The thepherd that lov'd her is gone; "That face and thofe eyes charm no mere ; "And Lucy forgot, and alone,

To death fhall her COLIN deplore."

While thus the lay funk in defpair,
And mourn'd to the echoes around,
Inflam'd all at once grew the air,

And thunder fhook dreadful the ground.
"I hear the kind call, and obey,
"Oh, COLIN receive me,"
"The cried,
Then breathing a groan o'er his clay,
She hung on his tomb-ftone, and died.

D

EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

O, ftudy more-difcard that Siren, Eafe, Whofe fatal charms are murd'rous while "they please.

Wit's fcanty ftreams will fret their channel dry, If Learning's fpring withhold the fresh fupply. Turn leaf by leaf gigantick volumes o'er, Nor blush to know what ancients wrote before. Why not, fometimes, regale admiring friends With Greek and Latin sprinklings, odds and ends? << Exert your talents; read, and read to write!

As Horace fays, mix profit with delight."

"Tis rare advice: but I am flow to mend,
Though ever thankful to my partial friend :
Full of strange fears-for hopes are banish'd all-
I lift' no more to Phobus' facred call,

Smit with the Mufe, 'tis true, I fought her charms;
But came no champion, clad in cumb'rous arms,
To pull each rival monarch from his throne,
And fwear no lady Clio like my own.
All unambitious of fuperior praise,

My fond amufement afk'd a sprig of bays,

Some little fame for ftringing harmless verfe,
And e'en that little fame has prov'd a curfe';
Hitch'd into rhime, and dragg'd through muddy
profe,

By butcher criticks, worth's confed'rate foes.

If then the Mufe no more fhall ftrive to please,
Lull'd in the happy lethargy of cafe;
If, unadvent'rous, the forbear to fing,
Nor take one thought to plume her ruled wing;
'Tis that the hates, howe'er by nature vain,
The fcurril nonfenfe of a venal train.
When defp'rate robbers, iffuing from the wafte,
Make fuch rude inroads on the land of tafte,
Genius grows fick beneath the Gothic rage,
Or feeks her laurels from fome worthier age.

As for Myfelf, I own the prefent charge; Lazy and lounging, I confefs at large : Yet Eafe, perhaps, may lofe her filken chains, And the next hour become an hour of pains. We write, we read, we act, we think, by fits, And follow all thirg's as the humour hits; For of all pleafures, which the world can bring, Variety-O! dear variety's the thing!

Our learned Coke, from whom we fcribblers draw All the wife Di&tums of poetic law,

However great my thirst of honest fame,

I bow with rev'rence to each letter'd name;
To worth, where'er it be, with joy fubmit,
But own no curft monopolies of wit.

Nor think, my friend, if I but rarely quote,
And little reading fhines through what I've wrote
That I bid peace to ev'ry learned shelf;
Because I dare form judgments for myself.
-Oh! were it mine, with happy skill to look
Up to the ONE, the UNIVERSAL BOOK!
Open to all-to him, to me, to you,
-For NATURE's open to the general view-
Then would 1 fcorn the ancients' vaunted ftore,
And boaft my thefts, where they but robb'd before."

Mean while with them, while Græcian founds
impart

Th' eternal paffions of the human heart,
Bursting the bonds of ease and lazy reft,
I feel the flame mount active in my breast;
Or when, with joy, I turn the Roman page,
Till fome dull Bavius' or a Mævius' name,
I live, in fancy, in th' AUGUSTAN age!
Dame'd by the Musz to everlasting fame,
Forbids the mind in foreign climes to roam,
And brings me back to our old fools at home.

SONG S

IN

THE CAPRICIOUS LOVERS

AIR I.

HILE the cool and gentle breeze

AIR II.

the trees,

When I look on my boys
They renew all my joys,
Myfelf in my children I fee;

While the comforts I find
In the kingdom my mind,
Pronounce that my kingdom is free.

In the days I was young,
Oh! I caper'd and fung,
The laffes came flocking apace;
But now turn'd of three score
I can do fo no more,

-Why then let my boy take my place.

Of our pleasures we crack,
For we still love the smack,
And chuckle o'er what we have been ;

Yet why should we repine,
You've had yours, I've had mine,
And now let our children begin.

When eve embrowns the verdant grove
And Philomel laments her love,
Each figh I breathe, my love reveals,
And tells the pangs my bofom feels.
With fecret pleasure I furvey
The frolic birds in amorous play,
While fondeft cares my heart employ,
Which flutters, leaps, and beats for joy.

ES that's

YE

A IR VI.

a magazine of arms

To triumph over time;

Whence beauty borrows half her charms,
And always keeps her prime.

At that the prude, coquette, and faint,
Induftrious fets her face,

While powder, patch, and wash, and paint,
Repair or give a grace.

To arch the brow there lies the brush,
The comb to tinge the hair,

The Spanish wool to give the blufh,
The pearl to die them fair.

