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Not in contentious heat, nor mad'ning strife,
Not with the busy ills, nor cares of life,

We'll waste the fleeting hours; far happier themes
Shall claim each thought, and chase ambition's dreams.
Each beauty that sublimity can boast 120
He best shall tell, who still unites them most.
Of wit, of taste, of fancy, we'll debate ;
If Sheridan for once be not too late :

But scarce a thought to Ministers we'll spare,
Unless on Polish Politics, with Hare:
Good-natur'd Devon! oft shall then appear
The cool complacence of thy friendly sneer:
Oft shall Fitzpatrick's wit, and Stanhope's ease,
And Burgoyne's manly sense unite to please.
And while each guest attends our varied feats
Of scatter'd covies and retreating fleets,
Me shall they wish some better sport to gain,
And Thee more glory from the next campaign.

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SINCE sage philosophers aver,

That climate forms the character;
And prove each nation, tame, or bold,
Just as its air is hot or cold;

What schemes might crafty statesmen lay,
If such a system they'd obey?

Suppose the Turks, who now agree
It wou'd fatigue them to be free,
Should build an ice house, to debate

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Might not some Mussulmen be brought,
To brace their minds, not shrink at thought?

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Wou'd glow for freedom, while they freeze;

And, in proportion to the coldness,
Discover latent fire and boldness.

For thus 'tis Montesquieu explains
The power of air upon the veins ;
The short❜ning fibres brac'd by cold,
The blood flies back, the heart grows
Relax'd by heat, their force declines,
The spirits droop, the being pines :

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bold

'Till, quite o'erpow'r'd, the sick'ning soul,
Yields to the atmosphere's control.

Thus air each impulse can impart,

To that thermometer, the heart.

;

Thanks, mighty Jove, thy sovereign care,

Environs us with Northern air!

Our atmosphere to honor leads,

Inspires the breast to hardy deeds;

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The heart beats quick ;—the spirits rise;
All which our latitude supplies.

Yet, (for extremes evʼn virtue mar) –
We sometimes carry ours too far:
When winter winds too chilly pierce,
We grow impatient, wild and fierce;
While every softer virtue flies,

To gentler climes, and milder skies.

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To moderate this bold extreme,
Is oft the philosophic theme;
Sense, wit, and policy combine;
But still too learnedly refine.
The system's plain if well pursued
We must correct our latitude.

How many Questions have been lost,
By the house meeting in a frost?
The opposition flock together,

Like strings of wild geese, in hard weather ;
Keen, as the blast that chills their blood,
They nip each ministerial bud :

The tender bloom of ways and means,

That North with wit and wisdom screens, Too oft their adverse influence feels, Shrinks from the storm, and half congeals; That, ev'n in all his blushing grace, Bamber scarce thaws them, with—his face.

Whence then, in spite of sense and reason, Do statesmen choose this adverse season? bo Why not the parliament adjourn,

'Till summer's genial suns return ?
But ah, what honest squire would stay
To make his speech, instead of hay?
The Beaux wou'd scarcely think of law,
To give up Scarborough or Spa:

And say ye sportsmen, wou'd a member
Attend St. Stephen's in September ?

Winter, stern pow'r! must still create
The kindred storms of mad debate;
Still, by the climate's magic pow'r,
Must gloomy statesmen droop and lour,
Unless some Project we can frame
To sooth its rage, its rigor tame.

A simple plan the Muse explains; Nor asks a patent for her pains.

In either house, below the chairs, Where Bathurst rules, and Norton glares, There stands a table, where they place

The votes, the journals, and the mace:

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"Hence with that bauble!" Cromwell cried;

And wisely too; 'tis useless pride;

Hence with it all! it fills a place.

A nobler ornament shall

grace.

Here with capacious bulk, profound

As Falstaff's paunch, as Plymouth's round,

A vast Buzaglo, day by day,

Shall chase the noxious blasts away,

And spread an artificial glow,

Tho' Palace-yard be wrapt in snow.—
Around the flame, with vestal pride,
A Fire-Committee shall preside,

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