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Yes, I can sagely, when the times are past, Let us into the field of bcauty ftart;
Laugh at those follies which I ftrove to taste, Beauty's a theme that ever warm'd my heart.
And each amusement, which we shar'd, review, Think not, ye fair, that I the sex accuse :
Pleas'd with mere talking, since I talk to you. How fall i spare you, prompted by the muse?
But how shall I describe in humble prose

(The muses all are prudes!) She rails, she frets,
Their balls, affemblies, operas, and beaux ? Amidst this sprightly nation of coquettes :
In prose! you cry: oh no, the muse mult aid, Yet let not us their loose coquetry blame;
And leave Parnassus for the Tuilleries' shade : Women of every nation are the same.
Shall he (who late Britannia's city trod,

You ask me, if Parisian dames, like ours, And led the draggled mure, with pattens thod, With rattling dice profanc the Sunday's hours; Through dirty lanes, and alleys' doubtful ways) If they the gamefter's pale-ey'd vigils keep, Refuse to write, when Paris asks his lays ! And take their honour while their husbands sleep?

Well then, I'll try. Descend, ye beauteous Nine, Yes, Sir; like English toasts, the dames of France In all the colours of the rainbow shine,

Will risk their income on a single chance. Let sparkling lars your neck and ear adorn, Nannette last night a tricking pharaon play'd, Lay on the blushes of the crimson morn; The cards the Taillier's Liding hand obey'd : So may ye balls and gay assemblies grace,

To-day her neck no brilliant circle wears, And at the opera claim the foremost place. Nor the ray-darting rendant loads her ears.

Travellers should ever fit expression choose, Why does old Chloris an assembly hold? Nor with low phrase the lofty theme abuse. Chloris each night divides the sharper's gold. When they describe the state of eastern lords, Corinna's cheek with frequent losses buros, Pomp and magnificence should swell their words; And no bold Trente le vs her fortune turns. And, when they paint the serpent's scaly pride, Ah, too rash virgin! where's thy virtue flown! Their lines Tould hiss, their pumbers smoothly She pawns her person for the sharper's loan. Dide;

Yet who with justice can their fair upbraid, But they, unmindful of poetic rules,

Whofe debes of honour are fo duly paid? Describe alike Mockaws and Great Moguls. But let me not forget the toilette's cares, Dampier would thus, without ill-meaning satire, Where art each morn the languid chcek repairs : Dress forth in simple style the Petit-maitre : This red's too pale, nor gives a distant grace ; « ln Paris there's a race of animals

Madame te-day puts on her opera face; " I've seen them at their operas and balls): From this we scarce extract the milk maid's bloom: “ They stand erect, they dance whene'er they walk. Bring the deep dye that warms across the room : " Monkeys in action, parroquets in talk; Now flames her cheek, so strong her charmsprevail, ** They're crown'd with feathers, like the cockatoo, That no her gown the filken rose looks pale! * And, like camelions, daily change their hue; Not but that France some native beauty boasts, " From patches juftly plac'd they borrow graces, Clermont and Charolois might grace our toalts. " And with vermilion lacquer o'er their faces. When the sweet breathing spring unfolds the buds, " This custom, as we visibly discern,

Love flies the dusty town for shady woods. " They, by frequenting ladies toilettes, learn." Then Tottenhamn-fields with roving beauty swarm, Thus might the traveller easy truth impart. And Hamstead balls the city virgin warm? loto the lubject let me nobly tart,

Then Chelsea's meads o'erhear perfidious vows, How happy lives the man, how sure to charm, And the prest grass defrauds the grazing cows. Whose knot embroider'd flutters down his arm ! 'Tis here the fame; but in a higher sphere, On him the ladies cast the yielding glance, For ev'n court-ladies sin in open air. Sigh in his songs, and languish in his dance : What cit with a gallant would erut his spouse While wretched is the wit, contemn'd, forlorn, Beneath the tempting shade of Greenwich boughs! Whose gummy hat no scarlet plumes adorn; What peer of France would let his duchess rove, No broider'd flowers his worlted ankle grace, Where Boulogne's clofelt woods invite to love ? Nor cane emboss'd with gold dire&ts his pace; But here no wife can blast her husband's fare, No lady's favour on his sword is hung;