Hence rife the wrinkled, old, and grey,
In freshest beauty strong,

As Venus fair, as Flora gay,

As Hebe ever young.

They both take their airings alone.

AIR IV.

To fhare thy board, and deck thy cot, With joy I fly the simple youth

Who holds me light, or doubts my truth.
Thy breast for love too wanton grown,

By Roger, who play'd at the wake.

And Kate was alarm'd at the stroke,
And wept for poor Tumimas's fake;
When his worship gave noggins of ale,
And the liquor was charming and fout,
O those were the times to regale,

And we footed it rarely about.
Then our partners were buxom as does,
And we all were as happy as kings,
Each lad in his holyday cloaths,

And the laffes in all their best things.
What merriment all the day long!
May the feaft of our Collin prove fuch,
Odzooks, but I'll join in the fong,

And I'll hobble about with my crutch.

Nor fhall my faith reward a fwain

Who doubts my love, or thinks me vain,

The birds fhall ftrain their little throats,
And warbie wide their merry notes;
Whilft we converse beneath the shade,
A happy swain, and happy maid.

Thy hands fhall pluck, to grace my bow'r,
The lufcious fruit, the fragrant flow'r,
Whilft joys fhall blefs, for ever new,
Thy Phoebe kind, my Colin true.

AIR XXIII.

HY fhould I now, my love, complain,

W That toil awaits thy chearful fwain,

Since labour oft a fweet bestows
Which lazy splendor never knows.

Hence fprings the purple tide of health,
The rich man's with, the poor man's wealth,
And spreads thofe blushes o'er the face,
Which come and go with native grace.
The pride of drefs, the pomp of fhew,
Are trappings oft to cover woe;
But we, whose wishes never roam,
Shall tafte of real joys at home.

A. IR XXIV.

No doubt but your foolfcap has known

His highness obligingly kind, -Odzooks I could knock the fool down, Was e'er fuch a cuckoldy kind? To be fure, like a good-natured spouse, You ve lent him a part of your bed; He has fitted the horns to your brows, And I fee them fpout out of your head. To keep your wife virtuous and chaste, The court is a wonderful school, -My lord you've an excellent taste, -And fon, you're a cuckoldy fool. If your lady fhould bring you an heir, The blood will flow rich in his veins, Many thanks to my lord for his care-You dog, I could knock out your brains,

own.

Whom shalt thou not reform?

thou haft feen, How God defcends to judge the fouls of men. Thou heard'st the fentence how the guilty mourn, Driven out from God, and never must return.

Yet more, behold ten thousand thunders fall, And fudden vengeance wrap the flaming ball: When nature funk, when every bolt was hurl'd, Thou faw't the boundless ruins of the world.

When guilty Sodom felt the burning rain,
And fulphur fell on the devoted plain;
The patriarch thus, the fiery tempeft paft,
With pious horrour view'd the desert wafe;
The reftiefs fmoke still wav'd its curls around,
For ever rifing from the glowing ground.

But tell me, oh! what heavenly pleasure tell,
To think fo greatly, and describe so well!
How waft thou pleas'd the wondrous theme to
try,

And find the thought of man could rise so high ?
Beyond this world the labour to pursue,
And open all ETERNITY to view?

But thou art be delighted to rehearse
Heaven's holy dictates in exalted verfe:
O thou haft power the harden'd heart to warm,
To grieve, to raife, to terrify to charm;
To fix the foul on God; to teach the mind
To know the dignity of human-kind;

By ftricture rules well-govern'd'life to scan,
And practife o'er the angel in the man.

This daring author fcorns, by vulgar ways
Of guilty wit, to merit worthless praise.
Full of her glorious theme, his towering Mufe,
With gen'rous zeal, a nobler fame pursues :
Religion's cause her ravish'd heart infpires,
And with a thousand bright ideas fires;
Tranfports her quick, impatient, piercing eye,
O'er the ftrait limits of mortality,

To boundless orbs, and bids her fearlefs foar,
Where only Milton gain'd renown before;
Where various fcenes alternately excite
Amazement, pity, terror, and delight.

Thus did the Mufes fing in early times,
Ere fkill'd, to flatter vice and varnifh crimes :
Their lyres were tun'd to virtuous fongs alone,
And the chafte poet, and the priest, were one.
But now, forgetful of their infant ftate,
They footh the wanton pleasures of the great:
And from the prefs, and the licentious stage,
With luscious poifon taint the thoughtless age;
Deceitful charms attract our wondering eyes

nd fpecious ruin unfufpe&ted lies.

So the rich foil of India's blooming fhores, Adorn'd with lavish nature's choiceft ftores, Where ferpents lurk, by flowers conceal'd from fight,

Hides fatal danger under gay delight

Thefe purer thoughts from grofs alloys refin'd, With heavenly raptures elevate the mind: Not fram'd to raise a giddy fhort-liv'd joy, Whofe falfe allurements, while they pleafe, def