Women were made to give our eyes delight; Wisdom to gold prefer; for 't is much less
A female sloven is an odious sight.

To make our fortune, than our happiness.
Fair Isabella is so fond of fame,

That happiness which great-ones ofien see, That her dear self is her eternal theme;

With rage and wouder, in a low degree ; Through hopes of contradiction, oft she'll say,

Themselves unblest. The poor are only poor ! “ Methinks I look so wretchedly to-day !". But what are they who droop amid their store! When most the world applauds you, niost beware; Nothing is meaner than a wretch of state ; 'Tis often less a blessing than a snare.

The happy only are the truly great. Distrust mankind; with your own heart confer; Peasants enjoy like appetites with kings ; And dread even there to find a flatterer.

And those best satisfied with cheapest things. The breath of others raises our renown;

Could toth our Indies buy but one new sense,
Our own as surely blows the mageant down. Our envy would be due to large expense.
Take up no more than you by worth can claim, Since not, those pomps which to the great belong,
Lest soon you prove a bankrupt in your fame. Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng.
But own I must, in this perverted age,

See how they beg an alms of flattery !
Who most deserve, can't always most engage. They languish ! oh support them with a lie !
So far is worth from making glory sure,

A decent competence we

fully taste ; It often hinders what it should procure.

It strikes our sense, and gives a constant feast : Whom praise we most * The virtuous, brave, and More, we perceive by dint of thought alone; wise ?

The rich must labour to possess their own, No; wretches, whom, in secret, we despise, To feel their great abundance; and request And who so blind, as not to see the cause ? Their humble friends to help them to be blest; No rivals rais'd by such discreet applause ;

To see their treasures, hear their glory told, And yet, of credit it lays in a store,

And aid the wretched impotence of gold. By which our spleen may wound true worth the more. But some, great souls ! and touch'd with warmth Ladies there are who think one crime is all :

divine, Can women, then, no way but backward fall ? Give gold a price, and teach its beams to shine, So sweet is that one crime they don't pursue,

All hoarded treasures they repute a load ; To pay its loss, they think all others few.

Nor think their wealth their own, till well bestow'd. Who hold that crime so dear, must never claim Grand reservoirs of public happiness, Of injur'd modesty the sacred name.

Through secret streams diffusively they bless; But Clio thus: “What! railing without end? And, while their bounties glide, conceal'd from " Mean task ! how much more generous to com

view, mend !"

Relieve our wants, and spare our blushes too. Yes, to commend as you are wont to do,

But Satire is my task; and these destroy My kind instructor, and example too.

Her gloomy province, and malignant joy. “ Daphnis,” says Clio,

" has a charming eye: Help me, ye misers ! help me to complain, What pity 't is her shoulder is awry!

And blast our common enemy, Germain : Aspasia's shape indeed But then her air

But our invectives must despair success; The man bas parts who finds destruction there. For, next to praise, she values nothing less. Almeria's wit has something that's divine;

What picture's yonder, loosen'd from its frame! And wit's enough-how few in all things sbine ! Or is 't Asturia, that affected daine? Selina serves her friends, relieves the poor

The brightest forms, through affectation, fade Who was it said Selina's near threescore?

To strange new things, wbich Nature never made. At Lucia's match 1 from my soul rejoice;

Frown not, ye fair! so much your sex we prize, The world congratulates so wise a choice;

We hate those arts that take you from our eyes. His lordship's rent-roll is exceeding great

In Albucinda's nalive grace is seen But mortgages will sap the best estate.

What you, who labour at perfection, mean. In Shirley's form might cherubiis appear ;

Short is the rule, and to be learnt with ease, But then--she has a freckle on her ear.

Retain your gentle selves, and you must please. Without a lut, Hortensia she commends,

Here might I sing of Meminia's mincing inien, The first of women, and the best of friends; And all the movements of the soft machine: Owns her in person, wit, fame, virtue, bright; How two red lips affected Zephyrs blow, But how comes this to pass ? - She died last night. To cool the bohea, and inflame the beau:

Thus nymphs commend, who yet at satire rail : While one white finger and a thumb conspire Indeed that's needless, if such praise prevail. To lift the cup, and make the world adinire. And whence such praise? Our virulence is thrown Tea! how I tremble at thy fatal streaın! On others' fame, through fondness for onr own. As Lethe, dreadful to the Love of Fame.

