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In blotted stanzas fcraps of odes expire,
And fuftian mounts in pyramids of fire.
Ladies! to you I next infcrib'd my lay,
And writ a letter in familiar way:

For, ftill impatient till the Princefs came,
You from defcription wifh'd to know the dame,
Each day my pleafing labour larger grew,
For ftill new graces open'd to my view.
Twelve lines ran on to introduce the theme;
And then I thus purfued the growing scheme:
Beauty and wit were fure by nature join'd,
"And charms are emanations of the mind;


The foul, tranfpiercing through the fhining frame, "Forms all the graces of the Princely Dame: "Benevolence her converfation guides,

"Smiles on her cheek, and in her eye refides.

"Such harmony upon

her tongue is found, "As foftens English to Italian found:

"Yet in those founds fuch fentiments appear,

As charm the judgement, while they footh the ear.

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Religion's chearful flame her bofom warms, "Calms all her hours, and brightens all her charms. Henceforth, ye Fair, at chapel mind your prayers, "Nor catch your lover's eyes with artful airs; "Restrain your looks, kneel more, and whisper less, "Nor moft devoutly criticize on drefs.

"From her form all your characters of life, "The tender mother, and the faithful wife. "Oft' have I feen her little infant-train, "The lovely promife of a future reign;




"Obferv'd with pleasure every dawning grace,
"And all the mother opening in their face.
"The fon fhall add new honours to the line,
"And early with paternal virtues shine;
"When he the tale of Audenard repeats,
"His little heart with emulation beats;

"With conquefts yet to come his bofom glows,
"He dreams of triumphs, and of vanquish'd foes;
"Each year with arts fhall ftore his ripening brain,
"And from his grandfire he fhall learn to reign."
Thus far I'd gone: Propitious rifing gales
Now bid the failor hoift the fwelling fails.
Fair Carolina lands; the cannons roar;

White Albion's cliffs refound from fhore to fhore.
Behold the bright original appear,

All praife is faint when Carolina's near.

Thus to the nation's joy, but poet's coft,

The Princefs came, and my new plan was loft.

Since all my schemes were baulk'd (my last resort),

I left the Muses, to frequent the Court;
Penfive each night from room to room I walk'd,
To one I bow'd, and with another talk'd;
Enquir'd what news, or fuch a Lady's name,
And did the next day, and the next, the fame.
Places, I found, were daily given away,
And yet no friendly Gazette mention'd Gay.
1 afk'd a friend what method to purfue;
He cry'd, I want a place as well as you.
Another afk'd me, why I had not writ;
A poet owes his fortune to his wit.


Straight I reply'd, With what a courtly grace
Flows eafy verfe from him that has a place!
Had Virgil ne'er at court improv'd his strains,
He still had fung of flocks and homely (wains;
And, had not Horace fweet preferment found,
The Roman lyre had never learnt to found.
Once Ladies fair in homely guife I fung,

And with their names wild woods and mountains rung.
O teach me now to ftrike a fofter ftrain!

The Court refines the language of the plain.

You muft, cries one, the Miniftry rehearse,
And with each Patriot's name prolong your verfe:
But fure this truth to Poets fhould be known,
That praising all alike, is praifing none.
Another told me, if I wifh'd fuccefs,
To fome diftinguish'd Lord I must address;
One whose high virtues fpeak his noble blood,
One always zealous for his country's good;
Where valour and ftrong eloquence unite,
In council cautious, refolute in fight;
Whose generous temper prompts him to defend,
And patronize the man that wants a friend.
You have, 'tis true, the noble patron fhown;
But I, alas! am to Argyll unknown.

Still every one I met in this agreed,
That writing was my method to fucceed;
But now preferments fo poffefs'd my brain,
That scarce I could produce a single strain :
Indeed I fometimes hammer'd out a line,
Without connection, as without defign.

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One morn upon the Princefs this I writ,
An Epigram that boafts more truth than wit.

"The pomp of titles eafy faith might shake,
"She fcorn'd an empire for religion's fake :
"For this on earth the British crown was given,
"And an immortal crown decreed in heaven."
Again, while George's virtues rais'd my thought,
The following lines prophetic fancy wrought.

Methinks I fee fome Bard, whofe heavenly rage "Shall rife in fong, and warm a future age;

"Look back through time, and, wrapt in wonder, trace "The glorious feries of the Brunswick race.

"From the firft George thefe godlike kings defcend, "A line which only with the world shall end. "The next a generous Prince renown'd in arms, "And blefs'd, long blefs'd, in Carolina's charms; "From thefe the reft. 'Tis thus, fecure in peace, "We plow the fields, and reap the year's increase: "Now Commerce, wealthy Goddess, rears her head, "And bids. Britannia's fleets their canvass spread; "Unnumber'd fhips the peopled ocean hide, "And wealth returns with each revolving tide." Here paus'd the fullen Mufe; in hafte I drefs'd, And through the croud of needy courtiers prefs'd; Though unfuccefsful, happy whilst I fee Those eyes, that glad a nation, shine on me.

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WHILE you, my Lord, bid ftately piles afcend,


Or in your Chiswick bowers enjoy your friend; Where Pope unloads the boughs within his reach, The purple vine, blue plumb, and blushing peach; I journey far. You knew fat Bards might tire, And, mounted, fent me forth your trufty Squire. "Twas on the day when city-dames repair To take their weekly dofe of Hyde-park air; When forth we trot: no carts the road infeft, For ftill on Sundays country horses rest. Thy gardens, Kenfington, we leave unfeen; Through Hammersmith jog on to Turnham-green z That Turnham-green, which dainty pigeons fed, But feeds no more: for Solomon is dead. Three dufty miles reach Brentford's tedious town, For dirty streets and white-legg'd chickens known

* A man once famous for feeding pigeons.

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