ries to perfection. The regulations made for manufactories ought to be as fo many inftructions to thofe who are in fearch of this perfection, in the fame manner as the books that treat of arts and fciences. There are must be all forts of degrees of goodness in the manufactures, according to the taste and circumftances of the purchaser: imperfection and fraud difcredit manufacturers, while diligence and honefty enrich and bring them into vogue. For these reasons commerce claims liberty inftead of thofe penal laws, duties and interdictions by which it is discharged, Trade itself is no other than an abstract idea lately known, as well We as circulation and credit. feem to make new divinities, like the Greeks, in order to adore them: our fathers, who had lefs idolatry and philofophy, but more wifdom, were richer by their economy and labour, than we by our fciences of exchange, brokerage, and ftockjobbing. Perhaps our pofterity, undeceived by experience, will laugh at the difeafe that now prevails in feveral nations, of endeavouring to reduce the principles of trade into a fyftem: and will place it in that rank which we now affign to the Crufade, and which we fhall foon give to the folly of the political balJance of power in Europe. POETRY. The HORSE and the OLIVE, or WAR and PEACE. By the late Archdeacon PARNELL. Not yet printed in his Works. ITH moral tale let ancient wifdom move, WI Which thus I fing to make the moderns wife : By Neptune, Plutus, (guardian pow'r of gain) Which beft contriv'd to do the nation good. By this, he cries, I'll make the people reign. The goddefs, fmiling, gently bow'd the fpear, And rather thus they fhall be blefs'd, she said: Then upwards fhooting in the vernal air, With loaded boughs the fruitful olive spread. Jove faw what gift the rival pow'rs defign'd, And took th' impartial fcales, refolv❜d to show, If greater blifs in warlike pomp we find, Or in the calm which peaceful times bestow. On Neptune's part he plac'd victorious days, Gay trophies won, and fame extending wide; But plenty, fafety, fcience, arts, and ease, Minerva's fcale with greater weight supply'd. Fierce war devours whom gentle peace wou'd fave ; Sweet peace reftores what angry war destroys; War made for peace, with that rewards the brave, While peace its pleafures from itself enjoys. Hence vanquish'd Neptune to the fea withdrew, Hence wife Minerva rul'd Athenian lands Her Athens hence in arts and honours grew, And still her Olives deck pacific hands. N 4 From From fables thus difclos'd, a monarch's mind May form juft rules to chufe the truly great, Whofe kind endeavours muft befriend the ftate. If cities won her kingdom's wealth have cost. But if we afk, the moral to disclose, Whom beft Europa's patronefs it calls, And unapply'd in this the fable falls. With her no Neptune or Minerva vies : Whene'er the pleas'd, her troops to conqueft flew : She gave the horfe, and gives the olive too. ODE fur la Prefente GUERRE. Extracted from a German periodical work of M. Profeffor Gottsched of Leipfick, of whofe company the king of Pruffia was jo fond, and attributed by that gentleman to one of the most eminent writers of French poetry, who, the profeffor Jays, will be readily gueffed without his naming him. ENTENS de toutes parts éclater les Orages, J'Les champs font inondés de cent mille affaffins, Payés pour le maffacre, inftruits pour les ravages. La foudere eft dans leurs mains. Par tout le fer pourfuit, par tout le feu dévore ; Les Guerriers, dont la course imite les tempêtes, C'est vous que j'interroge, Idoles de la Terre, Neron ofa brûler des mafures antiques, Rome l'appelle monfire, en tombant fous fes coups, Voyez ces habitans dans l'horreur des allarmes, Si vous êtés preffés de ce defir funefte, De depeupler la Terre, en proie á vos transports, D'une goutte de fang vous remandez compte Ah! qui donc êtes vous ? quelle fut l'origine, Ah! s'ils n'avoient voulu que s'arracher la vie, Comptons les Souverains que l'Europe raffemble; Humanité, Juftice, eft-ce pour vous qu'ils règnent? J'attefte leurs Ecrits, ils s'accufent, fe craignent, Ceffent-ils de fe nuire, ils manquent donc de force, S'ils fufpendent leurs coups, c'eft pour les préparer, repos n'eft jamais qu'une perfide amorce Leur Pour mieux fe déchirer." Qu'efpèrent-ils enfin? Maitres d'un vafte Empire, Moins cruel qu'infenfé. Génie, activité, foif de gloire, courage, O vous! qui, profanant les tranfports de Génie, Que ne puis je étouffer de votre voix impie Quoi! le meurtre d'an Peuple honoreroit fon Maître! Mais peut-être mon zèle en fa chaleur amère, Non, ce fléau jamais ne fut inévitable, Ofe-t-on, fi les droits ne font pas légitimes, Ces fauvages fanglans que votre orgueil deteste, Ils mangent les vaincus dans leur cruelle joie, Du moins fi tant de fang rendoit à la Patrie, Leurs tréfors prodigués par des mains fanguinaires, Politique éclairée, active, impénètrable! Art fublime & profond, autant qu'infructueux! Comptez fur les Traités, fignés par le menfonge! Ah! comment espérer un terme favourable, Si la force du moins donnoit quelque affurance ; Perfepolis n'eft plus qu'une cendre stérile, La foibleffe le garde, & Lucque eft plus tranquille, Rome |