Of rank and riches proud, Cleora frowns; What devastations on thy banks are seen! For are not coronets a-kin to crowns ?

What shades of mighty names which once hare been! Her greedy eye, and her sublime address,

A hecatomb of characters supplies The height of avarice and pride confess.

Thy painted altars' daily sacrifice. You seek perfections worthy of her rank;

HP-, B-, aspers'd by thee, decay, Go, seek for her perfections at the Bank.

As grains of finest sugars melt away,
By wealth unquench'd, by reason uncontrol'd, And recommend thee inore to mortal taste;
For ever burns her sacred thirst of gold.

Scandal's the sweetner of a female feast.
As fond of five-pence, as the veriest cit ;

But this inhuman triumph shall decline, And quite as much detested as a wit.

And thy revolting Naiads call for wine; Can gold calm passion, or make reason shine ? Spirits no longer shall serve under thee; Can we dig peace, or wisdom, from the mine? But reign in thy own cup, exploded tea !


Citronia's nose declares thy ruin nigh,

Rise then, my Muse, in honest fury rise ; And who dares give Citronia's nose the lie? They dread a satire, who defy the skies.

The ladies long at men of drink exclaim'd, Atheists are few: most nymphs a Godhead own; And what impair'd both health and virtue, blam'd; And nothing but his attributes dethrone. At length, to rescue man, the generous lass From atheists far, they steadfastly believe Stole from her consort the pernicious glass; God is, and is Almighty-to forgive. As glorious as the British queen renown'd,

His other excellence they'll not dispute ; Who suck'd the poison from her husband's wound. But mercy, sure, is his chief attribute.

Nor to the glass alone are nymphs inclin'd, Shall pleasures of a short duration chain But every bolder vice of bold mankind.

A lady's soul in everlasting paw ? O Juvenal! for thy soverer rage !

Will the great Author us poor worms destroy, "To lash the ranker follies of our age.

For now and then å sip of transient joy? Are there, among the females of our iste,

No, he's for ever in a smiling mood; Such faults, at which it is a fault to smile? He's like themselves; or how could he be good? There are.

Vice, once by modest nature chaiu'd And they blaspheme, who blacker schemes suppose. And legal ties, expatiates uprestrain'd;

Devoutly, thus, Jehovah they depose, Without thin decency held up to view,

The pure ! the just ! and set up, in his stead, Naked she stalks o'er Law and Gospel too.

A deity, that's perfectly well-bred. Our matrons lead such exemplary lives,

“ Dear Tillotson ! be sure the best of men; Men sigh inwain for none but for their wives; Nor thought he more, than thought great Origen, Who marry to be free, to range the more,

Though once upon a time he misbehav'd; And wed one man, to wanton with a score.

Poor Satan! doubtless, hell at length be sar'd. Abroad too kind, at home't is steadfast hate, Let priests do something for their one in ten ; And one eternal tempest of debate.

It is their trade ; so far they're honest men. What foul eraptions, from a look most meek! Let them cant on, since they have got the knack, What thunders bursting, from a dimpled cheek! And dress their notions, like themselves, in Mask ; Their passions bear it with a lofty hand!

Fright us with terrours of a world renknown, But then, their reason is at due command.

From joys of this, to keep them all their own.
Is there whom you detest, and seek his life? Of Earth's fair fruits, indeed, they claim a fee ;
Trust no soul with the secret_but his wife. But then they leave var untith'd virtue free.
Wives wonder that their conduct I condemn, Virtue's a pretty thing to make a show :
And ask, what kindred is a spouse to them?

Did ever mortal write like Rouchefoucault?”
What swarıns of amnoroas grandmothers I see ! Thus pleads the Devil's fair apologist,
And misses, ancient in iniquity !

And, pleading, safely enters on his list. What blasting whispers, and what loud declaim- Let angel-forms angelic truths maintain; ing!

Nature disjoins the beauteous and profane. What lying, drinking, bawding, swearing, gaming! For what's true beauty, but fair virtue's face? Friendship so cold, such warm incontinence;

Virtue made visible in outward grace ? Such griping avarice, such profuse expense ; She, then, that's haunted with an impious mind, Such dead devotion, such a zeal for crimes; The more she charms, the more she shoeks mankind. Such licens'd ill, such masquerading times;

But charms decline: the fair long vigils keep : Such venal faith, such misapplied applause ; They sleep no more! Quadrille has murder'd sleep. Such flatter & guilt, and such inverted laws ! “Poor K-p!” cries Livia ; “I have not been there

Such dissolution through the whole I find, These two nights; the poor creature will despair, "Tis not a werld, but chaos of mankind.