Cuckold is grown an honourable name. What though Apollo dicare from his tongue, Stretch'd on the grass, the shepherd sighs. his His wit is spiritlers and void of grace,

pain; Who wants th' assurance of brocade and lace. And on the grass what shepherd fighs in vain ? While the gay fop genteelly talks of weather, On Chloe's lap here Damon laid along, The fair in raptures doat upon his feather ; Melts with the languish of her amorous fong; Like a court-lady though he write and spell, There Iris Alies Palæmon through the glade, His minuet-step was fashion'd by Marcello; Nor trips by chance till in the thickett fhade; He dresses, fences. What avails to know? Here Celimene defends her lips and breast, For women choose their men, like silks, for show. For kisses are by struggling closer prelt: Is this the thing, you cry, that Paris boats? Alexis there with eager fame grows bold, Is this the thing renown'd among our toasts ? Nor can the nynıph his wanton fingers hold: For fuch a fluttering fight we need not roam; Bc wife ; Alexis, what, so near the road! Our own assemblies Mine with these at home. Hark, a coach rolls, and husbands are abroad!

Such were our pleasures in the days of yore, • A famous dancingo majter,

When anorous Charles Britannia’s sceptre bore ;

The nightly scene of joy the Park was made, My jarring ear harlh gratiag murmurs wound, And Love in couples peopled every shade. Hoarse and confus'd, like Babel's mingled sound. But, fince at court the rural taste is loft,

Hard chance had plac'd me near a noily throat, What mighty sums have velvet couches cost! That in rough quivers bellow'd every note.

Sometimes the Tuilleries' gaudy walk I love, Pray, Sir, says I, suspend awhile your song ; Where I through crowds of rustling mantuas rove. The opera's drown'd; your lungs are wondrous As here from fide to side my eyes I calt,

strong; And gaz'd on all the glittering train that part, I wish to hear your Roland's ranting strain, Sudden a fop steps forth before the rest;

While he with rooted forelts (trows the plain, I knew the bold embroidery of his vest.

Sudden he shrugs surprise, and answers quick, He thus accosts me with familiar air,

“ Monsieur apparement n'aime pas la musique !" « Parbleu! on a fait cet habit en Angleterre! Then turning round, he join'd th' ungrateful noise; « Quelle manche! cegalon est grossiérement rangé; And the loud chorus thunder'd with his voice. « Voila quelque chose de fort beau et degagge!" O soothe me with some soft Italian air, This said: on his red heel he turns, and then Let harmony compose my tortur'd ear! Hums a soft minuet, and proceeds again :

When Anaftalia's voice commands the strain, « Well; now you've Paris seen, you'll frankly own The melting warble thrills through every vein ; “ Your boasted London seems a country town. Thought stands suspense, and silence pleas'dattends,

Has Christianity yet reach'd your nation? While in her notes the hcavenly choir descends. « Are churches built? Are masquerades in fashion ? But you'll imagine I'm a Frenchman grown, « Do daily foups your dinners introduce ? Pleas'd and content with nothing but my own, " Are music, snuff, and coaches, yet in use ?" So strongly with this prejudice pofseft, Pardon me, Sir; we know the Paris mode, He think French mulic and French painting best. And gather politese from courts abroad.

Mention the force of learn’d Corelli's notes, Like you, our courtiers keep a numerous train Some scraping fiddler of their ball he quotes; To load their coach, and tradesmen dun in vain. Talk of the spirit Raphael's pencil gives, Nor has religion left us in the lurch ;

Yet warm with life whose speaking picture lives; And, as in France, our vulgar crowd the church : Yes, Sir, says he, in colour and delign, Our ladies too support the masquerade ;

Rigaut and Raphael are extremely fine! The sex by nature love th' intriguing trade.

Tis true his country's love transports his breatt Straight the vain fop in ignorant raptures cries, With warmer zeal than your old Greeks profeft. « Paris the barbarous world will civilize!"

