Command obedience, and fecure the throne.
Contending parties, and plebeian rage,
Had puzzled loyalty for half an age:
Conqu' ring our hearts you end the long difpute;
All who have eyes confefs you abfolute;
To Tory doctrines even Whigs refign,
And in your perfon own the right divine.
Thus fung the mufe, in ber laft moments fir'd
With Carolina's praife, and then expir'd.

A rural Lay. Moft humbly infcribed to the Right Hon. John Barber, Efq; Lord Mayor of London. By a Gentleman in Norwich.

AN bumble mufe from long-kept filence breaks;

From whence he came, or who he is that
Speaks,

Inquiry's needlefs; fince she means no wrong,
But to divert you with a rural fong:
Yet left th' inquifitive, who love to pry
Into the fecrets forowded from their eye,
Should (as they ufe) their needlefs gueffes make,
And name an bundred authors by miftake;
Thus much for once fhe deigns to let you know,
From whom and whence thefe well-meant verfes
flow.

In facred folitude and bleft retreat,
(Manfions more fitting for the good than great)
Clofe by a pleasant brook that purling glides,
And washes with its ftreams the meadows fides,
The fragrant meadows deckt with Flora's care,
And bleft befides with aromatick air,
Stands a tall, fhady, and delightful grove,
Bleft and protected by the god of love;
Where none but Phil'mel and ber warbling
choir,

And nymphs who burn with Cupid's purer fire, Are conftant guests to tafle the fweets it yields, And reap the pleasures of the neighb'ring fields: In this bleft grove, whofe eye-delighting trees Defend from fummer's beat, and winter's

breeze;

Where no diftracting party-noifes Spring,
Only foft murmurs that the Zephyrs bring;
Where fuch redundant bleffings daily flow
None can exprefs, not even they who know ;
Here our poor mufe, tho' late, yet wifely chofe
To end her days in calm and fweet repofe;

To fbrowd berfelf from all the feuds of ftrife,
Which conftartly attend an active life;
Here fhe in folitude would peace purfue,
And bid the reflefs world a full adieu.

Long bad jhe jeen the factions of the age,
And oft reprov'd them in a zealous rage;
As often blam'd the fates that gave 'em birth,
Nor lefs deplor'd Aftrea left the earth;
Still did jhe lead a rough uncafy life,
Amidst the tempefts of a party-frife;
And plainly faw that neither wealth or glory,
Were natral confequents to whig or tory;
That both were tools their fubtle betters us'd,
And as dull tools not well could be abus'd:
Experience taught her zubat jhe might expect,
And found her friends rewarded with negle.
Yet did he not regard it in a rage,
But only call'd it, an ungrateful age!
Vow'd to forfake thofe feuds and irksome ftrife,
And ftrait affume a folitary life:
Yet bleft berfelf, and pleas'd fhe was to find,
She ftill retain'd ber former loyal mind;
Her virt'ous principles would ftill pursue,
In spite of what fome did, or did not do;
And tho' ber friends unwifely broke the larus
Of common prudence, ftill the lov'd the cause.
Thus fix'd, our mufe forfook the wrangling
throng;

And now delights to bear the linnet's fong; The black-bird's chaunting, and the warbling thrush

Yield ber frefb pleasures from each verdant bush;
Each bird, each tree, each herb do now dispense
Various delights to gratify ber fenfez

The whole retreat, diffolv'd in perfect love,
Own her the charming mistress of the grove i
Nor can fhe chufe but think berjelf discreet,
To quit confufion for fo bleft a feat;
And with a beart that's pitiful and kind,
Commiferates the fate of those behind.
From this bleft mufe, (tbo' bumble, meek
and low)

In far retreat, thefe well-meant verses florv.
Whilft thus retir'd the muje in filence lay,
Sharing the bleffings of each new born day;
Careless of what ambitious fouls pursue,
Or what thofe reftless factious spirits do;
Fame with a fhrill-mouth'd blaft awak'd from
reft,

And rais'd foft fire within ber peaceful breaft:
Barber, the found! 'twas Barber's grateful

name,

That could rekindle a poetick flame :
Barber alone could make the filent fing,
And with fweet numbers imp the mufe's
wing;

His name from long-kept filence will excite;
Barber pronounc'd, what poet will not write z
Strive to fet forth bis well-deferved praise,
In melting numbers, and in fofteft lays?
Barber, the pleader of the widow's caufe,
In fweeteft fonnets claims a just applause :
The bount'ous fum be kindly, freely gave,
Was truly noble, worthy, juft, and brane 2.
Iiiz

