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Adverfity is virtue's school,
To thofe who right difcern;
Let us obferve each painful rule,
And each hard leffon learn.

When wintry clouds obfcure the sky,
And heaven and earth deform,
If fix'd the ftrong foundations lie,
The caftle braves the ftorm.

Thus fix'd on faith's unfailing rock,
Let us endure a while,
Misfortune's rude, impetuous fhock,
And glory in our toil.

Ill fortune cannot always laft,

Or though it should remain, Yet we each painful moment hafte

A better world to gain.

Where calumny no more fhall wound,

Nor faithlefs friends deftroy,

Where innocence and truth are crown'd

With everlasting joy.

THE FAIR LADY'S WISH.

If it be true, celeftial pow'rs,
That have form'd me fair,
And that in all my vaineft hours,

you

My mind has been my care.

Then

Then, in return, I beg this grace,

As you were ever kind;

What envious time takes from my face,

Bestow upon my mind.

NEEDHAM'S COLLECTION.

LINES ADDRRSSED TO A YOUNG LADY.

MAY angels guard thee, with diftinguish'd care,

And ev'ry bleffing fall to Cynthia's fhare!
Thro' flow'ry paths fecurely may she tread,
By Fortune follow'd, and by Virtue led;
While health and ease in ev'ry look exprefs,
The glow of beauty, and the calm of peace:
Late may fhe feel the foftest stroke of death,
As roses droop beneath a Zephyr's breath;
Thus, gently fading, peaceful rest in earth,
Till the glad spring of nature's second birth;
Then quit the tranfient winter of the tomb,
To rife and flourish in immortal bloom.

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LINES,

ADVISING A YOUNG LADY AGAINST LATE SIT

TING UP.

IMITATED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. GRESSET.

No, fay no more of your late hours,
See how the rofe, the queen of flowers,
Repairs its languor in the night,
And freshens on return of light:
Like that your beauty learn to keep,
By never miffing midnight fleep.

PROLOGUE

vengeance

TO LADY JANE GRAY.

WHEN waking terrors rouze the guilty breast,
And fatal vifions break the murd'rer's reft;
When
does ambition's fate decree,
And tyrants bleed, to set whole nations free ;
Tho' the mufe faddens each diftreffed fcene,
Unmov'd is ev'ry breaft, and ev'ry face ferene,

The

The mournful lines no tender hearts subdue;
Compaffion is to fuff'ring goodness due.
The poet your attention begs once more,
T'atone for characters here drawn before:
No royal miftrefs fighs through ev'ry page,
And breathes her dying forrows on the stage;
No lovely fair, by foft perfuafion won,
Lays down the load of life, when honour's gone.
Nobly to bear the changes of our state,
To stand unmov'd against the storms of fate,
A brave contempt of life, and grandeur loft;
Such glorious toils a female name can boast.
Our author draws not beauty's heav'nly fmile,
T' invite our wishes, and our hearts beguile.
No foft enchantments languish in her eye,
No bloffoms fade, nor fick'ning rofes die :
A nobler paffion ev'ry breast must move,
Than youthful raptures, or the joys of love.
A mind unchang'd, fuperior to a crown,
Bravely defies the angry tyrant's frown;
The fame, if fortune finks or mounts on high,
Or if the world's extended ruins lie:
With gen'rous fcorn fhe lays the fcepter down;
Great fouls shine brightest, by misfortune shown:
With patient courage she fuftains the blow,

And triumphs o'er variety of woe.

Ye British fair! lament in filent woe,

Let ev'ry eye with tender pity flow:

The

The lovely form through falling drops will feem
Like flow'ry fhadows on the filver stream.

Thus beauty, heav'n's sweet ornament, shall prove
Enrich'd by virtue, as adorn'd by love.

EPILOGUE

TO LADY JANE GRAY.

THE palms of virtue heroes oft have worn,
Those wreaths, to-night, a female brow adorn.
The deftin'd faint, unfortunately brave,

Sunk with those altars which fhe ftrove to fave.
Greatly the dar'd to prop the jufter fide,
As greatly with her adverse fate comply'd,
Did all that heav'n cou'd afk, refign'd and dy'd,
Dy'd for the land for which she wish'd to live,
And gain'd that liberty fhe could not give.
If your foft pity waits upon our woe,
If filent tears for fuff ring virtue flow;
Your grief the mufe's labour fhall confefs,
The lively paffions, and the just distress.
Oh! could our author's pencil juftly paint,
Such as fhe was in life, the beauteous faint;
Boldly your ftrict attention might we claim,
And bid you mark, and copy out the dame.
No wandring glance one wanton thought confefs'd,
No guilty wish inflam'd her fpotless breast:

The

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