Ulyffes lov'd his Ithaca of yore, Pray, Sir, point out among the passing band Yet that sage traveller left his native shore. The present beauties who the town command. What stronger virtue in the Frenchman shines ! " See yonder dame; strict virtue chills her breast, He to dear Paris all his life confines. « Mark in her eye demure the prude profelt;

I'm not so fond. There are, I must confess, « That frozen bosom native fire must want,

Things which might make me love my country less. “ Which boasts of constancy to one gallant ! I Mould not think my Britain had such charms, “This next the spoils of filey lovers wears, If lost to learning, if enslav'd by arms. « Rich Dandin's brilliant favours grace her ears ; France has her Richlieus and her Colberts known; « The necklace Florio's generous flame beltow'd, And then, I grant it, France in science shone. “ Clitander's sparkling gemis her finger load; We too, I own, without such aids may chance " But now her charms grow cheap by constant use, In ignorance and pride to rival France. " She fins for scarfs, clock'd-Itockings, knots, and But let me not forget Corneille, Racine, (scene. “ fhocs.

Boileau's strong sense, and Moliere's humorous « This next, with sober gait and serious leer, Let Cambray's name be lung above the rest, “ Wearies her knees with morn and evening prayer; Whose maxims, Pulteney, warm thy patriot breast; « She scorns th'ignoble love of feeble pages, In Mentor's precepts wildom strong and clear “ But with three abbots in one night engages.

Dictates sublime, and diftant nacions hear. « This with the cardinal her night employs, Hear, all ye princes, who the world controul, « Where holy finews consecrate her joys.

What cares, what terrors, haunt the tyrant's soul; " Why have I promis'd things beyond my power? His constant train are, Anger, Fear, Distrut. " Five assignations wait me at this hour!

To be a king, is to be good and just; The sprightly countess first my visit claims, His people he protees, their rights he faves, “ To-morrow shall indulge inferior dames. And scorns to rule a wretched race of llaves. " Pardon me, Sir, that thus I take my leave; Happy, thrice happy, shall the monarch reign, Gay Florimella alily witch'd my sleeve." Where guardian laws despotic power restrain!

Adieu, Monsieur :--The opera hour draws near. There thall the ploughshare break the stubborn land, Not sec the opera ! all the world is there ; (Frauce And bending harvest are the peasant', hand : Where on the stage th' embroider'd youth of There Liberty her settled manfion boasts, Ia bright array attract the female glance : There Commerce plenty brings from foreign coasts. This languishes, this struts, to show his mien, O Britain : guard thy laws, thy rigbis defead: And not a gold clock'il stocking moves unseen. So shall these blessings to thy fons descend ! But hark! the full orchestra Itrike the strings; You'll think ’ristine some other theme to choose, The hçro ftruts, and the whole audience lipgs. And not with beaux and fops fatigue the muse :

Should I let satire loose on English ground, There on the walls let thy just labours shine, There fools of various character abound;

And Raphael live again in thy design. But here my verse is to one race confin'd,

Yet stay awhile; call all thy genius forth, Al Frenchmen are of petit-maitre kind.

For Burlington unbiass'd knows thy worth ;

His judgment in thy master strokes can trace EPISTLE IV.

Titian's strong fire, and Guido's softer grace.

But, oh, consider, ere thy works appear, To tbe Right Honourable Paul Methuen, Esq.

Carst thou unhurt the tongue of Envy hear? That 'tis encouragement makes science spread, Cenfure will blame ; her breath was ever spent is rarely practis'd, though 'tis often said.

To blast che laurels of the eminent. When learning droops and fickens in the land, While Burlington's proportion'd columns rise, What patron's found, to lend a saving hand ? Does not he stand the gaze of envious eyes ? True generous spirits prosperous vice detest, Doors, windows, are condemn'd by passing fools, And love to cherish virtue when distreit:

Who know not that they damn Palladio's rules.
But, ere our mighty lords this scheme pursue, If Chandos with a liberal hand bestow,
Our mighty lords must think and act like you. Censure imputes it all to pomp and show;

Why must we climb the Alpine mountain's sides, When, if the motive right were understood,
To find the seat where harniony resides?

His daily pleasure is in doing good. (page, Why touch we not so soft the silver lute,

Had Pope with groveling numbers fill'd his The cheerful hautboy, and the mellow flute? Dennis had never kindled into rage. '['is not th' Italian clime improves the found; 'Tis the sublime that hurts the critic's ease; But there the patrons of her sons are found. Write nonsense, and he reads and sleeps in peace.

Why flourish'd verse in great Auguftus' reign? Were Prior, Congreve, Swift, and Pope, unknown; He and Mäcenas lov'd the muse's strain.

Poor Nander selling Curll would be undone.
But now that wight in poverty niuft mourn He, who would free from malice pafs his days,
Who was (O cruel stars :) a poet born.

