enough of blood;
ader bus nefs brings me now,
a beauty's feet to bow.
ve a draghter-fweet, forgive
A Wakas—in her I live;
Love from beres like lightning came,
And it my marrow all on flame;
Let your content confirm my choice,
And ratify our nuptial joys.
Me ale wealth and pow'r attend,
We or the plains my realms extend;
Warmdnight robber dare invade
The food, if I the guard am made?
A home the fhepherd's cur may fleep,
Ifecure his mafter's fheep.
Bare like this attention claim'd;
Car the mother's breast inflam'd;
fariefs by his fide the walk'd,
ments and jointures talk'd;
Pd, and doubled her demands,
fry fields, and turnip-lands.
The Wafa
fagrees. Her bofom fwells;
Vaher happy fate fhe tells;
the grand alliance vain,
Carens her kindred of the plain.
The loathing Lamb with horror hears,
And wearies out her Dam with pray`rs;
tal in vain; mamma beft knew
What unexperienc'd girls should do.
, to the neighb'ring meadow carried,

A formal as the couple married.

Torn from the tyrant mother's fide, The trembler goes, a victim-bride; Reluctant meets the rude embrace, And bleats among the howling race. With horror oft her eyes behold Her murder'd kindred of the fold; Each day a fifter lamb is serv'd, And at the glutton's table carv'd; The crashing bones he grinds for food, And flakes his thirft with ftreaming blood. Love, who the cruel mind detefts, And lodges but in gentle breasts, Was now no more. Enjoyment past, The favage hunger'd for the feast; But (as we find, in human race, A matk conceals the villain's face) Juftice muft authorife the treat; Till then he long'd, but durft not eat.

As forth he walk'd in queft of prey,
The hunters met him on the way:
Fear wings his flight; the marth he fought:
The fnuthing dogs are fet at fault.
His ftomach baulk'd, now hunger gnaws,
Howling he grinds his empty jaws:
Food must be had, and Lamb is nigh;
His maw invokes the fraudful lie.
Is this (diffembling rage, he cried)
The gentle virtue of a bride?
That, learn'd with man's destroying race,
She fets her husband for the chace?

By treach'ry prompts the noisy hound
To fcent his footsteps on the ground?
Thou trait'refs vile! for this thy blood
Shall glut my rage, and dye the wood!
So faying, on the Lamb he flies:
Beneath his jaws the victim dies.

§316. FABLE VII. The Goofe and the Swans I HATE the face, however fair,

That carries an affected air;

The lifping tone, the fhape constrain'd,
The ftudied look, the paffion feign'd,
Are fopperies which only tend
To injure what they strive to mend.

With what fuperior grace enchants
The face, which nature's pencil paints!
Where eyes, unexercis'd in art,
Glow with the meaning of the heart!
Where freedom and good-humour fit,
And eafy gaiety and wit!

Though perfect beauty be not there,
The mafter lines, the finish'd air,
We catch from ev'ry look delight,
And grow enamour'd at the fight:
For beauty, though we all approve,
Excites our wonder more than love;
While the agreeable strikes fure,
And gives the wounds we cannot cure.
Why then, my Amoret, this care,
That forms you, in effect, lefs fair?
If nature on your cheek beftows
A bloom that emulates the rofe,
Or from fome heavenly image drew
A form Apelles never knew,
M 4

Your

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