18

O
Each hero kiss’d his maid, and why,
Tho' I'm no hero, may not 1?)

IV.
Who knows? Perhaps Polly may be
A piece of ruin'd royalty.
She has (I cannot doubt it) been
The daughter of some mighty queen ;
But fate's irremeable doom
Has chang’d her fceptre for a broom.

V.
Ah! cease to think it---how can Ihe,
So generous, charming, fond, and free,
So lib'ral of her little store,
So heedless of amassing more,
Have one drop of plebeian blood,
In all the circulating flood ?

VI.
But you, by carping at my fire,
Do but betray your own defire---
Howe'er proceed---made tame by years,
You'll raise in me no jealous fears.
You've not one spark of love alive,
For, thanks to heav'n, you're forty-five.

I DLE

1 L E
I D L E N E S S.

OD E

E VII.
Oddess of ease, leave Lethe's brink,
G Ᏻ

Obsequious to the Muse and me;
For once endure the pain to think,

Oh! sweet insensibility! Sister of peace and indolence,

Bring, Mufe, bring numbers foft and now, Elaborately void of sense,

And sweetly thoughtless let them flow.

Near some cowslip-painted mead,

There let me doze out the dull hours, And under me let Flora spread,

A sofa of her softest flow'rs.

Where, Philomel, your notes you breathe

Forth from behind the neighbouring pine, And murmurs of the stream beneath

Still Aow in unison with thine.

For thee, O Idleness, the woes

Of life we patiently endure,
Thou art the source whence labour flows,

We shun thee but to make thee sure.

For who'd sustain war's toil and waste,

Or who th' hoarse thund'ring of the sea,
But to be idle at the last,

And find a pleasing end in thee.

To the reverend and learned Dr. WEBSTER,

Occafioned by his Dialogues on Anger and Forgiveness.

DE

V III.

I.

'T

WAS when th' omniscient creative pow'r

Display'd his
And, delegated at th' appointed hour,

Great Moses led away his chosen band;
When Israel's host, with all their stores,

Past thro' the ruby-tinctur'd crystal shores,
The wildernefs of waters and of land :

Then perfecution rag'd in heav'n's own cause,
And right on neighbouring kingdoms to infringe,

Strict justice for the breach of nature's laws,
Strict justice, who's full-sister to revenge:
The legislator held the scythe of fate,

Where'er his legions chanc'd to stray,

Death and destruction mark'd their bloody way;
Immoderate was their rage, for mortal was their hate.

II. II.

But when the king of righteousness arose,

And on the illumin’d East ferenely smild,
He shone with meekest mercy on his foes,
Bright as the sun, but as the moon-beams mild;
From anger, fell revenge, and discord free,

He bad war's hellish clangor cease,

In pastoral fimplicity and peace, And shew'd to men that face, which Mofes could not fee..

III.

Well haft thou, Webster, pietur'd christian love,

And copied our great master's fair design, But livid Envy would the light remove,

Or croud thy portrait in a nook malign--The Muse shall hold it up to popular view---Where the more candid and judicious few

Shall think the bright original they fee, The likeness nobly lost in the identity.

IV.

Oh hadst thou liv?d in better days than these,,

E’er to excel by all was deem’d.a shame !!
Alas! thou hast no modern arts. to please,

And to deserve is all thy empty claim.
Else thou’dft been plac’d, by learning, and by wity,
There, where thy dignify'd inferiors sit---

Oh

For who'd sustain war's toil and waste,

Or who th' hoarse thund'ring of the sea,
But to be idle at the last,

And find a pleasing end in thee.

To the reverend and learned Dr. WEBSTER, Occasioned by his Dialogues on Anger and Forgiveness.

O DE V III.

I.

'T ,

WAS when th' omniscient creative pow'r

Display'd his wonders by a mortal's hand,
And, delegated at th' appointed hour,

Great Moses led away his chosen band;
When lsrael's hoft, with all their stores,

Past thro' the ruby-tinctur'd crystal shores,
The wildernefs of waters and of land :

Then perfecution rag'd in heav'n's own cause,
And right on neighbouring kingdoms to infringe,

Strict justice for the breach of nature's laws,
Strict justice, who's full-sister to revenge:
The legislator held the scythe of fate,

Where'er his legions chanc'd to stray,

Death and destruction mark'd their bloody way;
Immoderate was their rage, for mortal was their hate.