Muft live obscure, and never merit praise.
Yet there are ways for authors to be great; But let this tale to valiant virtue tell
Write rancorous libels to reform the state :

The daily perils of deserving well.
Or, if you choose more sure and ready ways, A crow was strutting o'er the stubbled plain,
Spatter a minister with fulsome praise :-

Just as a lark descending clos'd his strain. Launch out with freedom, flatter him enough; The crow bespoke him thus, with solemn grace ? Fear not-all men are dedication proof.

“ Thou most accomplish'd of the feather'd race ! Be bolder yet, you mult go farther till,

“ What force of lungs ! how clear: how sweet you Dip deep in gall thy mercenary quill. He, who his pen in party-quarrels draws, “ And no bird soars upon a stronger wing.". Lifts an hir'd bravo to support the canse ;

The lark, who scorn'd soft flattery, chus replies :
He mult indulge his patron's hate and spleen, " True, I sing sweet, and on strong pinion rise;
And ftab the fame of those he ne'er had seen. " Yet let me pass my life from envy free,
Why then should authors mourn their desperate For what advantage are these gifts to me?

“ My song confines me to the wiry cage,
Be brave, do this, and then demand a place. “My flight provokes the falcon's fatal rage.
Why are thou poor? Exert the gifts to rise, “ But, as you pass, I hear the fowler's say,
And banish timorous virtue from thy eyes. “ To shoot at crows is powder Aung away.”

All this seems modern preface, where we're told
That wit is prais’d, bue hungry lives and cold :

Against th' ungrateful age these authors roar,
And fancy learning starves because they're poor.

To ber Grace Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough, 1722.
Yet why should learning hope success at court ? Excuse me, madam, if amidst your tears
Why should our patriots virtue's cause support? A muse intrudes, a muse who feels your cares ;
Why to true merit should they have regard ? Numbers, like music, can ev’n grief controul,
They know that virtue is its own reward.

And lull to peace the tumults of the foul. Yet let not me of grievances complain,

If partners in our woes the mind relieve, Who (though the meanest of the muses' train) Consider for your loss ten thousand grieve; Can boast tubscriptions to my humble lays, Th' affli&ion burthens not your heart alonc; And mingle profit with my little praise.

When Marlborough died, a nation gave a groan. Ask Painting, why she loves Hesperian air ? Could I recite the dangerous toils he chose, Go view, she cries, my glorious labours there; To bless his country with a fix'd repose ; There in rich palaces I reign in state,

Could I recount the labours he o'ercame, And on the temples lofty domes create.

To raise his country to the pitch of fame; The noble view my works with knowing eyes, His councils, fieges, his victorious fights, They love the science, and the painter prize. l'olave his country's laws and native rights;

Why didtt thou, Kent, forego thy native land, No father (every generous heart must own)
To emulate in picture Raphael's hand ?

Has stronger fondness to his darling shown.
Think'st thou for this to raise thy name at home? Britannia's sighs a double lors deplore,
Go back, adorn the palaces of Rome;

Her father and her hero is no more.




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Does Britain only pay her debt of tears?

Yes. Holland fighs, and for her freedom fears.
When Gallia's monarch pour'd his wasteful bands, To Mr. Pope, on bis having finisked bis Tranjiation of
Like a wide deluge, o'er her level lands,

Homer's Iliad.
She saw her frontier towers in ruin lie,
Ev'n Liberty had prun'd her wings to fly:
Then Marlborough came, defeated Gallia fled;
And shatter'd Belgia rais'd her languid head; Long halt thou, friend! been absent from my foit,
In him fecure, as in her (trongest mound

Like patient Ithacus at siege of Troy;
That keeps the raging sea within its bound. I have been witness of thy six years toil,

O Germany! remember Hockstet's plain, Thy daily labours, and thy night's annoy, Where proftrate Gallia bled at every vein : Lolt to thy native land, with great turmoil, Think on the rescue of tl' imperial throne,

On the wide sea, oft threatening to destroy: Then think of Marlborough's death without a Methinks with thee I've trod Sigæan ground, groan:

And heard the shores of Hellespont resound. Apollo kindly whispers me: “ Be wise : # How to his glory shall thy numbers rise ? Did I not see thee when thou first fett's fail * The force of verse another theme might raise, To seek adventures fair in Homer's land? * But here the merit must transcend the praise. Did I not see ihy sinking fpirits fail, « Hast thou, presumptuous bard! that godlike And with thy bark had never left the strand ? *** flame

Evin in mid occan often didst thou quail, # Which with the sun shall last, and Marlborough's And ost lift up thy holy eye and hand, “ fame?

