THOUGH Cato fhines in Virgil's epic fong, Prescribing laws among th' Elysian throng; Though Lucan's verfe, exalted by his name, O'er gods themselves has rais'd the hero's fame; The Roman ftage did ne'er his image fee, Drawn at full length; a task referv'd for thee. By thee we view the finifh'd figure rise, And awful march before our ravifh'd eyes; We hear his voice, afferting virtue's cause; His fate renew'd our deep attention draws, Excites by turns our various hopes and fears, And all the patriot in thy fcene appears.

On Tiber's bank thy thought was firft in-
fpir'd;

'Twas there, to fome indulgent grove retir'd,
Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,
Thy happy mufe this manly work dcfign'd:
Or in a dream thou faw'ft Rome's genius ftand,
And, leading Cato in his facred hand,
Point out th' immortal fubje&t of thy lays,
And ask this labour to record his praife.

TO THE MEMORY OF MILTON.

Homer's Defcription of himself, under the Character of Demodochus the Mufician at the Feast of King Alcinous.

From the Eighth Book of the Odyfeys.

THE mufe with transport lov'd him; yet, to fill
His various lot, fhe blended good with ill;
Depriv'd him of his eyes, but did impart
The heavenly gift of song, and all the tuneful art.

TO A LADY,
With the Tragedy of Cato.

Two fhining maids this happy work displays;
Each moves our rapture, both divide our praise;
In Marcia, we her godlike father trace;
While Lucia triumphs with each softer grace,
One ftrikes with awe, and one gives chafte delight;
That bright as lightning, this ferene as light.
Yet by the mule the fhadow'd forms were wrought,
And both are ercatures of the poet's thought.

In her that animates thefe lines, we view The wonder greater, the defcription true; Each living virtue, every grace combin'd, And Marcia's worth with Lucia's fweetnefs join'd.

Had the been born ally'd to Cato's name, Numidia's prince had felt a real Hame; And, pouring his refiftlets troops from far, With bolder deeds had turn'd the doubtful war; ·Cæsar had fled before his conquering arms, And Roman mufes fung her beauty's charms.

A FRA G MEN T.

DUETTO.

WAKE th' harmonious voice and firing, Love and Hymen's triumph fing. Sounds with fecret charms combining, In melodieus union joining,

TRANSLATED.

To-MORROW cheats us all. Why doft thou ftay
And leave undone what fhould be done to-day?
Begin--the present minute's in thy power;
But fill t' adjourn, and wait a fitter hour,
Is like the clown, who at fome river's fide
Expecting Itands, in hopes the running tide
Will all ere long be paft-Fool! not to know
It ftill has flow'd the fame, and will for ever flow.

ON A COLLAR

PRESENTED FOR HAPPY GILL, 1712.

THоU little favourite of the fair!
When thou thefe golden bands fhalt wear,
The hand that binds them foftly kifs,
With confcious joy, and own thy blifs.
Proud of his chain, who would not be
A slave, to gain her smiles, like thee!

THE CHARACTER

OF THE

LADY HENRIETTA CAVENDISH HOLLES,

1712-13.

SUCH early wifdom, fuch a lovely face,
Such modeft greatness, such attractive grace;
Wit, beauty, goodness, charity, and truth,
The riper feufe of age, the bloom of youth!
Whence is it, that in one fair piece we find
Thefe various beauties of the female kind
Sure but in one fuch different charms agree,
And Henrietta is that phoenix-fhe.

TRUTH, HONOUR, HONESTY:

The Motto chosen by the Right Honourable the Lady Henrietta Cavendifb Holles.

In thee, bright maid, though all the virtues fhine,
With rival beams, and every grace is thine,
Yet three, diftinguifn'd by thy early voice,
Excite our praife, and well deferve thy choice.

Immortal truth in heaven itself difplays
Her charms celeftial born, and pureft rays, [flow,
Which thence in ftreams, like golden funthine,
And fhed their light on minds like yours below.

Fair honour, next in beauty and in grace,
Shines in her turn, and claims the fecond place;
She fills the well-born foul with noble fires,
And generous thoughts and godlike as infpires.

Then Honefty, with native air, fucceeds,
Plain is her look, unartful are her deeds ;

Then look, Eliza, happy faint, look down!
Paufe from immortal joys a while
To hear, and gracious with a smile
The dedicated numbers own;

Say how in thy life's fcanty space,

So fhort a fpace, fo wondrous bright, [night,
Bright as a fummer's day, fhort as a fummer's
Could't thou find room for every crowded grace?
As if the thrifty foul foreknew,
Like a wife envoy, Heaven's intent,
Seon to recal whom it had fent,
And all its tafk refolv'd at once to do.

Or wert thou but a traveller below,
'That hither didit a while repair,
Curicus our cuftoms and cur laws to know?
And, fickening in our groffer air,
And tir'd of vain repeated fights,
Our foolish cares, our falfe delights,
Back to thy native feats would'st go?
Oh! fince to us thou wilt no more return,
Permit thy friends, the faithful few
Who bet thy numerous virtues knew,
Themfelves, not thee to mourn.

?

Now, penfive mufe, enlarge thy flight! (By turns the penfive muses love The hilly heights and fhady grove) Behold where, fwelling to the fight, Balls, a fair ftructure, graceful ftands! And from yon verdant rifing brow Sees Hertford's ancient town, and lands Where nature's hand in flow meanders leads The Lee's clear ftream its courfe to flow Through flowery vales, and moiften'd meads, And far around in beauteous profpects fpreads Her map of plenty all below.

