VII. A race of tyrants then fucceeds, Yet though we fhudder at their deeds, VIII. Thus did the blooming Titus look, Delight of human kind: Great Hadrian thus, whose death bespoke His firm yet gentle mind. IX. Aurelius too! thy ftoic face Indignant we compare With young Fauftina's wanton grace, And meretricious air. X. Each paffion here and virtue shines In livelieft emblems drefs'd: With heighten'd grace in verdant rust, Each work of ancient art, The temple, column, arch or bust Their wonted charms impart. XII. All XII. All-glorious Rome, through martial toil, Shew'd every province, trophy, fpoil, Hence prodigals, that vainly spend, And misers aid ambition's end, Who treasure up the coin. The fcientific ore; Whilft on the rich remains of time, The learn'd with rapture pore. Each fading ftroke they now retrace, Each legend dark unfold: Then in hiftoric order place And copper vies with gold. XVI. Happy the fage! like you, my friend, The evening of whose days Heav'n grants in that fair vale to spend Where Thames delighted strays. XVII. To XVII. To medals there and books of tafte Which barren minds ignobly waste Whilst I 'mid rocks and savage woods Where Avon winds to mix her floods PANA СЕ А: Or, The Grand RESTORATIVE. By the Same. WELCOME to Baia's ftreams, ye fons of spleen, Who rove from fpa to fpato fhift the scene. While round the streaming fount you idly throng, Ye fair, whose roses feel th' approaching frost, Claverton near Bath, 1750. Ye Ye 'fquires, who rack'd with gouts, at heav'n repine, Condemn'd to water for excess in wine: Ye portly cits, fo corpulent and full, Who eat and drink 'till appetite grows dull: For whets and bitters then unftring the purse, No more thus vainly roam o'er fea and land, 'Tis Temperance-ftale cant!-'Tis Fafting then; The The HEROINES, or Modern Memoirs. By the Same. 'N ancient times, fome hundred winters past, IN When British dames, for confcience fake, were chaste, If fome frail nymph, by youthful paffion fway'd, From Virtue's paths unhappily had stray'd: The conscious wretch bewail'd her foul disgrace; Veil'd in fome convent made her peace with heaven, And almost hop'd-by Prudes to be forgiven. 1751. The |