Praying the virgin depr, and saintly choir, Then ling the man. But who

can boast this fire? Back to the pore to bring thy bark entire. 6 Resign the task, and silently admire.”

Yer shall he not in worthy laỹs be read? Cheer up, my friend! thy dangers now are o'er; Raise Homer, call up Virgil from the dead. Methinks—nay, sure the rising coasts appear; But he requires not thc trong glare of verse : Hark! how the guns salute from either shore, Let punctual history his deeds rehearse ;

As thy trim vessel cuts the Thames so fair : Let truth in native purity appear,

Shouts answering shouts from Kent and Effex roar, You'll find Achilles and Æneas there.

And bells break loud through every gult of air : Is this the comfort which the mure belows?

Bonfires do blaze, and bones and cleavers ring,
I but indulge and aggravate your woes.

As at the coming of some mighty king.
A prudent friend, who seeks to give relief,
Ne'er touches on the spring that mov'd the grief. Now pass we Gravesend with a friendly wind,
Is it not barbarous, to the lighing maid

And Tilbury's white fort, and long Blackwall;
'To mention broken Vows and nymphs betray'd ? Greenwich, where dwells the friend of human
Would you the ruin'd merchant's soul appeare,

With talk of sands, and rocks, and stormy seas? More visited than or her park or hall,
Ev’n while I strive on Marlborough's fame to rise, Withers the good, and (with him ever join'd)
I call up forrow in a daughter's eyes.

Facetious Disney, greet thee first of all :
Think on the laurels that his temple's shade, I see his chimney smoke, and hear him say,
Laurels that (spite of time) Mall never fade. Duke* ! that's the room for Pope, and that for
Immortal honour has enroll's his name;

Detraction's dumb, and Envy put to shame.
Say, who can sear beyond his eagle flight; Come in, my friends! here shall ye dine and lie,
Has he not reach'd to glory's utmost height. ? And here all breakfast, and here dine again ;
What could he more, had Heav'n prolong'd his And sup and breakfast on (if ye comply),

For i have fill fome dozens of champaign :
All human power is limited by fate.

His voice still lessens as the ship fails by; Forbear. "Tis cruel further to commend; He waves his hand to bring us back in vain; I wake your forrow, and again offend.

For now I see, I fee proud London's (pires; Yet sure your goodness must forgive a crime, Greenwich is lost, and Deptford dock retires. Which will be spread through every age and clime; Though in your life ten thousand summers roll, Oh, what a concourse swarms on yonder quay ! And though you compass earth from pole to pole, The sky re-echoes with new shouts of joy; Where'er men talk of war and martial fame, By all this thow, I ween, 'tis Lord Mayor's day: They'll mention Marlborough's and Cæsar's name. I hear the voice of trumpet and hautboy:

But vain are all the counsels of the muse; No, now I see them near.--Oh, these are they A foul like yours could not a tear refuse :

Who come in crowds to welcome chce from Could you your birth and filial love forego,

Troy. Still fighs must rise, and generous sorrow flow; Hail to the bard, whoni long as loft we mourn'ds Por, when from earth such matchless worth re- from liege, from battle, and from storm, return'd!

moves, A great mind suffers. Virtue virtue loves.

* He was usually calledDuke Difrey.".

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Thou too, my Swift, doft breathe Baotian air;
Of goodly dames, and courteous knights, 1 view When wilt thou bring back wit and humour here?

The silken petticoat, and brojder'd veft ;
Yea peers, and mighty dukes, with ribbands blue Harcourt I see, for eloquence renown'd,

(True blue, fair coblem of unktained breast). The mouth of justice, oracle of law ! Others I see, as poble, and more true,

Another Simon is beside him found, -
By no court-badge distinguish'd from the rest : Another Simon, like as straw to straw.
Firft see I Methuen, of fincereit mind,

How Lansdown smiles, with lasting laurel crown'd! As Arthur grave, as soft as womankind.

What micred prelate there caminands our awe?

