ON THE DEATH OF QUEEN ANNE...THE INSTALMENT. 507 And each unfriendly stroke from fate we bore,

Now in some foreign court he may sit down, Became our title to the regal store.

And quit without a blush the British crown. Thus injur'd trees adopt a foreign shoot,

Secure his honour, though he lose bis store, And their wounds blossom with a fairer fruit. And take a lucky moment to be poor.

Ye numbers, who on yo'ır misfortunes thrivd, Nor think, grcat sir, now first, at this late hour,
When first i he dreadful blast of fame arriv'd, In Britain's favour, you exert your power ;
Say what a shock, what agonies you felt,

To us, far back in time, I joy to trace
How did your souls with tender anguish melt! The numerous tokens of your princ ly grace.
That grief which living Anna's love suppress’d, Whether you chose to thunder on the Rhine,
Shook like a tempest every grateful breast. Inspire grave councils, or in courts to shine;
A second fate our sinking fortunes tried !

In the more scenes your genius was display'd, A second time our tender parents died !

The greater debt was on Britannia laid: Heroes returning from the field we crown, They all conspir'd this migiity man to raise, And deify the haughty victor's frown.

And your new subjects proudly share the praise. His splendid wealth too rashly we admire,

All share; but inay not we have leave to boast Catch the disease, and burn with equal fire: That we contemplate, and enjoy it most? Wisely to spend, is the great art of gain ;

This anticnt nurse of art3, indig'd by fate And one reliev'd transcends a million slain.

On gentl'e Isis' bank, a calın retreat ; When tiine shall ask, where once Ramillia lay, For many rolling ages justly famid, Or Danube flow'd that swept whole troops away,

Has through the world her loyalty proclaim'd; One drop of water, that refresh'd the dry,

And often pourd (too well the truth is known!) Shall rise a fountain of eternal joy.

Her blood and treasure to support the throne ! But ah ! to that unknown and distant date For England's church her latest accents strain'd; Is virtue's great reward push'd off by fate; And freedom with his dving hand retain d. Here random shafis in every breast are found,

No wonder then her various ranks agree Virtue and inerit but provoke the wound.

In all the fervencies of zeal for thee. August in native worth and regal state,

What though thy birth a distant kingdom boast, Anna sate arbitress of Europe's fate;

And seas divide thee from the British ciast? To distant realms did every accent fly,

The crown's inpatient to enclose thy head: And nations watch'd each motion of her eye. Why stay thy feet? the cloth of gold is spread, Silent, nor longer awful to be seen,

Our strict obedience through the world shall tell How small a spot contains the mighty queen! That king 's a Briton, who can govern weil! No throng of suppliant princes inark the place, Where Britain's greatness is compos'd in peace : The broken earth is scarce discern'd to rise,

THE INSTALMENT. And a stone tells us where the monarch lies.

Thus end maturest honours of the crown! This is the last conclusion of renown!

THE RIGHT HON. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, So when with idle skill the wanton boy

Breathes througli bis tube; he sees, with eager joy,
The trembling bubble, in its rising small;

Quæsitam Merit s. Hor.
And by degrees expands the glittering ball.
But when, to full perfection blown, it flies


ith invocations some their breasts inflame; High in the air, and shines in various dyes, I need no Muse, a Walpole is my theme. The little monarch, with a falling tear,

Ye mighty dead, ye gartcr'd sons of praise! Sees his world burst at once, and disappear. Our morning stars ! our boast in former days! 'Tis not in sorrow to reverse our doom,

Which hovering o'er. your purple wings display, No groans unlock th’inexorable tomb !

