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WRITTEN

IN A WINDOW AT GREENHITHE.

GREAT President of light, and Fye of day,
As through this glass you cast your visual ray,
And view with nuptial joys two brothers blest,
And see us celebrate the genial feast,

Confess, that in your progress round the sphere, You've found the happiest youths and brightest beauties here.

THE TOASTERS.

WHILE circling healths inspire your sprightly wit,
And on each glass some beauty's praise is writ,
You ask, my friends, how can my silent Muse
To Montague's soft name a verse refuse?
Bright though she be, of race victorious sprung,
By wits ador'd, and by court-poets sung;
Unmov'd I hear her person call'd divine,
I see her features uninspiring shine;
A softer fair my soul to transport warms,
And, she once nam'd, no other nymph has charms.

TOFTS AND MARGARETTA. Music has learn'd the discords of the state, And concerts jar with Whig and Tory hate. Here Somerset and Devonshire attend The British Tofts, and every note commend; To native Merit just, and pleas'd to see We've Roman arts, from Roman bondage free: There fam'd L'Epine does equal skill employ, While listening peers crowd to th' ecstatic joy: Bedford, to hear her song, his dice forsakes, And Nottingham is raptur'd when she shakes: Lull'd statesmen melt away their drowsy cares Of England's safety, in Italian airs.

Who would not send each year blank passes o'er, Rather than keep such strangers from our shore?

THE WANDERING BEAUTY.
THE Graces and the wandering Loves
Are fled to distant plains,

To chase the fawns, or, deep in groves,
To wound adiniring swains.

With their bright mistress there they stray,

Who turns her careless eyes

From daily triumphs; yet, each day,
Beholds new triumphs in her way,
And conquers while she flies.

But see! implor'd by moving prayers,
To change the lover's pain,

Venus her harness'd doves prepares,
And brings the fair again.

Proud mortals, who this maid pursue,
Think you she'll e'er resign?
Cease, fools, your wishes to renew,
Till she grows flesh and blood like you,
Or you, like her, divine -

DIALOGUE DE L'AMOUR ET DU POETE.
Le P. Amour, je ne veux plus aimer;
J'abjure à jamais ton empire:
Mon cœur, lassé de son martire,
A résolu de se calmer.

L'AM. Contre moi, qui peut t' animer?
Iris dans ses bras te rapelle.

LE P. Non, Iris est une infidelle;

Amour, je ne veux plus aimer. L'AM. Pour toi, j'ai pris soin d'enflamer Le cœur d'une beauté nouvelle; Daphne.

-LE P. Non, Daphné n'est que belle;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.
L'AM. D'un soupir, tu peux désarmer
Dircé, jusqu'ici si sauvage.
LE P. Elle n'est plus dans le bel age;
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.
L'AM. Mais si je t'aidois à charmer

La jeune, la brillante Flore.-
Tu rougis-vas-tu dire encore,
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.
LE P. Non, dieu charmant, daigne former
Pour nous une chaine eternelle;
Mais pour tout ce qui n'est point elle,
Amour, je ne veux plus aimer.

DIALOGUE FROM THE FRENCH
OF MONSIEUR DE LA MOTTE.

POET. No, Love-I ne'er will love again;
Thy tyrant empire I abjure:

My weary heart resolves to cure

Its wounds, and ease the raging pain. LOVE. Fool! canst thou fly my happy reign? Iris recals thee to her arms. POET. She's false-I hate her perjur'd charms; No, Love-1 ne'er will love again.

LOVE. But know, for thee I've tail'd to gain

Daphné, the bright, the reigning toast. POET. Daphné but common eyes can boast;

No, Love-I ne'er will love again.
LOVE. She who before scorn'd every swain,
Dircé, shall for one sigh be thine.
POET. Age makes her rays too faintly shine;
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.
LOVE. But should I give thee charms t'obtain
Flora, the young, the bright, the gay!
I see thee blush-now, rebel, say,
No, Love-I ne'er will love again.

POET. No, charming god, prepare a chain
Eternal for that fair and me!

Yet still know every fair but she,
I've vow'd I ne'er will love again,

VENUS AND ADONIS

A CANTATA.

SET BY MR. HANDEL.

RECITATIVE.

BUHOLD where weeping Venus stands !
What more than mortal grief can move
The bright, th' immortal queen of love?
She beats her breast, she wrings her hands;

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Thus, queen of beauty, as the poets feign, While thou didst call the lovely swain; Transform'd by heavenly power,

The lovely swain arose a flower,

And, smiling, grac'd the plain.

And now he blooms, and now he fades;

Venus and gloomy Proserpine

Alternate claim his charms divine;

RECITATIVE.

Ah, foolish Strephon! change thy strain;
The lovely scene false joy inspires:
For look, thou fond, deluded swain,

A rising storm invades the main!
The planet of the night,
Inconstant, from thy sight
Behind a cloud retires.