I bate a cruwd—but to do good, you knowSince Sundays have no balls, the well-dress'd belle And people of condition should bestow." Shines in the pew, but smiles to hear of Hell; Convinc'd, o'ercome, to K-p's grave matrons rurr; And casts an eye of sweet disdain on all

Now set a daughter, and now stake a son ; Who listen less to Collins than St. Paul.

Let health, fame, temper, beauty, fortune, fly; Atheists have been but rare; since Nature's birth, And beggar half their race--through charity. Till now, she-atheists ne'er appear'd on Earth. Immortal were we, or else mortal quite, Ye men of deep researches, say, whence springs I less should blame this criminal delight : This daring character, in timorons things? But since the gay assembly's gayest room Who start at feathers, from an insect fly,

Is but an upper story to some tomb,
A match for nothing-but the Deity.

Methinks, we need not our short being shun,
But, not to wrong the fair, the Muse must own And, thought to fly, contend to be undone.
In this pursuit they court not fame alone;

We need not buy our ruin with our crime,
But join to that a more substantial view,

And give eternity to murder time. “ From thinking free, to be free agents too."

The love of gaming is the worst of ills ; They strive with their own hearts, and keep them with ceaseless storms the blacken'd soul it Alls; down,

Inveighs at Heaven, neglects the ties of blood; In complaisance to all the fools in town.

Destroys the power and will of doing good ; O how they tremble at the name of prude! Kills health, pawns honour, plunges in disgrace, And die with shame at thought of being good ! And, what is still more dreadful-spoils your face, For what will Artimis, the rich and gay,

See yonder set of thieves that live 'on spoil, What will the wits, that is, the coxcombs, say? The scandal and the tuin of our isle! They Heaven defy, to Earth's vile dregs a slave; And see (strange sight!) amid that ruffian band, Through cowardice, most execrably brave. A form divine high wave her snowy hand; With our own judgments durst we to comply, In virtue skould we live, in glory die.


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That rattles loud a small enchanted box,

Our pride so great, our passion is so strong,
Which, loud as thunder, on the board she knocks. Advice to right confirms us in the wrong.
And as fierce storms, which Earth's foundation I hear you cry, “ This fellow's very odd.”

When you chastise, who would not kiss the rod ?
From Æolus's 'cave impetuous broke,

But I've a charm your anger shall control,
From this small cavern a mix'd tempest Aies, And turn your eyes with coldness on the vole.
Fear, rage, convulsion, tears, oaths, blasphemies ! The charm begins! To yonder flood of light,
For men, I mean the fair discharges none; That bursts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your sight.
She (guiltless creature!) swears to Heaven alone. What guardian power o'erwhelms your souls with
See her eyes start! cheeks glow! and muscles Her deeds are precepts, her example law; [awe?

'Midst empire's charms, bow Carolina's heart
Like the mad maid in the Cumean cell.

Glows with the love of virtue, and of art!
Thus that divine one her soft nights employs ! Her favour is diffus'd to that degree,
Thus tunes her soul to tender nuptial joys !

Excess of goodness! it has dawn'd on me :
And when the cruel morning calls to bed,

When in my page, to balance numerous faults,
And on her pillow lays her aching head,

Or yodlike deeds were sbown, or generous thoughts,
With the dear images her dreams are crown'd, She smii’d, industrious to be pleas`d, nor knew
The die spins lovely, or the cards go round; From whom my pen the borrow'd lustre drew.
Imaginary ruin charms her still ;

Thus the majestic mother of mankind ?,
Her happy lord is cuckold by spadille :

To her own charms most amiably blind,
And if she's brought to bed, 't is ten to one, On the green margin innocently stood,
He marks the forehead of her darling son.

And gaz'd indulgent on the crystal flood;
O scene of horrour, and of wild despair,

Survey'd the stranger in the painted ware,
Why is the rich Atrides' splendid heir

And, smiling, prais'd the beauties which she gave.
Constrain'd to quit his antient lordly seat,
And hide his glories in a mean retreat ?
Why that drawn sword ? and whence that dis-

mal cry?
Why pale distraction through the family?
See my lord threaten, and my lady weep,

And trembling servants from the tempest creep.
Why tbat gay son to distant regions sent?