Well

Well may bis praife the pen and thought implay,

Who gratitude and bounty makes his joy;
'Tis Lighly juft, merit too long conceal'd,
Shou'd to the world with candour be reveal'd;
Nor can a jufter recompence be made,
To pailiate what has been fo long delay'd.
Nor are the living only thus bis care,
But e'en the dead bis wondrous bounty share z
His great munificence be did difpenfe,
In memory of one poor man of fenfe;
The buff erected to whof: deathless name,
Equally ferves to aggrandize his fame;
For Butler's monument will always fland,
Alafing fame of Barber's bount'ous band:
Thus what he did for bim in pure regard,
Turns undefignedly his own reward.

0, Prior! were my mufe fublime as thine,
Had I the beauties in thy dietion Jhine;
Thy nervous ferfe, thy lines fo feet, fo ftrong;
Then might I warble cut a grateful fong.
Or kad I, beav'nly Pope, thy matckless lays,
(Thou English Vigil, tho' not England's Bays)
O then in numbers peerless as these men,
Would I in Barber's praife exert my pen;
In Pope's lov'd lines bis virtues I'd rehearse,
And make them as immortal as bis verfe:
His acts with Pope's eternal lines fhould vie,
And while thefe liv'd, those other ne'er should

die.

But tho' I want this godlike poet's firain, Still will I fing; and yet not fing in vain: Renown'd Augufta's chief fhall be my theme, He whom the greatest, wifeft men efteem, He whom that mighty city made their choice, And all confirm'd it by one common voice; He who with loyalty and goodness fhines, Shall be the darling fubject of my lines; Londen's Lord Mayor, lov'd Barber, bounty's Spring;

His grateful name, his only do I fing.

While juftice rules, and Barber fills the
chair,

Nor kraves nor fuels fhall ary favour share :
The canting bypocrite, the rebel faint,
Ard fuch who kyalty utflf would taint,
Muft ne'er approach his bifpitable door,
But pass neglected as a common fhore:
King-killing vermin, peft of church and flate,
Vill find no welcome at bis well-known gate.
While all who to the church and king are true,

bo give to Caefar and to God their due; Who cherish in their bearts religion's laws, Strictly adhering to the royal caufe; Such gen rous, worthy, true-born English fouls,

When virtue rules, and piety controuls,
Whofe loyalty and bonour fill their breafts,
Shail be bis conftant and bis welcome guests :
Such fhall the bounties of bis table jhare,
Who of the church and king take equal care.

O happy London, you who truly know, What bleifings from good magiftrates do How ;

What publick benefits they do difpenfe,
Where all are worthy, all are men of fenfe
How doubly bleft must now your body be,
Whofe chief's fo wife, fe great, fo good as be!
Who juffice will dijpe fe with equal band,
And by your laws and cuflems frilly fland;
Support your rights, and few a father's care;
While be adorns, as well as fills the chair:
And the your commerce so extenfive's grown,
Admir'd and envy'd by all nations known ;
Still more thofe nations fhall your merchants prize,
For Barber's name fhall make their glory rife.

From the Pegafus in Grabtreet. To the Right Hon. the Lord Mayor of the City of London.

My Lord,

TH

For

HE bard, who with ambitious tongue, Your two immediate predecessors fung, you intends to try a loftier ftrain, Tho' be unpenfion'd and unpay'd remain. Nor think the fireet, from whence I date theft lays,

At all can leffen, or obscure the praife:
But lend a willing ear, whilft bere I trace
The accidental caufe of its difgrace.

When to dethrone their prince the faints combin'd,

In leagues of pious villainy were join'd; Against bis purple, and the prelate's lawn, Long time their pens, before their fwords, were

drawn.

The court, provok'd by their audacious spite,
Advanc'd fome authors to a proper height;
Where to b' admiring mob their beads were
Morun

While cars they gain'd by lofing of their own.
Grievous the lofs to thofe, who fcorn'd to wear
A long, curl d, uffs ornament of bair;
But cropp'd it bort, to make their beads feem
round,

And fhew their cars were large, and long,

and

fund; Of which to female faints each gifted brother Sometimes beld forth the one, and fometimes

t'other.

These to fecure, in this diftrefs, they fly,
And take in Grubstreet lodgings near the sky.
Printers attending in this new recess,
In low, dark cellars fix'd the noify prefs.
At every pull the fweating prefs-men took,
The engine fqueek'd, and all the fabrick frock,
No wonder, hnce bis vaft Cyclopean band
Help'd forge thofe bolts which book the tromb-
ling land.