Lurd by the pomp of this distinguish'd day, Why then this fond indulgence of our woe! Stoop, and attend: by one, the knee be bound; What fruit can rise, or what advantage flow! One, throw the mantle's crimson folds around; Yes, this advantage; from our deep distress By that, the sword on his proud thigh be plac'd; We learn how much in George the gods can bless. This, clasp the diamond-girdle round his waist; Had a less glorious princess left the throne, His breast, with rays, let just God Iphin spread; But half the hero had at first been shown: Wise Burleigh plant the plumage on his head; An Anna falling all the king employs,

And Edward own, since first he fix'd the race, To vindicate from guilt our rising joys:

None press'd fair glory with a swifter pace, Our joys arise and innocently shine,

When fate would call some mighty genius forth Auspicious monarch! what a praise is thine! To wake a drooping age to gollike worth,

Welcome, great stranger, to Britannia's throne ! Or aid some favourite king's illus rious toil, Nor let thy country think thee all her own.

It bids his blood with ginerous ardour boil; Of thy delay how oft did we complain!

His blood, from virtue's celebrated source, Our hopes reach'd out, and met thee on the main. Pour'd down the steep of time, a lengthen'd course; With prayer we smooth the billons for thy fleet; That men prepar'd may just attention pay, With ardent wishes fill thy swelling sheet; Warn'd by the dawn to mark the glorious day, And when thy foot took place on Albion's shore, When all the scatter'd merits of his line We bending bless'd the Gols, and ask'd no more. Collected to a point, intensely shine. What hand but thine should conquer and compose, See, Britain, see thy Walpole shine from far, Join those whom interest joins, and chase our foes ? | His azure ribbon, and his radiant star; Repel the daring youth's presumptuous aim, A star that, with auspicious beams, shall guide And by bis rival's greatness give him fame? Thy vessel safe, through fortune's roughest tide.


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If peace still smiles, by this shall commerce steer His genius ardent, yet his judgment clear,
A finish'd course, in triumph round the sphere; His tongue is flowing, and his heart sincere,
And, gathering tribute from each distant shore, His counsel guides, bis temper cheers our isle,
In Britain's lap the world's abundance pour. And, smiling, gives three kingdoms cause to smile.

If war's ordain'd, this star shall dart its beams Joy then to Britain, blest with such a son,
Through that black cloud which rising from the To Walpole joy, by whom the prize is won;

Who nobly-conscious meets the smiles of fate ;
With thunder, form’d of Brunswick's wrath, is sent True greatness lies in daring to be great.
'Po claim the seas, and awe the continent.

Let dastard souls, or affectation, run
This shall direct it where the bolt to throw, To shades, nor wear bright honours fairly won;
A star for us, a comet to the foe.

Such men prefer, misled by false applause,
At this the Muse shall kindle, and aspire : The pride of modesty to virtue's cause.
My breast, О Walpole, glows with grateful fire. Honours, which make the face of virtue fair,
The streams of royal bounty, turn'd by thee, 'T is great to merit, and 't is wise to wear;
Refresh the dry domains of poesy.

'T is holding up the prize to public view,
My fortune shows, when arts are Walpole's care, Confirms grown virtue, and inflames the new;
What slender worth forbids us to despair :

Heightens the lustre of our age and clime,
Be this thy partial smile from censure free; And sheds rich seeds of worth for future time.
'Twas meant for merit, though it fell on me.

Proud chiefs alone, in fields of slaughter far'd,
Since Brunswick's smile has authoris’d my Muse, of old, this azure bloom of glory claim'd,
Chaste be her conduct, and sublime her views. As when stern Ajax pour'd a purple flood,
False praises are the whoredoms of the pen, The violet rose, fair daughter of his blood.
Which prostitute fair fame to worthless men : Now rival wisdom dares the wreath divide,
This profanation of celestial fire

And both Minervas rise in equal pride; Makes fools despise, what wise men should ad- Proclaiming loud, a monarch fills the throne, mire.

Who shines illustrious not in wars alone. Let those I praise to distant times be known,

Let fame look lovely in Britannia's eyes; Not by their author's merit, but their own.