Carmina tum melius, cum venerit Ipse, canemus.
What fiends that daughter's destin'd match prevent?
Why the whole house in sudden ruin laid?

O nothing, but last night—my lady play'd. On this last labour, this my closing strain,

But wanders not my Satire from her theme? Smile, Walpole, or the Nine inspire in vain :
Is this too owing to the love of fame?

To thee, 't is due; that verse how justly thine, Though now your bearts on lucre are bestow'd, Where Brunswick's glory crowns the whole design! 'Twas first a vain-devotion to the mode ;

That glory, which thy counsels make so bright;
Nor cease we here, since 'tis a vice so strong; That glory, which on thee reflects a light.
The torrent sweeps all womankind along.

Illustrious commerce, and but rarely known.
This may be said, in honour of our times,

To give, and take, a lustre from the throne.
That none now stand distinguish'd by their crimes. Nor think that thou art foreign to my theme;

If sin you must, take Nature for your guide : The fountain is not foreign to the stream.
Love has some soft excuse to sooth your pride : How all mankind will be surpris'd to see
Ye fair apostates from love's antient power! This flood of British folly charg'd on thee !
Can nothing ravish, but a golden shouer ?

Say, Britain ! whence this caprice of thy sons,
Can cards alone your glowing fancy seize ;

Which through their various ranks with fury runs!
Must Cupid learn to punt, e'er he can please ? The cause is plain, a cause which we must blesó;
When you're enamourd of a lift or cast,

For caprice is the daughter of success,
What can the preacher more, to make us chaste ? (A bad effect, but from a pleasing cause !)
Why must strong youths unmarried pine away? And gives our rulers undesign'd applause;
They find no woman disengag'd—from play. Tells how their conduct bids our wenlth increase,
Why pine the married ?40 severer fate !

And lulls us in the downy lap of peace.
They find from play no disengag'd-estate.

While I survey the blessings of our isle,
Flavia, at lovers false, uzitouch'd, and hard,

Her arts triumphant in the royal smile,
Turns pale, and trembles at a cruel card.

Her public wounds bound up, her credit high,
Nor Arria's Bible can secure her age;

Her commerce spreading sails in every sky,
Her threescore years are shuffling with her page. The pleasing scene recalls my theme again,
Wbile Death stands by, but till the game is done, And shows the madness of ambitious men,
To sweep that stake, in justice, long his own ; Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murdering sword,
Like old cards ting'd with sulphur, she takes fire; And burn to give mankind a single lord.
Or, like snuff's sunk in sockets, blazes higher, The follies past are of a private kind;
Ye gods! with new delights inspire the fair ; Their sphere is small; their inischief is confinid :
Or give us sons, and save us from despair.

But daring men there are (Awake, my Muse, Sons, brotbers, fathers, husbands, tradesmen, And raise thy verse!) who bodler prhensy choose; close

Who, stung by glory, rare, and bound away :
In my complaint, and brand your sins in prose : The world their field, and humankind their prey.
Yet I believe, as firmly as my Creed,
Lo spite of all our wisdom, you'll proceed :

9 Milton

The Grecian chief, th’ enthusiast of his price, How Versus is less qualified to steal With Rage and Terrour stalking by his side, With sword and pistol, than with wax and seal Raves round the globe; he soars into a god !

How lawyers' fees to such excess are run, Stand fast, Olympus! and sustain bis nod. That clients are redress'd till they're undone. The pest divine in horrid grandeur reigns,

How one man's anguish is another's sport; And thrives on mankind's miseries and pains. And e'en denials cost us dear at court. What slaughter'd hosts ! what cities in a blaze ! How man eternally false judgments makes, What wasted countries! and what crimson seas ! And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes. With orphans' tears his impious bowl o'erflows, This swarm of themes that settles on my pen, And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose.

Which I, like summer flies, shake off again, And cannot thrice ten hundred years unpraise Let others sing; to whom my weak essay The boisterous boy, and blast his guilty bays?

