The gravely dull and pertly gay,
Oh banish thefe; and by my fay,
Right well I ween that in this age,
Mine house shall prove an hermitage.

An Infcription on the Cell.

Beneath these moss-grown roots, this ruftick cell,
Truth, Liberty, Content, fequester'd dwell;
Say you, who dare our hermitage disdain,
What drawing-room can boast so fair a train ?

An Infcription in the Cell.

Sweet bird that fing'ft on yonder fpray,
Pursue unharm'd thy fylvan lay;
While I beneath this breezy fhade,
In peace repofe my careless head;
And joining thy enraptur❜d fong,
Inftruct the world-enamour'd throng,'
That the contented harmlefs breaft
In' folitude itself is bleft.

To the Right Hon. HENRY PELHAM, Efq;

THE

HE humble Petition of the worshipful company of Poets and News-writers,

SHEWETH,

THAT your honour's petitioners (dealers in rhymes, And writers of scandal, for mending the times) By loffes in bus'nefs, and England's well-doing, Are funk in their credit, and verging on ruin.

That these, their misfortunes, they humbly conceive, Arife not from dulnefs, as fome folks believe, But from rubs in their way, that your honour has laid, And want of materials to carry on trade.

That they always had form'd high conceits of their use, And meant their last breath fhou'd go out in abuse; But now (and they fpeak it with forrow and tears) Since your honour has fate at the helm of affairs, No party will join 'em, no faction invite To heed what they fay,

or to read what they write ;

Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord are fled,
And Slander fcarce ventures to lift up her head-
In fhort, publick bus'nefs is fo carry'd on,

That their country is fav'd, and the patriots undone.

ΤΟ

To perplex 'em ftill more, and fure famine to bring (Now fatire has loft both its truth and its fting) If, in fpite of their natures, they bungle at praife, Your honour regards not, and nobody pays.

YOUR Petitioners therefore most humbly entreat
(As the times will allow, and your honour thinks meet)
That measures be chang'd, and fome cause of complaint
Be immediately furnish'd, to end their restraint;
Their credit thereby, and their trade to retrieve,
That again they may rail, and the nation believe.
Or elfe (if your wisdom shall deem it all one)
Now the parliament's rifing, and bus'nefs is done,
That your honour would please, at this dangerous crifis,
To take to your bofom a few private vices,

By which your petitioners, haply, might thrive,
And keep both themselves and contention alive.

In compaffion, good Sir! give 'em something to fay, And your honour's petitioners ever shall pray.

An O D E
DE

Performed in the

Senate-Houfe at Cambridge July 1, 1749,

At the Inftallation of his Grace

THOMAS HOLLES Duke of NEWCASTLE, CHANCELLOR of the Univerfity.

-canit errantem Permeffi ad fiumina Gallum

Aonas in montes ut duxerit una fororum

Utque viro Phabi chorus affurrexerit omnis.

VIRGIL

By Mr. MASON, Fellow of Pembroke-Hall.

Set to Mufick by Mr. Box CE, Composer to his Majesty.

Recitative.

ERE all thy active fires diffuse,

H Thou genuine British Mufe ;

Hither defcend from yonder orient sky,

Cloth'd in thy heav'n-wove robe of harmony.

Come,

Air I.

Come, imperial queen of fong;
Come with all that free-born grace,
Which lifts thee from the fervile throng,
Who meanly mimic thy majestic pace;
That glance of dignity divine,

Recitative.

Which speaks thee of celeftial line;
Proclaims thee inmate of the fky,

Daughter of Jove and Liberty.

II.

The elevated foul, who feels

Thy aweful impulfe, walks the fragrant ways
Of honeft unpolluted praise :

He with impartial justice deals

The blooming chaplets of immortal lays :
He flies above ambition's low carreer;

And nobly thron'd in Truth's meridian sphere, Thence, with a bold and heav'n-directed aim, Full on fair Virtue's fhrine he pours the rays of fame. III.

Air II.

Goddess! thy piercing eye explores
The radiant range of Beauty's ftores,
The steep afcent of pine-clad hills,

The filver flope of falling rills,
Catches each lively-colour'd grace,
The crimfon of the wood-nymph's face,
The verdure of the velvet lawn,

The purple in the eastern dawn,

Or all thofe tints, which rang'd in vivid glow
Mark the bold fweep of the celeftial bow.