From bence, in fecret form'd, incessant flies
A long, dull train of incoherent lyes.
Dull as they are, they multitudes deceive,
Finding fill duller fools that would believe.
The royal party curs'd the street, whence rofe
The fatal caufe of all their mafter's wees.
When fome great lye borne by the poplar gale,
Was beard, they cry'd, this is a Grubstreet tale.

When

When fome vile pamphlet fraught in every page Wub godly nonfense, and fanatic rage, Run'mong ft the faints, the wicked cavaliers Store, 'twas fome Grubstreet author without

ears.

From that bleft ara to thefe learned times, Whoever in dull profe, or duller rbimes, Expofe their talents, like thofe forts of old, 'Mong ft Grubstreet authors have their names inroll'd.

Nay, tho' they write with greateft fenfe and fkill,

Each party charge their foes with writing ill:
Still one another in these terms abuse,

Of Grubftreet authors, writing Grubtreet news.
But this, my lord, is neither here, nor there :
Of fools and knaves each party has its share.
And one than t'other has no more pretence
T'ingross all bonefty than all the fenfe.
A Grubstreet author (to vile pelf no flave)
A tolerable fhare of both may have:
And fome of one, if not of both, I claim;
Tho' changed the laft, the first is fill the fame,
As when I fung, twice on this folemn day,
The two that pass'd in pomp the crowded way:
Whom in order, principles, and Aate
Succeeding, clofe the grand triumvirate.

you

Inftead of things, if perfons we compare,
All fuch comparifons invidious are.
Witbout offence, in equal balance laid,
One trade against another may be weigh'd.
Thofe, which alone to body are confin'd,
Muft yield to that which cultivates the mind;
Which through the world can art and science
Spread;

The living keep alive, and raife the dead.
This printing does--Nor fall my verses flow,
To tell your lordship what you better know:
But change my numbers to the begging ftrain,
To tell you that two years I've fung in vain:
For, tho' two heroes in my verfes fine,
Nor brewer liquor gave, nor banker coin.
But you, my lord, will one at leaft impart,
To fix my notions deeper in my beart.
For otherwife, I fear, a twelve-month hence,
With my old principles I may difpenfe,
The fore against my will, for well I know
How odd whig-tory principles will flow.

As when a prefs-man, whom fome call a horfe,
Tugs at the prefs with all bis might and force;
If the thick paper be balf dry, balf wet,
No fair impreffion on the sheet is fet.
Too oft the prefs-man tugs, be tugs in vain ;
The bar flies backward after every strain.
So when a man, to intereft inclin'd,
Would print wbig principles on tory mind:
He forth and backward moves, 'twixt fenfe and
nonsense,

And pulls, and bauls, and tugs in vain bis confcience.

The merrily be fings, be's oft ner dull;
Confcience flies back again at every pull:
His mind appears, could you within it look,
Like a blurr'd, blotted, and falfe-printed book.

An Hymn, composed by the late Rev.
Mr. George Gwyn, and often re-
peated by him in his laft Illness.
ON thee, each morning, O
my God,
My waking thoughts attend;
In whom are founded all my hopes,
And all my wishes end.
My foul, in pleafing wonder left,
Thy boundless love furveys;
And, fir'd with grateful zeal prepares
Her facrifice of praife.

Thou lead' ft me thro' the maze of Jeep,
And bring ft me fafe to light,
And with the fame paternal care,
Conduct my feps till night.
When ev'ning flumbers prefs my eyes,
With thy protection bleft,
In peace and Safety I commit
My weary'd limbs to reft.
My Spirit, in thy bands fecure,
Fears no approaching ill;
For, whether waking or asleep,

Thou, Lord, art with me Aill.
What fit return can I, weak flesh,
Make to almighty pow'r,
For fo much goodness, so much love,
Such mercies ev'ry hour!
I'll daily to th' aftonifh'd world
His wondrous acts proclaim;
While all with me fhall praifes fing,
With me fhall blefs bis name.
At morn, and noon, and night I'll fill
The growing work pursue;
And him alone will praife, to whom
Alone our praife is duc.

The two following tranflated from
Anacreon.

In Lyram.

