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Draw tuns unmeasurable; while thy favour
Administers to my ambitious thirst

The wholesome draught from Aganippe's spring
Genuine; and with soft murmurs gently rilling
Adown the mountains where thy daughters haunt.

CHARITY.

A PARAPHRASE ON THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER OF THE
FIRST EPISTLE TO THE CORINTHIANS.

DID sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,
Than ever man pronounced, or angels sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or science can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth,
In all the speeches of the babbling earth;
Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,
To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;
Or had I faith like that which Israel saw
When Moses gave them Miracles and Law:
Yet gracious Charity, indulgent guest,
Were not thy power exerted in my breast,
Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer;
That scorn of life would be but wild despair;
A timbrel's sound were better than my voice,
My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;
Knows with just reins, and gentle hand to guide,
Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provoked, she easily forgives;
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft

peace she brings, wherever she arrives; She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;

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Lays the rough paths of peevish Nature even,
And opens in each heart a little Heaven.

Each other gift, which God on man bestows,
Its proper bound, and due restriction knows;
To one fixed purpose dedicates its power,
And, finishing its act, exists no more.
Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting Charity's more ample sway,

Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,

In happy triumph shall for ever live,

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass

Our eye observes the distant planets pass;
A little we discover; but allow,

That more remains unseen, than art can show:
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,
(Its feeble eye intent on things above)

High as we may, we lift our reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirmed by Hope:
Yet are we able only to survey

Dawnings of beams, and promises of day.
Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.

But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispelled;
The sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.

Then constant faith, and holy hope shall die,
One lost in certainty, and one in joy;
Whilst thou, more happy power, fair Charity,
Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,
Thy office, and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,

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Shalt still survive▬▬▬

Shalt stand before the host of Heaven confessed,
For ever blessing, and for ever blessed.

ENGRAVEN ON A COLUMN

IN THE CHURCH OF HALSTEAD IN ESSEX.1
1 VIEW not this spire by measure given
To buildings raised by common hands:
That fabric rises high as Heaven,

Whose basis on devotion stands.

2 While yet we draw this vital breath, We can our faith and hope declare; But Charity beyond our death

Will ever in our works appear.

3 Best be he called among good men,
Who to his God this column raised:
Though lightning strike the dome again,
The man who built it shall be praised.

4 Yet spires and towers in dust shall lie,
The efforts weak of human pains;
And faith and hope themselves shall die;
While deathless charity remains.

WRITTEN IN MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS,

GIVEN TO THE DUKE OF SHREWSBURY IN FRANCE,
AFTER THE PEACE, MDCCXIII.

1 DICTATE, O mighty judge, what thou hast seen
Of cities, and of courts, of books, and men;
And deign to let thy servant hold the pen.
1 The spire of this church was burned down by lightning.

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2 Through ages thus I may presume to live,
And from the transcript of thy prose receive
What my own short-lived verse can never give.

3 Thus shall fair Britain with a gracious smile Accept the work; and the instructed isle, For more than treaties made, shall bless my toil.

4 Nor longer hence the Gallic style preferred, Wisdom in English idiom shall be heard, While Talbot tells the world, where Montaigne erred.

AN EPISTLE,

DESIRING THE QUEEN'S PICTURE.

WRITTEN AT PARIS, MDCCXIV, BUT LEFT UNFINISHED ON THE
SUDDEN NEWS OF HER MAJESTY'S DEATH.

THE train of equipage and pomp of state,
The shining sideboard, and the burnished plate,
Let other ministers, great Anne, require,
And partial fall thy gift to their desire.
To the fair portrait of my sovereign dame,
To that alone eternal be my claim.

My bright defender, and my dread delight,
If ever I found favour in thy sight;
If all the pains that for thy Britain's sake
My past has took, or future life may take,
Be grateful to my Queen, permit my prayer,
And with this gift reward my total care.

Will thy indulgent hand, fair saint, allow
The boon? and will thy ear accept the vow?
That in despite of age, of impious flame,
And eating Time, thy picture like thy fame
Entire may last; that as their eyes survey
The semblant shade, men yet unborn may say,

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Thus great, thus gracious looked Britannia's queen ;
Her brow thus smooth, her look was thus serene; 20
When to a low, but to a loyal hand

The mighty empress gave her high command,
That he to hostile camps and kings should haste,
To speak her vengeance, as their danger, passed;
To say, she wills detested wars to cease:
She checks her conquest, for her subjects' ease,
And bids the world attend her terms of peace.
Thee, gracious Anne, thee present I adore,
Thee, queen of peace;-If time and fate have
Higher to raise the glories of thy reign,
In words sublimer, and a nobler strain,
May future bards the mighty theme rehearse,
Here, Stator Jove, and Phoebus king of verse,
The votive tablet I suspend * * *****

power

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ALMA; OR, THE PROGRESS OF THE MIND.

IN THREE CANTOS.

Πάντα γέλως, καὶ πάντα κόνις, καὶ πάντα τὸ μηθέν·

Πάντα γὰρ ἱξ ἀλόγων εστὶ τὰ γιγνόμενα.

CANTO I.

Incert. ap. Stobæum.

MATTHEW met Richard,' when or where
From story is not mighty clear;
Of many knotty points they spoke,
And pro and con by turns they took.
Rats half the manuscript have eat;
Dire hunger! which we still regret.
O! may they ne'er again digest
The horrors of so sad a feast!

1 The poet and his friend Mr Skelton.

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