So in they come-each makes his leg, And how does miss and madam do, • All tight and well. And how do you, Good Mr. What-d'ye-call?' The dinner comes, and down they sit: One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, The punch goes round, and they are dull At length the busy time begins, • Come, neighbours, we must wag---' The money chinks, down drop their chins, Each lugging out his bag. One talks of mildew and of frost, And one of storms of hail, Quoth one, A rarer man than you But yet, methinks, to tell you true, Oh, why are farmers made so coarse, A kick that scarce would move a horse, Then let the boobies stay at home; SONNET, ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ. On his emphatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of Lords. COWPER, whose silver voice, tasked sometimes hard, Legends prolix delivers in the ears, (Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers, Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, Thy generous powers, but silence honoured thee, Mute as ever gazed an orator or bard. Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside Both heart and head; and couldst with music sweet Like thy renowned forefathers, far and wide ૨ LINES, ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN. Two Poets*, (poets, by report, Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court! They best can judge a poet's worth, The By labours of their own. We therefore pleased extol thy song, No envy mingles with our praise, They would--they must at thine. But we, in mutual bondage knit And deem the Bard, whoever he be, And howsoever known, Who would not twine a wreath for Thee, Unworthy of his own. * Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied this. ON MRS. MONTAGU's FEATHER HANGINGS. THE birds put off their every hue, The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes His rainbows and his starry eyes; The Pheasant plumes, which round infold His mantling neck with downy gold; The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show; And, river-blanched, the Swan his snow. All tribes beside of Indian name, That glossy shine or vivid flame, Where rises and where sits the day, Whate'er they boast of rich and gay, Contribute to the gorgeous plan, Proud to advance it all they can. This plumage neither dashing shower, Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower, Shall drench again or discompose, But screened from every storm that blows, It boasts a splendour ever new, Safe with protecting Montagu. To the same patroness resort, Secure of favour at her court, Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, Which, though new born, with vigour move, Like Pallas springing armed from JoveImagination scattering round Wild roses over furrowed ground, Which Labour of his frowns beguile, She thus maintains divided sway |