They coldly court desert, who fame despise. If others think the task is hard, to weed

For what's ambition, but fair virtue's sail?
From verse rank flattery's vivacious seed,

And what applause, but her propitious gale?
And rooted deep; one means must set them free, When swell’d with that, she fleets before the wind
Patron! and patriot ! let them sing of thee. To glorious aims, as to the port design'd;

While vulgar trees ignobler honours wear, When chain'd, without it, to the labouring oar,
Nor those retain, when winter chills the year; She toils ! she pants! nor gains the flying sbore,
The generous Orange, favourite of the Sun, From her sublime pursuits, or turn'd aside
With vigorous charms can through the seasons By blasts of enry, or by fortune's tide :

For one that has succeeded ten are lost,
Defies the storm with her tenacions green;

Of equal talents, ere they make the coast.
And flowers and fruits in rival pomp are seen : Then let renown to worth divine incite,
Where blossoms fall, still fairer blossoms spring; With all her beams, but throw those beams aright,
And midet their sweets the feather’d poets sing. Tben merit droops, and genius downward tends,

On Walpole, thus, may pleas'd Britannia view Wben godlike glory, like our land, descends.
At once her ornament and profit too;

Custom the garter long confin'd to few, The fruit of service, and the bloom of faine, And gave to birth, exalted virtue's due: Matur'd, and gilded by the royal beam.

Walpole has thrown the proud enclosure down; He, when the nipping blasts of envy rise,

And high desert embraces fair renown. Its guilt can pity, and its rage despise;

Though rival’d, let the peerage smiling see Lets fall no honours, but, securely great,

(Smiling, in justice to their own degree,) Unfaded holds the colour of his fate :

This proud reward by majesty bestow'd
No winter knows, though ruffling factions press; On worth like that whence first the peerage florid.
By wisdom deeply rooted in success;

From frou ns of fate Britannia's bliss'd to guard,
One glory shed, a brighter is display'd';

Let subjects merit, and let kings reward,
And the charm'd Muses shelter in his shade. Gods are most gods by giving to excel,
O how I long, enkindled by the theme,

And kinga most like them, by rewarding well.
In deep eternity to lanch thy name !

Though strong the twanging nerve, and drawn Thy name in view, no rights of verse I plead,

aright, But what chaste Truth indites, old Time shall read. Short is the winged arrow's upward fight;

“ Behold! a man of ancient faith and blood, But if an eagle it transfix on bigh, Which, soon, beat high for arts, and public good; Lodg'd in the wound, it soars into the sky. Whose glory great, but natural appears,

Thus wbile I sing thee with unequal lays, The genuine growth of services and years ;

And wound perhaps that worth I mean to praise; No sudden exhalation drawn on high,

Yet I transcend myself, I rise in fame, And fondly gilt by partial majesty :

Not lifted by my genius, but my theme. One hearing greatest toils with greatest ease,

No more : for in this dread suspense of fate,
One born to serve us, and yet born to please : Now kingdoms fluctuate, and in dark debate
Whom, while our rights in equal scales he lays, Weigh peace and war, now Europe's eyes are
The prince may trust, and yet the people praise;

On mighty Brunswick, for the great event,

Brunswick of kings the terrour or defence!
Knight of the Bath, and then of the Garter, Who dares detain thee at a world's expense ?



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Death may determine war, and rest succeed,
'Cause nought survives on which our rage may feed:

In faithful friends we lose our glorious foes,
RIGHT HON. GEORGE LORD LANSDOWNE.) And strifes of love exalt our sweet repose.

See graceful Bolingbroke, your friend, advance,

Nor miss his Lansdowne in the court of France; -Parnassia laurus

So well receiv'd, so welcome, so at home, Parva sub ingenti matris se subjicit umbra. Viro.

