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Labour, like this, our want supplies;
And they must stoop who mean to rise."

While thus he wittingly harangu'd,
For which you'll guess I wish'd him hang'd
Campley, a friend of mine, came by,
Who knew his humour more than I.
We stop, salute, and-" why so fast,
Friend Carlos! Whither all this haste?"-
Fir'd at the thoughts of a reprieve,
I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve,
Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout,
Do ev'ry thing, but speak plain out:
While he, sad dog, from the beginning,
Determin'd to mistake my meaning;
Instead of pitying my curse,

By jeering made it ten times worse.
"Campley, what secret, (pray !) was tha
You wanted to communicate ?"

"I recollect. But 'tis no matter.
Carlos, we'll talk of that hereafter.
E'en let the secret rest.

"Twill tell

Another time, sir, just as well."

Was ever such a dismal day?
Unlucky cur, he steals away,
And leaves me, half bereft of life,
At mercy of the butcher's knife;
When sudden, shouting from afar,
See his antagonist appear!

The bailiff seiz'd him quick as thought

"Ho, Mr. Scoundrel! are you caught i Sir, you are witness to th' arrest.'

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“Aye marry, sir, I'll do my best."
The mob huzzas. Away they trudge,
Culprit and all, before the judge.
Meanwhile I luckily enough
(Thanks to Apollo) got clear off.

ADDRESSED) TO MISS

ON READING

THE PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE.

[1762.*]

AND dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous heav'n design'd
The choicest raptures to impart,
To feel the most refin'd-

Dwells there a wish in such a breast

Its nature to forego

To smother in ignoble rest

At once both bliss and wo!

Far be the thought, and far the strain,
Which breathes the low desire,
How sweet soe'er the verse complain,
Though Phoebus string the lyre.

Come then, fair maid, (in nature wise)
Who, knowing them, can tell
From gen'rous sympathy what joys
The glowing bosom swell.

In justice to the various pow'rs
Of pleasing, which you share,
Join me, amid your silent hours,
To form the better pray'r.

For Mrs. Greville's Ode, see Annual Register, vol. v p 202.

With lenient balm, may Ob'ron hence To fairy land be driv'n;

With ev'ry herb that blunts the sense Mankind receiv'd from heav'n.

"Oh! if my sov'reign Author please, Far be it from my fate,

To live, unblest, in torpid ease,
And slumber on in state.

Each tender tie of life defied

Whence social pleasures spring, Unmov'd with all the world beside, A solitary thing-"

Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow,

Thus braves the whirling blast, Eternal winter doom'd to know, No genial spring to taste.

In vain warm suns their influence shed, The zephyrs sport in vain,

He rears, unchang'd, his barren head, Whilst beauty decks the plain.

What tho' in scaly armour drest,
Indifference may repel

The shafts of wo-in such a breast
No joy can ever dwell.

"Tis woven in the world's great plan,
And fix'd by heav'n's decree,
That all the true delights of man
Should spring from Sympathy.

'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws
Of nature we retain,

Our self-approving bosom draws
A pleasure from its pain.

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Thus grief itself has comforts dear,
The sordid never know;

An ecstasy attends the tear,

When virtue bids it flow.

For, when it streams from that pure source
No bribes the heart can win,

To check, or alter from its course
The luxury within.

Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves,
Who, if from labour eas'd,
Extend no care beyond themselves,
Unpleasing and unpleas'd.

Let no low thought suggest the pray'r,
Oh! grant, kind heav'n, to me,
Long as I draw ethereal air,

Sweet Sensibility.

Where'er the heavenly nymph is seen,

With lustre-beaming eye,

A train, attendant on their queen,
(Her rosy chorus) fly.

The jocund Loves in Hymen's band,
With torches ever bright,

And gen'rous Friendship hand in hand

With Pity's wat'ry sight.

The gentler virtues too are join'd,
In youth immortal warm,

The soft relations, which, combin'd,
Give life her ev'ry charm.

The arts come smiling in the close,

And lend celestial fire,

The marble breathes, the canvass glows,
The muses sweep the lyre.

"Still may my melting bosom cleave
To suff'rings not my own,
And still the sigh responsive heave,
Where'er is heard a groan.

Sɔ Pity shall take Virtue's part,
Her natural ally,

And fashioning my soften'd heart,
Prepare it for the sky."

This artless vow may heav'n receive,
And you, fond maid, approve :
So may your guiding angel give
Whate'er you wish or love.

So may the rosy-finger'd hours
Lead on the various year,
And ev'ry joy, which now is yours,
Extend a larger sphere.

And suns to come, as round they wheel
Your golden moments bless,
With all a tender heart can feel,
Or lively fancy guess.

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THUS Italy was moved-nor did the chief,
Eneas, in his mind less tumult feel.

On every side his anxious thought he turns,
Restless, unfit, not knowing what to choose.

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