But sounds a prelude, and points out their prey: Why want we then encomiums on the storm, That duty done, I hasten to complete Or famine, or volcano They perform

My own design; for Tonson's at the gate. Their mighty deeds; they, hero-like, can slay,

The Love of Fame in its effect survey'd, And spread their ample deserts in a day.

The Muse has sung: be now the cause display'd : O great alliance! O divine renown!

Since so diffusive, and so wide its sway, With dearth, and pestilence, to share the crown. What is this power, whom all mankind obey ? When men extol a wild destroyer's name,

Shot from above, by Heaven's indulgence, came Earth's Builder and Preserver they blaspheme. This generous ardour, this unconquer'd fame, One to destroy, is murder by the law;

To warm, to raise, to deify, mankind, And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;

Still burning brightest in the noblest mind. To murder thousands, takes a specious name, By large-soul'd men, for thirst of farne renown'd, War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame. Wise laus were fram’d, and sacred arts were found; When, after battle, I the field have seen

Desire of praise first broke the patriot's rest; Spread o'er with ghastly shapes, which once were And made a bulwark of the warrior's breast; men ;

It bids Argyll in fields and senate sbine :
A nation crush'd, a nation of the brave !

What more can prove its origin divine?
A realm of death! and on this side the grave ! But oh! this passion planted in the soul,
Are there, said I, who from this sad survey, On eagle's wings to mount her to the pole,
This human chaos, carry smiles away?

The flaming minister of virtue meant,
How did my heart with indignation rise !

Set up false gods, and wrong'd her high descent. How honest nature swell'd into my eyes !

Ambition, hence, exerts a doubtful force, How was I shock'd to think the hero's trade Of blots, and beauties, an alternate source ; Of such materials, fame and triumph, made! Hence Gildon rails, that raven of the pit,

How guilty these! Yet not less guilty they, Who thrives upon the carcases of wit; Who reach false glory by a smoother way; And in art-loving Scarborough is seen Who wrap destruction up in gentle words, How kind a pattern Pollia might have been. And bows, and smiles, more fatal than their swords; Pursuit of fame with pedants fills our schools, Who stifle nature, and subsist on art;

And into concombs burnishes our fools; Who coin the face, and petrify the heart;

Pursuit of fame makes solid learning bright, All real kindness for the show discard,

And Newton lifts above a mortal height; As marble polish'd, and as marble hard ;

That key of Nature, by whose wit she clears Who do for gold what Christians do through grace,

Her long, long secrets of five thousand years. “With open arms their enemies embrace;"

Would you then fully comprehend the whole, Who give a nod when broken hearts repine; Why, and in what degrees, pride sways the soul ! “The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine:" (For, though in all, not equally she reigns) Or, if they serve you, serve you disinclin'd, Awake to knowledge, and attend my strains. And, in their height of kindness, are unkind.

Ye doctors ! hear the doctrine I disclose, Such courtiers were, and such again may be,

As true, as if 't were writ in dullest prose; Walpole, when men forget to copy thee.

As if a letter'd dunce had said, “ 'T' is right," Here cease, my Muse! the catalogue is writ; And imprimatur usher'd it to light. Nor one more candidate for fame admit,

Ambition, in the truly noble mind, Though disappointed thousands justly blame With Sister-virtue is for ever join'd; Thy partial pen, and boast an equal claim: As in fam'd Lucrece, who, with equal dread, Be this their comfort, fools, omitted here,

From guilt and shame, by her last conduct, fled : May furnish laughter for another year.

Her virtue long rebell'd in firm disdain, Then let Crispino, who was ne'er refus'd

And the sword pointed at her heart in vain ; The justice yet of being well abus'd,

But, when the slave was threaten'd to be laid With patience wait; and be content to reign Dead by her side, her Love of Fame obey'd. The pink of puppies in some future strain.

In meaner minds Ambition works alone; Some future strain, in which the Muse shall But with such art puts Virtue's aspect on, tell

That not more like in feature and in mien, How science dwindles, and how volumes swell. The God and mortal in the comic scene'.

How commentators each dark passage shun, False Julius, Ambush'd in this fair disguise, And hold their farthing candle to the Sun.

Soon made the Roman liberties his prize.
How tortur'd texts to speak our sense are made, No mask in basest minds Ambition wears,
And every vice is to the Scripture laid.

But in full light pricks up her ass's ears :
How misers squeeze a young voluptuous peer ;
His sins to Lucifer not balf so dear.