(Blest change of fate) in Bourbon's stately dome; The monarch pleas’d, descending from his throne,

Will not that Anna call bim all her own; When Rome, my lord, in her full glory shone, He claims a part, and looking round to find And great Augustus rul'd the globe alone,

Soinething might speak the fulness of his mind, While suppliant kings in all their pomp and state, A diamond shines, which oft had touch'd him near, Swarm'd in his courts, and throng'd his palace gate; Renew'd his grief, and robb’d him of a tear; Horace did oft the mighty man detain,

Now first with joy bebeld, well plac'd on one, And sooth'd his breast with no ignoble strain ; Who inakes hiin less regret his darling son; Now soar'd aloft, now struck an humbler string; So dear is Anna's minister, so great, And taught the Roman genius how to sing.

Your glorious friend in his own private state. Pardon, if I his freedom dare pursue,

To make our nations longer two, in vain Who know no want of Cæsar, finding you ; Does Nature interpose the raging main : The Muse's friend is pleas'd the Muse should press

The Gallic shore to distant Britain grows, Through circling crowds, and labour for access, For Lewis Thames, the Seine for Anna flows : That partial to his darling he may prove,

From conflicts pass'd each other's worth we find, And shining throngs for her reproach remove, And thence in stricter friendship now are join'd; To all the world industrious to proclaim

Each wound receiv'd, now pleads the cause of love, His love of arts, and boast the glorious fame. And former injuries endearments prove.

Long has the western world reclin'd her head, What Briton but must prize th' illustrious sword, Pour'd forth her sorrow, and bewail'd her dead; That cause of fear to Churchill could afford ? Fell discord through her borders tiercely rang’d, Who sworn to Bourbon's sceptre, but must frame And shook her nations, and her monarchs chang'd; Vast thoughts of him, that could brave Tallard By land and sea its utinost rage employ'd; Thus generous hatred in affection ends, (tame? Nor Heaven repair'd so fast as men destroy'd. And war, which rais'd the foes, completes the friends,

In vain kind summers plenteous fields bestow'd, A thousand happy consequences flow Ip vain the vintage liberally flow'd ;

(The dazzling prospect makes my bosom glow); Alarms from loaden boards all pleasures chas'd, Commerce sball lift her swelling sails, and roll And robb’d the rich Burgundian grape of taste; Her wealthy tleets secure from pole to pole; The smiles of Nature could no blessing bring, The British merchant, who with care and pain The fruitful autumn, or the flowery spring; For many moons sees only skies and main; Tiine was distinguish'd by the sword and spear, When now in view of his lov'd native shore, Not by the various aspects of the year;

The perils of the dreadful ocean o'er, The trunpet's sound proclaim'd a inilder sky, Cause to regret his wealth no more shall find, And bloodshed told us when the sun was nigh. Nor curse the mercy of the sea and wind; But now (so-soon is Britain's blessing seen,

By hardest fate condemy'd to serve a fue, When such as you are near her glorious queen!) And give bim strength to strike a deeper blow. Now peace, though long repuls'd, arrives at last, Sweet Philomela providently flies and bids us smile on all our labours past;

To distant woods and streams, for such supplies, Bids every nation cease her wonted moan, To feed her young, and make thein try the wing, And every monarch call his crown his own: And with their tender notes attempt to sing: To valour gentler virtues now succeed;

Mean while, the fowler spreads his secret snare, No longer is the great man born to bleed;

And renders vain the tuneful mother's care,
Renowu'd in councils, brave Argyle shall tell, Britannia's bold adventurer of late,
Wisdom and prowess in one breast may dwell : The foaming ocean plow'd with equal fate.
Through milder tracts he soars to deathless fame, Goodness is greatness in its utmost height,
And without trembling we resound his naine, And power a curse, if not a friend to right:

No more the rising barrest whets the sword, To conquer is to make dissension cease,
No longer waves uncertain of its lord ;

That man may serve the King of kings in peace. Who cast the seed, the golden sheaf shall claim, Religion now shall all her rays dispense, Vor chance of battle change the master's name. And shine abroad in perfect excellence; Each stream unstain'd with blood more smoothly Else we may dread some greater curse at hand, The brighter Sun a fuller day bestows; (tows; To scourge a thoughtless and ungrateful land: All Nature seems to wear a cheerful face,

