Would you the ruin'd merchant's soul appease,
With talk of fands, and rocks, and ftormy feas?
Ev'n while I ftrive on Marlborough's fame to rise,
I call up forrow in a daughter's eyes.

Think on the laurels that his temples fhade,
Laurels that (fpite of time) fhall never fade.
Immortal honour has enroll'd his name;
Detraction's dumb, and Envy put to fhame.
Say, who can foar beyond his eagle flight;
Has he not reach'd to glory's utmost height?
What could he more, had Heaven prolong'd his date?
All human power is limited by fate.

Forbear. 'Tis cruel further to commend;

a

I wake your forrow, and again offend.
Yet fure your goodness must forgive a crime,
Which will be spread through every age and clime;
Though in
your life ten thousand fummers roll,
And though you compass earth from pole to pole,
Where-e'er men talk of war and martial fame,
They'll mention Marlborough's and Cæfar's name.
But vain are all the counfels of the Mufe;
A foul like yours could not a tear refuse :
Could you your birth and filial love forego,
Still fighs must rise, and generous forrow flow;
For, when from earth fuch matchlefs worth removes,
A great mind fuffers. Virtue virtue loves.

EPISTLE

ON HIS HAVING FINISHED HIS TRANSLATION OF HOME R'S ILIA D.

A WELCOME FROM GREECE.

I

LONG haft thou, friend! been abfent from my foil,
Like patient Ithacus at fiege of Troy;
I have been witnefs of thy fix years toil,

Thy daily labours, and thy night's annoy,
Loft to thy native land, with great turmoil,

On the wide fea, oft' threatening to destroy: Methinks with thee I've trod Sigæan ground, And heard the shores of Hellefpont refound.

H.

Did I not fee thee when thou first fett'ft fail
To feek adventures fair in Homer's land?

Did I not fee thy finking fpirits fail,

And wish thy bark had never left the strand?

A clofe imitation of the beginning of the 46th Canto of the "Orlando Furiofo.' Mr. Gay has even adopted the measure of his original, and has comprized his defign in almoft the fame number of lines, viz. in twenty-one octave ftanzas, inftead of nineteen. S.

Ev'n

Ev'n in mid ocean often didft thou quail,

And oft' lift up thy holy eye and hand, Praying the Virgin dear, and faintly choir, Back to the port to bring thy bark entire.

III.

Chear up, my friend! thy dangers now are o'er;
Methinks nay, fure the rifing coafts appear;
Hark! how the guns falute from either shore,
As thy trim veffel cuts the Thames so fair :
Shouts answering fhouts from Kent and Effex roar,
And bells break loud through every guft of air:
Bonfires do blaze, and bones and cleavers ring,
As at the coming of fome mighty king.

IV.

Now pass we Gravefend with a friendly wind,

And Tilbury's white fort, and long Blackwall;
Greenwich, where dwells the friend of human kind,
More visited than or her park or hall,
Withers the good, and (with him ever join'd)
Facetious Difney, greet thee firft of all:

I fee his chimney fmoke, and hear him fay,
Duke *! that's the room for Pope, and that for Gay.

V.

Come in, my friends here fhall ye dine and lie,
And here fhall breakfast, and here dine again;

And fup, and breakfast on, (if ye comply)
For I have fill fome dozens of cliampaign :
His voice ftill leffens as the hip fails by;
He waives his hand to bring us back in vain;
*He was ufually called "Duke Difney." N.

For

a

For now I fee, I fee proud London's fpires;
Greenwich is loft, and Deptford-dock retires.

VI.

Oh, what a concourse swarms on yonder quay !
The sky re-echoes with new fhouts of joy:
By all this fhow, I ween, 'tis Lord Mayor's day;
I hear the voice of trumpet and hautboy.
No, now I fee them near. Oh, these are they

-

Who come in crouds to welcome thee from Troy. Hail to the bard, whom long as loft we mourn'd; From fiege, from battle, and from storm, return'd ! VIL

Of goodly dames, and courteous knights, I view

The filken petticoat, and broider’d vest;

Yea peers, and mighty dukes, with ribbands blue,
(True blue, fair emblem of unftained breaft.)
Others I fee, as noble, and more true,

By no court-badge diftinguifh'd from the reft:
First fee I Methuen, of fincereft mind,
As Arthur * grave, as foft as woman-kind,

VIII.

What lady's that, to whom he gently bends?
Who knows not her? ah! thofe are Wortley's eyes
How art thou honour'd, number'd with her friends!
For the diftinguishes the good and wife.

This perfon is mentioned in Pope's Epistle to Arbuthnot, ver. 23.

"Arthur, whofe giddy fon neglects the laws,

Imputes to me, and my damn'd works, the cause.”

The

The sweet-tongued Murray near her fide attends;
Now to my heart the glance of Howard flies ;
Now Harvey, fair of face, I mark full well,
With thee, youth's youngest daughter, fweet Lepell.
IX.

I fee two lovely fisters, hand in hand,

The fair-hair'd Martha, and Terefa brown; Madge Bellenden, the talleft of the land;

And smiling Mary, soft and fair as down. Yonder I fee the chearful dutchess stand,

For friendship, zeal, and blithsome humours known: Whence that loud shout in such a hearty strain? Why, all the Hamiltons are in her train.

X.

See next the decent Scudamore advance,

With Winchelfea, ftill meditating fong:

With her perhaps Mifs Howe came there by chance,
Nor knows with whom, or why the comes along.
Far off from these fee Santlow, fam'd for dance*
And frolick Bicknell †, and her fifter young;
With other names, by me not to be nam'd,
Much lov'd in private, not in publick fam'd
XI.

But now behold the female band retire,

And the fhrill mufick of their voice is ftill'd
Methinks I fee famid Buckingham admire,
That in Troy's ruin thou hadst not been kill'd;

She afterwards married Booth the player. S. + Mrs Bicknell, the actrefs, is mentioned in the Spectator, Tatler, and Guardian, with applaufe. S.

Sheffield,