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Think on the mifchiefs which from hence have

fprung!

It arms with curfes dire the wrathful tongue;
Foul scandal to the lying lip affords,

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And prompts the mem'ry with injurious words.
O where is wifdom when by this o'erpower'd?
The ftate is cenfur'd, and the maid deflower'd!
And wilt thou ftill, O Squire, brew ale fo ftrong?
Hear then the dictates of prophetic fong.

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Methinks I fee him in his hall appear,
Where the long table floats in clammy beer,
'Midft mugs and glaffes fhatter'd o'er the floor,
Dead-drunk, his fervile crew fupinely fnore;
Triumphant o'er the proftrate brutes he stands,
The mighty bumper trembles in his hands;
Boldly he drinks, and, like his glorious Sires,
In copious gulps of potent ale expires.

ON THE SETTING UP MR. BUTLER'S MONU-
MENT IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.

BY SAMUEL WESLEY.*

WHILE BUTLER, needy wretch! was yet alive,
No gen'rous patron would a dinner give:

See him, when starv'd to death and turn'd to duft,
Prefented with a monumental buft!

The poet's fate is here in emblem shown,
He afk'd for bread, and he receiv'd a stone.

EPIGRAM, FROM THE GREEK.

BY THE SAME.

A
BLOOMING youth lies buried here,
EUPHEMIUS, to his country dear:
Nature adorn'd his mind and face
With ev'ry mufe, and ev'ry grace:
About the marriage state to prove,
But DEATH had quicker wings than Love.

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* Born 1690; dyed 1739.

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O COME, Lavinia, lovely maid,

Said Dion, ftretch'd at ease,
Beneath the walnut's fragrant shade,
A sweet retreat! by nature made
With elegance to please.

O leave the court's deceitful glare,
Loath'd pageantry and pride;
Come taste our folid pleasures here,
Which angels need not blush to share,
And with blefs'd men divide.

What raptures were it in these bow'rs,
Fair virgin, chafte and wife,
With thee to lose the learned hours,
And note the beauties in these flowers,
Conceal'd from vulgar eyes! 15

For thee my gaudy garden blooms,
And richly colour'd glows;
Above the pomp of royal rooms,
Or purpled works of Perfian looms,
Proud palaces disclose.

* Born 1692; dyed 1742.

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Hafte, nymph, nor let me figh in vain,
Each Grace attends on thee;
Exalt my blifs, and point my ftrain,
For Love and Truth are of thy train,
Content and Harmony.

THE

BASTAR D.

INSCRIBED, WITH ALL DUE REVERENCE, TO

MRS. BRETT,

ONCE COUNTESS OF MACCLESFIELD.

BY RICHARD SAVAGE.

Decet hæc dare dona novercam. Ov. MET.

In gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,
The mufe, exulting, thus her lay began.

Bleft be the Baftard's birth! thro' wond'rous ways,

He fhines eccentric like a comet's blaze!
No fickly fruit of faint compliance He!
He! ftampt in nature's mint of ecstasy!
He lives to build, not boast a generous race:
No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.

5

His daring hope, no fire's example bounds;
His firft-born lights, no prejudice confounds. 10

↑ Born 1698; dyed 1743.

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