TO THE REV. MR. FITZGERALD,

RECTOR OF WOTTON, SURRY, MDCCXXXV.

W

7Hile you enjoy a calm and cool retreat, [heat, Not vex'd by autumn's wind, or fummer's Entrench'd within the bofom of the vale, You catch the morning fun, or evening gale; Then trip the verdant lawn, and pensive muse, Or moralize within the gloom of yews: 'Till fomething starts to blame or to commend, To please, furprize, and to inftruct a friend. The fands then lofe their barrennefs, for they Produce a cheerful fong, or moral lay. The villa, garden, mountain, meadow, rill, Rife all-fpontaneous to the fertile quill; Grow in your verse, and grow to fair renown; While others property you make your own. Forgive me, if the long-neglected lyre I touch, to warble lays thy lines infpire: If I the tender notes of friendship raise, Yet greatly envy what I fondly praife. As humble as thy heart I view thy vill, Thy fong as lofty as yon chalky hill. I view thy mind, and, undeceiv'd, can tell How tafte with true fimplicity can dwell;

How

How the calm dictates of thy mind dispense
Mirth to referve, and folitude to fenfe.

See the great world, fee all its busy strife
Is but to wander thro' the maze of life:
Tir'd, from the down of Pleafure's pamper'd bed,
They rife, they yawn, are drefs'd, fatigued, and fed:
And, in the chase of one laborious day,
A thoufand errands make, or vifits pay.
Afk, for what all this buftle? They must own
They hate to think, and dread to be alone.
Afk old and young, the giddy girls and wives?
Frolick's th' important business of their lives.
Soldiers, divines, the fprightly and the fad,
All muft rush headlong, fashionably mad.
Paint thy own heart, thence draw th' inftructive plan
To teach the Chriftian how to mend the man.

You, plac'd in happier climes, can truly tell, To live with pleasure is with Truth to dwell: Where gayContent with healthy Temperance meets, And Learning intermixes all its fweets; Where friendship, elegance, and arts unite To make the hours glide focial, easy, bright: There taste the converfe of the purest mind, Tho' mild, yet manly; and, tho' plain, refin'd; There, thro' the moral world, expatiate wide; Truth is thy end, and Evelyn is thy guide.

POEM

POEM

ONA PIN.

BY MR. WOTY.

OR once, ye critics, let the sportive Muse Her fool's-cap wear, spite of the shaking head Of ftern-eyed Gravity-for, tho' the Muse To frolic be difpos'd, no fong the chants Immoral; nor one picture will she hold, But Virtue may approve it with a smile. Ye fylvan deities! awhile adieu!

[flowers,
Ye curling ftreams! whose banks are fring'd with
Violet and hare-bell, or the king-cup bright,
Farewell! for I must leave your rich perfumes
To fing the Pin in ever-founding lays:
But not that Pin, at whofe circumference
Rotund, the ftrong-nerv'd ruftic hurls the bowl
Ponderous and vaft: nor that which window bars
From thief nocturnal: nor that other call'd
A fkittle; chiefly found where alehouse fnug
Invites mechanic to the flowing cup

Of Calvert's mild, o'er-canopied with froth.
No-'tis the Pin fo much by ladies us'd;
Without whofe aid, the nymph of nicest taste,
Of neatest mould, a flattern would appear.
Hail then, thou little useful inftrument!
Tho' small, yet confequential. For by thee

Beauty

Beauty fets off her charms, as at the glass
Lucy, or Phillis, beft adapts thy point.
Without thy fervice would the ribband flaunt
Loofe to the fanning gale, nor on the head
Of belle would ftand her whimsical attire.
The kerchief from her neck of fnow would fall
With freedom bold, and leave her bofom bare.
How would the fempftress trim thy want regret
As fhe her apron forms! And how the man
of law, fagacious, with his spectacles
On nose reverted! frequent does he want
Thy prompt affistance, to connect his scraps
And notes obliterated o'er. Thee oft

In alley, path, wide square, and open street,
The mifer picks, as confcious of thy ufe;
With frugal hand, accompanied with brow
Of corrugated bent, he sticks thee safe,
Interior on his coat; then creeps along,
Well judging thy proportion to a groat.
Thro' all thy different storehouses to trace
Thy prefence, either in the sculptur'd dome,
Or tenement clay-built, would ask a pen
With points almost as various as thy heads.
Where-e'er thou art, or in whatever form,
Magnificent in filver, or in brafs,
Or wire more humble, nightly may'st thou lie
Safe on thy cushion'd bed, or kifs the locks
Of Chloe, fleeping on the pillow's down.

THE

Hile others fing of high imperial ftates,
Their jarring interefts, or impending fates,

Terpfichoré, do thou infpire my song,

To thee, gay Muse, delightful strains belong.
Accept, dear Woty, madrigals of glee,

I fing the needle

and I fing to thee; Nor thou refufe the incenfe which I bring, Singing to thee, I shall the sweeter fing: For thou delighteft too in jocund themes, Tho' every Muse has vifited thy dreams; But chief thou batheft in that filver wave Where blithe Anacreon's Mufe was wont to lave, Where all-facetious Flaccus wont to sport, Where Humour reigns, and Comus keeps his court. But what fhall I, a poor pretender, win?

Since all my fonnets are not worth thy * Pin.

The Pin, a poem written by mr. Woty. See p. 63.

VOL. IX.

F

The