All I have sung are instances of this,
And prove my theme unfolded not amiss.

Ye vain! desist from your erroneous strife;

Be wise, and quit the false sublime of life.
The true ambition there alone resides,
Where justice vindicates, and wisdom guides;
Where inward dignity joins outward state ;

HIS MAJESTY'S ROYAL ENCOURAGEMENT Our purpose good, as our achievement great;

Where public blessings public praise attend;
Where glory is our motive, not our end.
Wouldst thou be fan'd? Have those high deeds AN ODE TO THE KING;

in view
Brave men would act, though scandal should ensue.
Behold a prince ! whom no swoln thoughts in-

No pride of thrones, no fever after fame:
But when the welfare of mankind inspires,
And death in view to dear-bought glory fires,

I think myself obliged to recommend to you a Proud conquests then, then regal pomps delight;

consideration of the greatest importance; and I Then crowns, then triumphs, sparkle in his sight ;

should look upon it as a great happiness, if, at the Tumult and noise are dear, which with them bring laid of so great and necessary a work, as the in

beginning of my reign, I could see the foundation His people's blessings to their ardent king: But, when those great heroic motives cease,

crease and encouragement of our seamen in general; His swelling soul subsides to native peace;

that they may be invited, rather than compelled From tedious grandeur's faded charms withdraws, by force and violence, to enter into the service of A sudden foe to splendour and applause ;

their country, as oft as occasion shall require it: Greatly deferring his arrears of fame,

a consideration worthy the representatives of a Till men and angels jointly shout his name.

people great and flourishing in trade and navigation. O pride celestial! which can pride disdain ;

This leads me to mention to you the case of GreenO blest ambition! which can ne'er be vain.

wich Hospital, that care may be taken, by some From one fam'd Alpine hill

, which props the sky, addition to that fund, to render comfortable and In whose deep womb unfathom’d waters lie,

effectual that charitable provision for the support Here burst the Rhone and sounding Po; there shine, and maintenance of our seamen, worn out, and beIn infant rills, the Danube and the Rhine;

come decrepit by age and infirmities, in the service From the rich store one fruitful urn supplies,

of their country. [Speech, Jan. 27, 1727-8.] Whole kingdoms smile, a thousand harvests rise.

In Brunswick such a source the Muse adores, Which public blessings through half Europe pours.

TO THE KING. When his heart burns with such a godlike aim,

Old Ocean's praise
Angels and George are rivals for the fame;

Demands my lays ;
George, who in foes can soft affections raise,
And charm envenom'd satire into praise.

A truly-British theme I sings

A theme so great
Nor human rage alone his power perceives,

I dare complete,
But the mad winds, and the tumultuous wavesa.
E'en storms (Death's fiercest ministers!) forbear,

And join with Ocean,: Ocean's king.
And, in their own wild empire, learn to spare.

To gods and kings
Thus, Nature's self, supporting man's decree,

The poet sings;
Styles Britain's sovereign, sovereign of the sea. To kings and gods the Muse is dear;
While sea and air, great Brunswick ! shook our

The Muse inspires

With all her fires;
And sported with a king's and kingdom's fate, Begin, my soul! thy bold career.
Depriv'd of what she lov’d, and press'd by fear

From awful state,
Of ever losing what she held most dear,

From high debate, How did Britannia, like Achilles, weep,

From morning-splendours of a crown, And tell her sorrows to the kindred deep!

From homage paid,
Hang o'er the floods, and, in devotion warm,

From empires weigh’d,
Strive, for thee, with the surge, and fight the From plans of blessings and renown;

What felt thy Walpole, pilot of the realm !

Great monarch ! bow Our Palinurus slept not at the helm;

Thy beaming brow; His eye ne'er clos'd; long since inur'd to wake,

To thee I strike the sounding lyre, And out-watch every star for Brunswick's sake :

With proud design By thwarting passions tost, by carés opprest,

In verse to shine;

To rival Greek and Roman fire.
He found the tempest picturd in his breast :
But, now, what joys that gloom of heart dispel,

The Roman ode
No powers of language—but his own, can tell ; Majestic flow'd ;
His own, which Nature and the Graces form, Its stream divinely clear and strong;
At will, to raise, or hush the civil storm.

In sense, and sound,

Thebes rollid profound; 2 The king ist danger by sea

The torrent roar'd, and foam'd along



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