See Rochester approving nods his head, What lady's that, to whom he gently bends ? And ranks one modern with the mighty. dead. Who knows not her? ah! those are Wortley's eyes :

Carleton and Chandos thy arrival grace;
Howart thou honour'd, number'd with her friends! Hanmer, whose eloquence th’unbiass'd sways;

For the distinguishes the good and wise. Harley, whose goodness opens in his face,
The sweet-tongu'd Murray near her side attends ; And shows his heart the seat where virtue stays.

Now to my heart the glance of Howard flies; Ned Blount advances next, with buiy pace,
Now Harvey, fair of face, I mark full well,

In hafte, but fauntering, hearty in his ways : With thee, youth's youngest daughter, sweet Le I see the friendly Carylls come by dozens, (cousins. pell.

Their wives, their uncles, daughters, fons, and

I see two lovely sisters, hand in hand,

Arbuthnot there I see, in physic's art,
The fair-kair'd Martha, and Teresa brownı ; As Galen learn'd, or famed Hippocrate;
Madge Bellenden, the callest of the land;

Whose company drives forrow from the heart, And smiling Mary, soft and fair as down.

As all disease his medicines dissipate :
Yonder I see the cheerful duchess stand, [known : Kneller amid the triumph bears his part,

For friendship, Zeal, and blithesume humours Who could (were mankind loft) anew create :
Whence that loud shout in such a hearty ftrain ? What can ch' extent of his vaft foul contine?
Why, all the Hamiltons are in her train.

A painter, critic, engineer, divine!
See next the decent Scudamore advance,

Thee Jervas hails, robust and debonair, [cries: With Winch elsea, still meditating long :

Now have (we] conquer'd Homer, friends, he With her perhaps Miss Howe came there by chance, Darteneuf, grave joker, joyous Ford is there,

Nor knows with whom, or why she comes along. Aud wondering Maine, so far with laughing Far off from these see Santlow, fam'd for dance;

eyes, And frolic Bicknell, and her sister young; (Gay, Maine, and Cheney, boon companions dear, With other names, by me not to be nam'd,

Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of lize) Much lov'd in private, not in public fam'd! Yea Dennis, Gildon (hearing thou hast riches),

And honett, hatless Cromwell, with red breeches, But now behold the female band retire,

And the thrill music of their voice is still'd! Wanley, whence com'lt thou with shorten'd hair, Methinks I see fam'd Buckingham admire,

And visage from thy shelves with duit befprent; Thae in Troy's ruin thou hadīt noc been kill'd; " Forsooth (quoth he) from placing Homer there, Sheffield, who knows to strike the living lyre “ For ancients to compyle is myne entente :

With hand judicious, like thy Homer ikillid, “ Of ancients only hach Lord Harley care; Bathurst impetuous haltens to the coast,

" But hither me hath my meekle lady sent:Whoni you and I strive who ihall love the most. “ In manuscript of Greeke rede we thilke same,

" But book yprint belt plesyth myn gude dame.". See generous Burlington, with goodly Bruce

(But Bruce comes wafted in a fufc sedan ;) Yonder I see, among th' expecting crowd, Dan Prior next, belov'd by every Muse;

Evans with laugh jocose, and tragic Young ; And friendly Congreve, unreproachful man! High- buskin's Booch, grave Mawbert, wandering (Oxford by Cunningham hath sent excuse ;)

Frowde, See hearty Watkins comes with cup and can ; And Titcomb's belly waddles Now along. And Lewis, who has never friend forsaken; See Digby faints at Southerne talking loud, And Laughton whispering alks—Is Troy town Yea Steele and Tickell mingle in the throng: taken?

Tickell, whose skiff (in partnership they say) XIII.

Set forth for Greece, but founder'd in the way. Earl Warwick comes, of free and honest mind ; Bold, generous Craggs, whose heart was ne'er Lo, the two Doncastles in Berkshire known ! disguis'd :

Lo Bickford, Fortescue, of Devon land! Áh why, [weet St. John, cannot I thee find! Lo Tooker, Eckershall, Sykes, Rawlinfon! St. John, for every social virtue priz'd.

See hearty Morley takes thee by the hand; Alas .co foreign climates he's confin'd,

Ayrs, Graham, Buckridge, joy thy voyage done; Or else to fee thee here I well furmis'd :

But who can count the leaves, the Itars, the land? VOL, VIII,



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