Flora is fled; thou lov'st in vain:
Ah, foolish Strephon! change thy strain.

AIR.

Hope beguiling,

Like the Moon and Ocean smiling,
Does thy easy faith betray;
Flora ranging,

Like the Moon and Ocean changing,
More inconstant proves than they,

BEAUTY,

AN ODE.

FAIR rival to the god of day,

By turns restor'd to light, by turns he seeks the Beauty, to thy celestial ray

shades.

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A thousand sprightly fruits we owe;
Gay wit, and moving eloquence,
And every art t' improve the sense,
And every grace that shines below.
Not Phœbus does our songs inspire,
Nor did Cyllenius form the lyre,
'Tis thou art music's living spring;
To thee the poet tunes his lays,
And, sweetly warbling Beauty's praise,
Describes the power that makes him sing.
Painters from thee their skill derive,
By thee their works to ages live,
For ev'n thy shadows give surprise,
As when we view in crystal streams
The morning Sun, and rising beams,
That seem to shoot from other skies.
Enchanting vision! who can be
Unmov'd that turns his eyes on thee?
Yet brighter still thy glories shine,
And double charms thy power improve,
When Beauty, dress'd in smiles of Love,
Grows, like its parent Heaven, divine!

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Just so, my heart-But see-Ah no! She smiles-I will not, cannot go,

AIR.

Love and the Graces smiling, In Myra's eyes beguiling,

Again their charms recover, Would you secure your duty, Let kindness aid your beauty, Ye fair, to sooth the lover,

ALEXANDER'S FEAST;

OR,

THE POWER OF MUSIC:

AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY,
BY MR. DRYDEN.

ALTERED FOR MUSIC BY MR. HUGHES,
RECITATIVE,

"Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won
By Phillip's warlike son;
Aloft in awful state,
The godlike hero sate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound,

AIR.

Lovely Thais by his side

Blooming sat in beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair!

RECITATIVE.

Timotheus plac'd on high,
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre;
Trembling the notes ascend the sky,

And heavenly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above;
(Such is the power of mighty Love!)
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god;
Sublime on radiant spires he rode,
When he to fair Olympia press'd,
And while he sought her snowy breast;
Then round her slender waist he curl'd,

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world.

The listening crowd adore the lofty sound,
A present deity, they shout around:

A present deity, the echoing roofs rebound;

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With downcast looks the joyless victor sate
Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of chance below;
And, now and then, a sigh he stole,
And tears began to flow,
The mighty master smil'd to see
That Love was in the next degree,
'Twas but a kindred sound to move,
For Pity melts the mind to Love,
Softly sweet in Lydian measures,
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.

AIR. WITH FLUTES,
War is toil and trouble,
Honour is an airy bubble,
Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying,
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O think it, worth enjoying;
Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide thee,

RECITATIVE.

The prince unable to conceal his pain,
Gaz'd on the fair,

Who caus'd his care,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

At length, with Love and Wine at once oppress'd,
The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

DUETTO.

1. Phoebus, patron of the lyre, 2. Cupid, god of soft desire, 1. Cupid, god of soft desire,

2. Phoebus, patron of the lyre,

1, and 2. How victorious are your charms! 1. Crown'd with conquest, 2. Full of glory,

1, and 2. See a monarch fall'n before ye, Chain'd in Beauty's clasping arms!

RECITATIVE.

Now strike the golden lyre again;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain:
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
Rouze him, like a rattling peal of thunder,
Hark, hark, the horrid sound

Has rais'd up his head,
As awak'd from the dead,
And amaz'd he stares around!

AIR. WITH SYMPHONIES.

Revenge, revenge, Alecto cries,
See, the Furies arise!

See the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in their hair,

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

RECITATIVE.

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

And thy bright eye is brighter far
Than any planet, any star.
Thy sordid way of life despise,
Above thy slavery, Silvia, rise;
Display thy beauteous form and mien,
And grow a goddess, or a queen.

CONSTANTIA, see, thy faithful slave
Dies of the wound thy beauty gave!
Ah! gentle nymph, no longer try
From fond pursuing Love to fly.
Thy pity to my love impart,
Pity my bleeding aching heart,
Regard my sighs and flowing tears,
And with a smile remove my fears,

A wedded wife if thou would'st be,
By sacred Hymen join'd to me,
Ere yet the western Sun decline,

My hand and heart shall both be thine,

THRICE lov'd Constantia, heavenly fair, For thee a servant's form I wear;

Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain,Though blest with wealth, and nobly born,

And unbury'd remain,

Inglorious on the plain.

Give the vengeance due

To the valiant crew.

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For thee, both wealth and birth I scorn: Trust me, fair maid, my constant flame For ever will remain the same;

My love, that ne'er will cease, my love Shall equal to thy beauty prove.

