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See there-amidst the crowds our view
Some scatter'd virtues strike;
But those so throng'd, and these so few,
The world looks all alike.

Yet, through this cloud of human-kind,
The Talbots we survey,

The Pitts, the Yorkes, the Seckers find,
Who shine in open day.


On the fame Subject.


'ER curious models as you rove The vales with piles to crown, And great Palladio's plans improve With nobler of your own;

O bid a ftructure o'er the floods
From this high mountain rife,
Where we may fit enthron'd like gods,
And revel in the kies.

Th' afcending breeze, at each repast,
Shall breathe an air divine,
Give a new brightness to the taste,
New spirit to the wine.

Or these low pleasures we may quit
For banquets more refin'd,
The works of each immortal wit,
The luxury of the mind.


Plato, or Boyle's, or Newton's page,
Our towering thoughts shall raise,
Or Homer's fire, or Pindar's rage,
Or Virgil's lofty lays.

Or with amusive thoughts the Sea
Shall entertain the mind,
While we the rolling scene survey,
An emblem of mankind.

Where, like fworn foes, fucceffive all,
The furious furges run,
To urge their predeceffor's fall,
Though follow'd by their own.

Where, like our moderns fo profound,
Engag'd in dark dispute,

The fkuttles caft their ink around

To puzzle the dispute.

Where fharks, like fhrewd directors, thrive,
Like lawyers, rob at will;

Where flying-fifh, like trimmers live;
Like foldiers, fword-fifh kill.

Where on the less the greater feed,
The tyrants of an hour,

Till the huge royal whale fucceed,
And all at once devour.

Thus in the mortal world we now
Too truly understand,
Each monster of the fea below
Is match'd by one at land.



Particularly that on the Author.

BLUSH, Wilmot, blush; a female Mufe,
Without one guilty line,

The tender theme of love purfues
In fofter ftrains than thine.

"Tis thine the passion to blafpheme,
'Tis her's with wit and ease
(When a mere nothing is the theme)
Beyond thyself to please.

Then be to her the prize decreed,
Whofe merit has prevail'd;
For what male poet can fucceed,
If Rochefter has fail'd?

Since Phoebus quite forgetful grows,
And has not yet thought fit,
In his high wisdom, to impofe
A falique law on wit;

Since of your rights he takes no care,
Ye Priors, Popes, and Gays;
'Tis hard!
The breeches and the bays.

-but let the women wear



Worked by the Young Ladies at Kingston.


HEN Pallas faw the piece her pupils wrought, She flood long wondering at the lovely draught: "And, Flora, now (fhe cried) no more display Thy flowers, the trifling beauties of a day: For fee! how thefe with life immortal bloom, And spread and flourish for an age to come! In what unguarded hour did I impart To these fair virgins all my darling art? In all my wit I faw thefe rivals fhine,

But this one art I thought was always mine:
Yet lo! I yield; their mistress now no more,
But proud to learn from these I taught before.
For look, what vegetable sense is here!
How warm with life these blushing leaves appear!
What temper'd splendors o'er the piece are laid!
Shade fteals on light, and light dies into shade.
Through heaven's gay bow less various beauties run,
And far lefs bright, though painted by the fun.
See in each blooming flower what spirit glows!
What vivid colours flush the opening rose !
In fome few hours thy lily disappears;
But this fhall flourish through a length of years,
See unfelt winters pafs fucceffive by,
And scorn a mean dependence on the sky.




And oh! may Britain, by my counfels fway'd,
But live and flourish, till these flowers fhall fade!
Then go, fond Flora, go, the palm refign
To works more fair and durable than thine;
For I, even I, in justice yield the crown
To works fo far fuperior to my own."


N this fair ground, with ravish'd eyes,
We fee a fecond Eden rise,


As gay and glorious as the first,

Before th' offending world was curst.
While these bright nymphs the needle guide,
To paint the rose in all her pride,
Nature, like her, may blush to own

Herself so far by art out-done.

These flowers fhe rais'd with all her care,
So blooming, fo divinely fair!

The glorious children of the fun,
That David's regal heir out-fhone,
Were scarce like one of these array'd;
They died, but these shall never fade.


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