Now war is weary, and retir’d to rest; And thank great Anna for returning peace. The meagre famine, and the spotted pest,

The patient thus, when on his bed of pain, Deputed in her stead, may blast the day, No longer be invokes the godsin vain,

And sweep the relics of the sword away. But rises to new life; in every tield

When peaceful Numa fill'd the Roman ihrone, He finds Elysium, rivers nectar yield;

Jove in the fulness of his glory shone; Nothing so cheap and vulgar but can please, Wise Sulomon, a stranger to the sword, And borrow beauties from his late disease.

Was born to raise a temple to the Lord. Nor is it peace alone, but such a peace,

Anne too shall build, and every sacred pile As more than bids the rage of battle cease, Speak peace eternal to Britannia's isle.


Those mighty souls, whom military care

Calls forth her monarchs, bids her heroes rage, Diverted from their only great affair,

And mourning beauty melt the cros ded stage ; Shall bend their full united force, to bless

Charms back past ages, gives to Britain's use Th'almighty Author of their late success.

The noblest virtues time did e'er produce; And wat is all the world subdued to this?

Leaves fam'd bistorians' boasted art behind; The grave sets bounds to sublunary blisa;

They keep the soul alone, and that's confind, Put there are conquests to great Anna known, Sought out with pains, and but by proxy speaks: Above the splendour of an earthly throne;

The bero's presence deep impression makes; Conquests! whose triumph is too great, within The scenes his soul and body reunite, The scanty bounds of matter to begin;

Furnish a voice, produce bim to the sight; Too glorious to shine forih, till it has run

Make our contemporary him that stood Beyond this darkness of the stars and Sun.

Bigh in renown, perhaps before the flood; And shall whole ages past be still, still but begun, Make Nestor to this age advice afford, lleroic shades! whom war has swept away,

And Hector for our service draw his sword. Look down, and smile on this auspicious day: More glory to an author what can bring, Now boast your deaths; to those vour glory tell, Whence nobler service to his country spring, Who or at Agincourt or Cressy fell;

Than from those labours, which, in man's despight, Then deep into eternity retire,

Possess him with a passion for the right? Of greater things than peace or war inquire; With honest magic make the knave inclin'd Fully content, and unconcern'd, to know

To pay devotion to the virtuous mind; What farther passes in the world below.

Through all ber toils and dangers bid bim rore, The braret of mankind shall now have leave and with her wants and anguish fall in love? To die but once, nor piece-mcal seek the grave : Who hears the godlike Montezuma groan, On gain or pleasure bent, we shall not meet And does not wish the glorious pain his own? Sad melancholy numbers in each street

Lend but your understanding, and their skill (Owners of bones dispers d on Flandria's plain, Can domineer at pleasure o'er your will: Or wasting in the bottom of the main);

Nor is the short-liv'd conquest quickly past ; To turn us back from joy, in tender fear,

Shame, if not choice, will hold the convert fasć. Lest it an insult of their woes appear, [blood How often have I seen the generous bowl And make us grudge ourselves that wealth, their With pleasing force unlock a secret soul, Perhaps preserv'd, who starve, or beg for food. And steal a truth, which every sober hour Devotion shall run pure, and disengage

(The prose of life) had kept within her power! From that strange fate of inixing peace with rage. The grape victorious often has prevailid, On Heaven without a sin we row may call,

When gold and beauty, racks and tortures, faild: And guiltless to our Maker prostrate fall;

Yet when the spirit's tumult was allay'd, Be Christians while we pray, nor in one breath She mourn’d, perhaps, the sentiment betray'd; Ask mercy for ourselves, for others death.

