The HIP. TO WILLIAM COLMORE, Efq;
The Day after the great Meteor, in March 1715.
HIS difmal morn, when east winds blow,
And every languid pulfe beats low,
With face moit forrowfully grim,
And head opprefs'd with wind and whim,
Grave as an owl, and just as witty,
To thee I twang my doleful ditty;
And in mine own dull rhymes would find
Mufic to foothe my restless mind:
But oh! my friend, I fing in vain,
No doggrel can relieve my pain;
Since thou art gone my heart's defire,
And heaven, and earth, and fea confpire,
To make my miseries compleat;
Where fhall a wretched Hip retreat?
What shall a drooping mortal do,
Who pines for funshine and for you?
If in the dark alcove I dream,
And you, or Phillis, is my theme,
While love or friendship warm my soul,
My fhins are burning to a coal..
If rais'd to speculations high,
I gaze the stars and fpangled fky,
With heart devout and wondering eye,
Amaz'd I view strange globes of light,
Meteors with horrid luftre bright,
My guilty trembling foul affright,
To mother earth's prolific bed,
Penfive I ftoop my giddy head,'
From thence too all my hopes are fled.
Nor flowers, nor grass, nor shrubs appear,
To deck the smiling infant year;
But blafts my tender bloffoms wound,
And defolation reigns around.
If fea-ward my dark thoughts I bend,
O! where will my misfortunes end?
My loyal foul distracted meets
Attainted dukes, and *Spanish fleets.
Thus jarring elements unite,
Pregnant with wrongs, and arm'd with fpight,
Succeffive mifchiefs every hour
On my devoted head they pour.
Whate'er I do, wheree'er I go,
'Tis ftill an endless fcene of woe.
'Tis thus difconfolate I mourn,
I faint, I die, till thy return;
'Till thy brifk wit, and humorous vein,
Reftore me to myself again.
Let others vainly feek for ease,
From Galen and Hippocrates,
I fcorn fuch naufeous aids as thefe.
Hafte then, my dear, unbrib'd attend,
The beft elixir is a friend.
* An invasion from Spain was then expected.
Who made me a Prefent of a Silver Pen.
AIR-ONE, accept the thanks I owe,
'Tis all a grateful heart can do.
If e'er my foul the Mufe infpire
With raptures and poetic fire,
Your kind munificence I'll praife,
you
a thousand altars raife:
Jove fhall defcend in golden rain,
Or die a swan; but fing in vain.
Phoebus the witty and the gay,
Shall quit the chariot of the day,
To bask in your fuperior ray.
Your charms fhall every god fubdue,
And every goddefs envy you.
Add this but to your bounty's ftore,
This one great boon, I afk no more :
O gracious nymph, be kind as fair,
Nor with difdain neglect my prayer,
So fhall your goodness be confefs'd,
And I your flave entirely bless'd;
This pen no vulgar theme fhall ftain,
The nobleft palm your gift fhall gain,
To write to you, nor write in vain.
Prefenting to a Lady a White Rofe and a Red on the Tenth of June.
F this pale rofe offend your fight,
It in your bosom wear;
"Twill blush to find itself lefs white,
And turn Lancastrian there.
But, Celia, fhould the red be chofe,
With gay vermilion bright;
"Twould ficken at each blush that glows,
And in defpair turn white.
Let politicians idly prate,
Their Babels build in vain;
As uncontrolable as fate,
Imperial Love fhall reign.
Each haughty faction fhall obey,
And whigs and tories join,
Submit to your defpotic fway,
Confefs your right divine.
Yet this, my gracious monarch, own,
They're tyrants that opprefs;
"Tis mercy muft fupport your throne,
And 'tis like heaven to blefs.
HERE fair Sabrina's wandering currents flow,
A large fmooth plain extends its verdant brow,
Here every morn while fruitful vapours feed
The fwelling blade, and blefs the finoaking mead,
A cruel tyrant reigns: like time, the fwain
Whets his unrighteous fcythe; and thaves the plain-
Beneath each stroke the peeping flowers decay,
And all th' unripen'd crop is fwept away,
The heavy roller next he tugs along,
Whifs his fhort pipe, or roars a rural fong,
With curious eye then the prefs'd turf he views,
And every rifing prominence fubdues.
Now when each craving ftomach was well-ftor'd,
And Church and King had travel'd round the board,
Hither at Fortune's fhrine to pay their court,
With eager hopes the motley tribe refort;
Attornies fpruce, in their plate-button'd frocks,
And rofy parfons fat, and orthodox:
Of every fect, whigs, papifts, and high-flyers,
Cornuted aldermen, and hen-peck'd fquires :
Fox-hunters, quacks, fcribblers in verfe and profe,
And half-pay captains, and half-witted beaux;
On the green cirque the ready racers stand,
Difpos'd in pairs, and tempt the bowler's hand:
Each polifh'd sphere does his round brother own,
The twins diftinguish'd by their marks are known.
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