"Twas here-and facred be the spot of earth! Eliza's foul, born first above,

Defcended to an humbler birth,

And with a mortal's frailties ftrove. So, on fome towering peak that meets the sky, When millive feraphs downward fly, They stop, and for a while alight, Put off their rays celeftial bright,

Then take fome milder form familiar to our eys,

VI.

Swiftly her infant virtues grew; Water'd by heaven's peculiar care,

Her morning bloom was doubly fair,
Like fummer's day-break, when we fee
The frefa-dropp'd ftores of roly dew
(Tranfparent beauties of the dawn)
Spread o'er the grafs their cobweb-lawn,
Or hang moist pearls on every tree.
Pleas'd with the lovely fight a while
Her friends behold, and joyful fmile,
Nor think the fun's exhaling ray

Will change the fcene ere noon of day,
Dry up the glistering drops, and draw those dews

away.

VII.

Yet first, to fill her orb of life,
Behold, in each relation dear,

The pious faint, the duteous child appear,
The tender fifter, and the faithful wife.
Alas! but must one circlet of the year
Unite in blifs, in grief divide

'The deftin'd bridegroom and the bride?
Stop, generous youth, the gathering tear,
That, as you read thefe lines, or hear,
Perhaps may start, and seem to say,
That short-liv'd year was but a day!
Forbear-nor fruitless forrowings now employ,
Think he was lent a while, not given,
(Such was th' appointed will of Heaven)
Then grateful call that year an age of virtuous joy.

Tuɛ man that loves his king and nation,

And fhuns each vile affociation,

That trufts his honeft deeds i' th' light,
Nor meets in dark cabals, by night,
With fools, who, after much debate,

Get themselves hang'd, and fave the ftate,
Needs not his hall with weapons flore;
Nor dreads cach rapping at his door;
Nor fculks in fear of being known,
Or hides his guilt in parfon's gown;
Nor wants, to guard his generous heart,
The poniard or the poifon'd dart;
And, but for ornament and pride,
A fword of lath might cross his side.

If o'er St. James's park he ftray, He flops not, paufing in his way; Nor pulls his hat down o'er his face,

Nor itarts, looks back, and mends his pace : Or if he ramble to the Tower,

He knows no crime, and dreads no power,

But thence returning, free as wind,
Smiles at the bars he left behind.

Thus, as I loiter'd t' other day,
Humming-O every month was May--
And, thoughtlefs how my time I fquander'd,"

From Whitehall, through the Cockpit wander'd, A meffenger with furly eye

View'd me quite round, and yet pafs'd by.

No fharper look or rougher mien
In Scottish Highlands e'er was feen;
Nor ale and brandy ever bred

More pimpled cheeks, or nose more red;
And yet, with both hands in my breast,
Careless walk'd, nor shunn'd the beast,

Place me among a hundred spies, Let all the room be ears and eyes; Or fearch my pocket-books and papers, No word or line fhall give me vapours. Send me to Whigs as true and hearty, As ever pity'd poor Maccarty;

Let Townsend, Sunderland, be there, Or Robin Walpole in the chair:

Or fend me to a club of Tories,

That damn and curfe at Marlborough's glories,
And drink-but fure none fuch there are!
The devil, the pope, and rebel Mar;
Yet ftill my loyalty I'll boaft,
King George fhall ever be my toast ;
Unbrib'd his glorious caufe I'll own,
And fearlefs (corn each traitor's frown.

A FRAGMENT.

{

Through Tempe's pleafant vales and bowers As my full urn its current pours,

In

every plain, from every grove,
I hear the fighs of flighted love;
And on my rushy banks the Sylvans cry
Why ever cruel, Daphne, why?

But fee fhe comes, the beauteous caufe;
Daphne, my juft commands attend,
Hear me, thy father and thy friend,

And yield the last to love and Hymen's laws.
Daphne.

O Peneus, urge this cruel fuit no more;

Have I not to Diana fwore?

Behold again to her I bow,
Devoted ever to remain

A virgin of her spotlefs train;

Hear Cynthia, and confirm my vow.

No more these marks of triumph let me bear;
But thus a fhepherd's femblance wear,
Till bleft by thee I grow a god again.

Through heav'n, and earth, and ocean spreads; Thou art thyfclf the happiest child of love,

Do not thy birth disclaim.
Daphne.

Though fair as Phoebus thou fhould'st seem,
And were thy words foft as his lyre,
They could not move me to defire;
Wake, fhepherd, from thy dream.

Ceafe to foothe thy fruitlefs pain;
Why for frowns wilt thou be suing?
Ceafe to languish and complain.
'Tis to feek thy own undoing,
Still to love, and love in vain.
Apollo.

In her foft cheeks and beauteous eyes,
What new enchanting graces rife !

DUETTO for Apollo and Daphne.

Apol. No more deny me,
O ceafe to fly me

Your faithful swain.

Daph. No longer try me,
For ever fly me,

[Afide.

Despairing fwain.

Apol.

Yet hear me.

Daph.

Forbear me.

Apol.

Still speak my pain.

[Exit Daphne.

Daphne.

What art thou, or from whence?

And looks adoring,

But move difdain.

Apollo.

She's gone-nor knows from whom the flics. Mistaken cyres false difdain!