But mourn'd too late, nor longer could deny, But I! I view with transport arts restor'd, And on her own confession charge the lie. Which double use to Britain shall atiord;

Thus they, whom neither the prerailing love Secure her glory purchas'd in the field,

Of goodness here, or mercy from above, And yet for future peace sweet motives yield: Or fear of future pains, or human laws While we conterrplate on the painted wall, Could render advocates in virtue's cause, The pressing Driton, and the flying Gaul,

Caught by the scene have unawares resign'd In such bright images, such living grace,

Their wonted disposition of the mind :
As leare great Raphael but the second place; By slow degrees prerails the pleasing tale,
Our checks shall glow, our hearing bosoms rise, As circling glasses on our senses stcal;
And martial ardours Sparkle in our eyes;

Till throughly by the Muses' banquet warm'd,
Much we shall triumph in our battles past, The passions tossing, all the soul alarmid,
Áud yet consent those battles prove our last; They turn mere zealots flush'd with glorious rage,
Lest, while in arms for brighter fanie we strive, Lise in their seats, and scarce forbear the stage,
Te lose the means to keep that fame alive. Assistance to wrongd innocence to bring,

In silent grores the birds delight to sing, Or tum the poiniard on some tyrant king. Or ncar the margin of a secret spring :

How can they cool to villains ? bow subside Now all is calm, sweet music shall improve, To dregs of vice, from such a godlike pride? Nor kindle rage, but be the nurse of love.

To spoiling orphans how to day return, But what's the warbling voice, the trembling Who wept last night to see Monimia mourn? string,

In this gay schnol of virtue, whom so fit Or breathing canvass, when the Muses sing? To govern, and control the world of wit, The Muse, my lord, your care above the rest, s Talbot, Lan-downe's friend, bas Britain known? With rising joy dilates my partial breast;

ium polish'd Italy bias callid her own; The thunder of the battle ceas'd to roar,

le in the lay of elegance was bred. Ere Greece her godlike poets tanght to soar; And trac'd the Muses to their funtain head: Rome's dreadful fce, greai Hannibal, was dead, But much we hope, he will enjoy at home And all her warlike neighbours round her bled; What's nearer ancient than the modern Rome. For Janus shut, her lj Pæans rung,

Nur fear I mention of the court of France, Before an Ovid er a Virgil sung.

When I the British genius would advance : A thousand various forins the Muse may wear, There too has Shrewsbury improv'd bis taste; (A thousand various forns become the fair ;) Yet still we dare invite him to our feast: But shines in rone with more majestic mien, For Corneille's sake I shall my thoughts suppress Than when in state she draws the purplo scene; Uf Orvonuko, and presume bim less :

What though we wrong him? Isabella's woe But if that reigning star propitious shine,
Waters those bays that shall for ever grow.

And kindly mix his gentle rays with thine;
Our foes confess, nor we the praise refuse, E’en I, by far the meanest of your age,
The drama glories in the British Muse.

Shall not repent my passion for the stage. The French are delicate, and nicely lead

Thus did the will-almighty disallow, Of close intrigue the lalurinthian thread;

No human force could pluck the golden bough, Our genius more atfects the grand, than fine, Which left the tree with ease at Jove's command, Our strength can make the great plain action shine: And spar'd the labour of the weakest band. They raise a great curiosity indeed,

Auspicious fa'e! that gives me leave to write From his dark maze to see the hero freed; To you, the Muses glory and delight; We rouse th' affections, and that hero show Who know to read, nor false encomiums raise, Gasping beneath some formidable blow:

And mortify an author with your praise: They sigh; we weep: the Gallic doubt and care Praise wounds a noble mind, when it is not due, We heighten into terrour and despair;

But censure's self will please, my lord, from you; Strike home, the strongest passions boldly touch, Faults are our pride and gain, when you descend Nor fear our audience should be pleas'd too much. To point thein out, anıt teach ns how to mend. What's great in Nature we can greatly draw, What though the great man set his coffers wide, Nor ibank for beauties the dramatic law.