ATridas geminos, Thebanaque dicere bella Me juvat, ac tenui magna movere lyra. Illa negat; fævofque duces, Martemq; fonantem Refpuit: & nervis unicus hæret amor. Mutavi nuper totam ; nova fila protervæ

Affixi; & penitus jam lyra facta nova est, Protinus Herculeos capi cantare labores,

Lernæamque hydram, Tartareumq; canem,
Illa procax contrà teneros ludebat amores;
Et dedit imbelles mollier aura modos.
Heroes valeant, & ferri diffonus horror:
Solus Amor noftræ dat fua jura lyræ.
The Lute.
ARMS and the bloody fields of Mars,

The Trojan and the Theban wars,
I fain would fing, with epic mufe;
But my untoward ftrings refufe:
The ftrings will not my theme approve,
They bave no funds for ought but love.
Thofe cross-grain'd things with eager beat
I broke and tun'd another fet ;
Chang'd ev'ry pin, peg, notch, and ferew,
Chang'd the whole lute.---Sure this must do.

Strait,

FOrtia belligerum defendunt cornua taurum;
Munit equi validos ungula dura pedes.
Exors pugnandi, præftat lepus alite curfu;
Armato fævis dentibus ore, leo.
Dar pinnas pifci natura, alafque volucri;

Queis fecat hæc auras, queis fecat ille lacus.
Dat fapere, alma, viris, & mentis dona; nec inde
Fœmineo generi quod tribuatur habet.[armis,
Quid datur ergo
iMi?-Pro telo, atq; omnibus
Pro galea, & jaculo, forma, decenfque nitor.
Formæ entes cedunt, rigidique potentia ferri,
Tortaque ab herois bellica flamma manu.

Women.

Ature has arm'd with borny force The sturdy bull, with boofs the borfe The lion with sharp teeth, and claws, Sinewy Strength, and knotty paws. Swift feet to bares fee gives, that flight May favour those who cannot fight. Fleetness of wings he gives to birds, And fins to fifbes the affords. Wisdom to man fhe bas affign'd, That bidden treasure of the mind: Wisdom on man fhe lawifh'd fo, Sb bad none on woman to bestow. What then bave gentle females shan'd? Beauty, the beft, the fafeft guard; To which the corflet, bilm, and shield, The pear, the fhaft, the jav'lin yield: Beauty, whofe charms refiftless prove; All fire is weak to that of love.

Ob! plant the muses in a kinder foil,
Then fhall another Otway grace our ifle;
Another Rowe in magic numbers charm,
Another Shakespear ev'ry bojom warm.
But if the're bani'd from their fav'rite'
feat,
This place, we find, affords a safe retreat ;
Here wit and beauty in alliance meet.

We frive to pleafe by old dramatick rules.
And leave the fing-fong to your modifh fools;
From plain good fenfe applause we seek alone,
Such fenfe as in a Seneca bad fhone,
And Sophocles without a blush might own.
So great our aim let criticks be appeas'd,
And own it is no fcandal to be pleas'd.

}

Ob! think what transports will our minds
employ,

Each bofom fwelling with excess of joy ;
If this poor faint attempt might hope to raife
Smiles from fuch beauty, from juch judgment
praife.

An EPILOGUE, spoken by a young
Lady in the Character of Lucilla.
PErbaps fome faring and unthinking fmart

May fay I act this night an humble part 3 An Abigail.-Troth 'tis exceeding low, Yet bave I known many a flaming beau, When all bis eloquence could not perfuade The haughty dame, contented with the maid. Perhaps I have a better reafon ftill, ye will laughwby you may laugh your fill. Yet it fhall out

But

-True in this well-bred

nation, Virtue's an aukward thing quite out of fashion: But rarely to be found in great mens boufes, Yet even these muft wifh it-in their spouses. Which of ye all, bad be a whim to wed, Wou'd call a frail Califta to his bed? And fince we virgins, who preferment wait, Are fond of title, equipage, and flate, 'Tis prudent to be good in order to be great.

Thus far you've learnt the fecrets of my heart, And why I act this low, tho' virtuous part: But fhou'd you ask if I'm fincere, or no ; -when the fatal knot is ty'd,

--

you'll

Try-
know,
But bold;falfe man is never to be truffed,
Without preliminaries firft adjusted.
Let the proud man who aims to win me, knav,
I bate a fool, a clown, a fot, a beau;
I loath a floven; I defpife a cit;
I fcorn a coxcomb, and I fear a wit.
Let him be very rich, and very kind:
Charm'd with my virtues, to my follies blind
Let him be gentle, brave, good-bumour'd, gay i
Let bim in fmaller things with pride obey;
Yet wife enough in great ones to command:
Produce me but the man and bere's my