TRANSLATED

FROM PERSIAN VERSES.

ALLUDING TO THE CUSTOM OF WOMEN BEING BURIED WITH THEIR HUSBANDS, AND MEN WITH THEIR WIVES.

ETERNAL are the chains which here

The generous souls of lovers bind, When Hymen joins our hands, we swear To be for ever true and kind;

And when, by Death, the fair are snatch'd away,
Lest we our solemn vows should break,

In the same grave our living corpse we lay,
And willing the same fate partake,

ANOTHER,

My dearest spouse, that thou and I

May shun the fear which first shall die, Clasp'd in each other's arms we'll live,

Alike consum'd in Love's soft fire,
That neither may at last survive,
But gentle both at once expire.

SONGS,

THY origin's divine, I see,

Of mortal race thou canst not be;
Thy lip a ruby lustre shows;

Thy purple cheek outshines the rose,

ON ARQUE NASSA OF COLOPHOS.

ARQUEANASSA'S charms inspire
Within my breast a lover's fire;
Age, its feeble spite displaying,
Vainly wrinkles all her face,
Cupids, in each wrinkle playing,
Charm my eyes with lasting grace:

But before old Time pursued her,
Ere he sunk these little caves,
How I pity those who view'd her,
And in youth were made her slaves!

ON FULVIA, THE WIFE OF ANTIIONY.

FROM THE LATIN OF AUGUSTUS CÆSAR.

WHILE from his consort false Antonius flics,
And doats on Glaphyra's far brighter eyes,
Fulvia, provok'd, her female arts prepares,
Reprisals seeks, and spreads for me her snares.
"The husband's false."-But why must I endure
This nauseous plague, and her revenge procure?
What though she ask?-How happy were my doom,
Should all the discontented wives of Rome
Repair in crowds to me, when scorn'd at home!

'Tis war," she says "if I refuse her charms :" Let's think she's ugly.-Trumpets,sound to arms!

HUDIBRAS IMITATED.

WRITTEN IN 1710.

O BLESSED time of reformation,
That's now beginning through the nation!
The Jacks bawl loud for church triumphant,
And swear all Whigs shall kiss the rump on't.
See how they draw the beastly rabble

With zeal and noises formidable,
And make all cries about the town
Join notes to roar fanatics down!
As bigots give the sign about,

They stretch their throats with hideous shout.
Black tinkers bawl aloud" to settle
"Church privilege"-for " mending kettle."
Each sow-gelder that blows his horn,
Cries out" to have dissenters sworn."
The oyster-wenches lock their fish up,
And cry 66
no presbyterian bishop!"

The mouse-trap men lay save-alls by,
And 'gainst "low-church men" loudly cry;
A creature of amphibious nature,
That trims betwixt the land and water,
And leaves his mother in the lurch,

To side with rebels 'gainst the church!
Some cry for "penal laws," instead
Of" pudding-pies, and gingerbread :"

And some, for " brooms, old boots, and shoes,"
Roar out,
"God bless our commons' house!"
Some bawl" the votes" about the town,
And wish they'd "vote dissenters down."
Instead of " kitchen-stuff," some cry,
"Confound the late whig-ministry!"
And some, for" any chairs to mend,"
The commons' late address co ́nmend.
Some for "old gowns for china ware,"
Exclaim against 66 extempore prayer:"
And some for "old suits, cloaks, or coats,"
Cry, "D-n your preachers without notes!"
He that cries" coney skins, or onions,"
Blames" toleration of opinions,"
Blue-apron whores, that sit with furmety,
Rail at "occasional conformity."
Instead of "cucumbers to pickle,"
66 no conventicle!"

Some cry aloud,

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THAT the praises of the Author of Nature, which is the fittest subject for the sublime way of writing, was the most ancient use of poetry, cannot be learned from a more proper instance (next to examples of holy writ) than from the Greek fragments of Orpheus; a relique of great antiquity: they contain several verses concerning God, and his making and governing the universe; which, though imperfect, have many noble hints and lofty expressions. Yet, whether these verses were indeed written by that celebrated father of poetry and music, who preceded Homer, or by Onomacritus, who lived about the time of Pisistratus, and only contain some of the doctrines of Orpheus, is a question of little use or importance.

A large paraphrase of these in French verse has been prefixed to the translation of Phocylides, but in a flat style, much inferior to the design. The following ode, with many alterations and additions proper to a modern poem, is attempted upon the same model, in a language which, having stronger sinews than the French, is, by the confession of their best critic, Rapin, more capable of sustaining great subjects.

AN

ODE TO THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD. O MUSE unfeign'd! O true celestial fire,

Brighter than that which rules the day, Descend! a mortal tongue inspire

To sing some great immortal lay!

Begin, and strike aloud the consecrated lyre!
Hence, ye profane! be far away!

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