That cannot gratify the poet's pride; 'The fate of Cæsar is a tale to plain

Whose inspiration, if 't is truly goud, The tickle Gallic taste to entertain;

Is best rewarded, when best understood. Their art would have perplex'd, and interwove The Muses write for glory, not for gold, The golden arras with gay flowers of love:

'Tis far beneath their nature to be sold: We know Heaven made bim a far greater man The greatest gain is scorn d, but as it serres Than any Cæsar, in a b'iman plan,

To speak a sense of what the Muse deserves; And such we draw him, nor are too refin'd, The Vuse, which from her Lansdowne sears ne To stand affected with what Heaven design'd.

wrong, To claim attention, and the heart invade,

Best judge, as well as subject, of her song. Shakspeare but urole the play th' Almighty made. Should this great theme aliure me farther still, Our neighbour's stage-art too bare-fac'd betrays, And I presume to use yonr patience ill, "T is great Corneille at every scene we praise ; The world would plead my cause, and none but you On Nature's surer aid Britannia calls,

Will take disgust at what I now pursue : None think of Shakspeare till the curtain falls; Since what is mea na my Muse can't raise, I'll choose Then with a sigh returns our andience home, A theme that's able to exalt my Muse. From Venice, Egypt, Persia, Greece, or Rome, For who, not void of thought, can Granville name,

France yields not to the glory of our lines, Without a spark of his immortal flane?
But manly conduct of our strong designs;

Wheiher we sei-k the patriot, or the friend,
That oft they think more justly we must own, Let Bolingbroke, let Anna recommend;
Not ancient Greece a truer sense has shown: Whether we chose to love or t admire.
Gr’ece thought but justly, they think justly too; Yon melt the oder, and th' ambitious fire.
We sometimes err by striving inore to do.

Such native { races without thought abound,
So well are facine's meanest persons taught, Aud such familiar glories spread around,
Put change a sentiment, you make a fault; As more ir line the stander-by to raise
Nor dare we charge them with the want of tlame: His value for himself, than you to praise.
When we boast more, ue own ourselves to blame. Thus you be friend the most heroic way,

And set in Shak-peare some bing still I find, Ble is all, on none an obligation lay; That makes me less esteem all human-kind; Seturn'd by Nature's hand for all that's well, He made one nature, and another found,

'Tis carce a virtue when you most excel. Both in his page with master-strokes abound: Though sveet your presence, graceful is your His witches, fairies, and enchan: ed isle,

mien, Bid us no longer at our nurses sinile;

You to be happy want not to be seen; Of lost his orians we almost cor plain,

Though priz'd in public, you can smile alone, Nor think it the creation of his .ain.

Nor court an approbation but your own : Who lives, when his Othello 's ju a trance ? In things, not conscious of those cyes that gaze With his great Talbot: tou he conquerid France. In wenler fir'd, though re; lute to please;

Long we may hope brave Taibot's blood will run You, were all blindd, would still deserve applause; In great descendauts, Shakspeare has but one; The world's your glory's witness, not its cause; And him, my lord, perinit me not to name,

That lies becond the limits of the day, But in kind silence spare his rivals shame :- Angels behold it, and their God obev. Yet I in vain that author would suppress,

You take delight in others' excellence ; What can't be greater, cannot be made less: A gift, shich Nature rarely does dispense: Each rearier will defeat my fruitless aim,

Of all that breathe 't is you, perhans, along And to himself great Agamemaon paine.

Would be well pleas'd to see yourself outdone. Should Shakspeare rise unbless'd with Talbot's You wish not those, who show your name re pect, smile,

Sy little worth, as might excuse neglect; E'en Shaksp are's self would curse this barren Nur are in pain lest inerit you should know; isle :

Wir shun the well-deserver as a foe;

A troublesome acquaintance, that will claiin 1 An ancestor of the duke of Shrew-bury, who To be well us’d, or diye your check wi li sha ne. conquered France, drawn by Shakespeare.

You wish your c intry's goud; that told so well YOUNG, Your power, are known, th' event I necd in tell,

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