Almighty LORD, attend to England's pray'r,
Thy wonted goodness to our ifle declare :
Grant her the aid fhe moft requires,
When Nelfon falls, and Pitt expires!
VIDE 2D CHAP. 2D BOOK OF KINGS.
[We have not permiffion to name the writer of this elegant tribute to Mr. Pitt's memory; but moft readers of tafte will, we think, make a fhrewd guess at the poet.]
WHEN, by th' Almighty's dread command,
Elijah, call'd from Ifrael's land,
'Rofe in the facred flaine;
The mantle good Elifha caught,
And, with the prophet's fpirit fraught,
Her facred hope became.
In Pitt* our Ifrael faw combin'd
The patriot's heart, the prophet's mind;
Elijah's fpirit here.
Now, fad reverfe! that fpirit's reft,
No confidence, no hope is left,
For no Elijah's near.
Grenville! to aid the Treafury fame,
A portion of his mantle claim,
Pitt's gen'rous ardour feel;
'Bove fordid teif refolve to foar,
Amidft Exchequer gold be poor;
Thy wealth a nation's weal.
Fox! if on thee fome remnant fall,
The fhred may to thy mind recali
Thofe hours of loud debate,
When thy unhallow'd lips oft prais'd
The "glorious fabric" traitors rais'd
On Bourbon's fallen state.
*Mr. Pitt died January 23, 1806.
Thy foul let Pitt's example fire,
With patriot zeal thy tongue infpire,
Spite of thy Gallic leaven;
And teach thee in thy latest day
His form of pray'r, if thou canft pray,)
"Oh! fave iny country, Heaven."
Windham, if e'er thy forrows flow
At private lofs or public woe,
Thy rigid brow unbend:
Tears over Cefar, Brutus fhed,
His hatred warr'd not with the dead,
And Pitt was once thy friend.
Does envy bid thee not to mourn?
Hold then his mantle up to fcorn;
His well-earn'd fame affail;
Of funeral honours rob his corfe,
And at his virtues, till thou 'rt hoarse,
Like the Greek cynic * rail.
Illuftrious Rofcius of the state,
New-breech'd and harness'd for debate;
Thou wonder of thy age!
Petty or Betty art thou hight +,
By Granta fent to ftrut thy might
On Stephen's bustling stage-
Pitt's chequer'd robe 't is thine to wear,
Take, of his mantle too, a fhare:
'T will aid thy ways and means;
And fhould fat Jack and his cabal §
Cry, "Rob us the Exchequer, Hal,"
'T will charm away the fiends.
Sage Palinurus of the realm,
By Vincent call'd to take the helm,
And play his proxy's part,
Doft thou or star or compafs know?
Canft reef aloft, or steer below?
Haft conn'd the feaman's chart?
* Therfites.
Į Cambridge.
+ An old word for called.
Shakspeare's Henry IV.
No! from Pitt's mantle tear a rag,
Enough to ferve thee for a flag,
And hoift it on thy maft:
Beneath that fign, (our profp'rous star,)
Shall future Nelfons rufh to war,
And rival victories past.
Sidmouth! though low that head is laid,
Which call'd thee from thy native shade,
And gave thee fecond birth;
Gave thee the sweets of pow'r and place,
The tufted robe and gilded mace,
And rear'd thy puny worth;
Think how his mantle wrapt thee round;
Is one of equal virtue found
Among thy new compeers?
Or can thy cloak of Amiens' ftuff,
Once laugh'd to fcorn by blue and buff,
Hide thee from Windham's jeers?
When faction threaten'd Britain's land,
-Thy new-made friends, a defp'rte band,
Like Ahab ftood reprov'd;
Pitt's pow'rful tongue their rage could check;
His counfel fav'd from general wreck
The Ifrael that he lov'd.
Yes, honour'd flade! while near thy grave-
The letter'd fage and chieftain brave
The votive marble claim,
O'er thy cold corfe the public tear,
Congeal'd, a cryftal fhrine fhall rear,
Unfullied as thy fame.
THE SIMILE OF ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE, ESQ. M. P.-AN EPIGRAM
[From the Morning Chronicle.]
F Auguftus and Rome the poets ftill warble,
That he found it of brick, and he left it of marble: So of Pitt and of England, they fay, without vapour, That he found it of gold, and he left it of paper.
LINES BY A YOUNG LADY OF SEVENTEEN,
BEING PRESENTED BY HER FATHER WITH A
BUST OF THE HON. C. J. FOX.
[From the Morning Chronicle.]
IN this cold buft a faint attempt we fee,
A vain attempt, great Fox! to picture thee;
For fay, can bronze, or marble, e'er impart
That magic charm, warm-breathing from the heart,
That fire, which, darting from th' expreffive eye,
Points, with redoubled force, the keen reply?
Or when thy eloquence, with milder flow,
In freedom's caufe bids wond'ring fenates glow?
Or when, obeying facred friendfhip's call,
Thou mourn'ft illustrious Ruffel's early fall?
In those bleft moments, when bright Genius pours,
At Feeling's fhrine, his tributary ftores,
Vainly the imitative arts aspire
To give thy varying features all their fire;
Yet, though in vain the sculptor feeks to trace,
With vent'rous hand, thy foul-illumin'd face,
Thy fame a nobler monument shall prove,
Fix'd on the firmest base-a nation's love.
To diftant ages fhall thy name descend,
And grateful Britons hail Britannia's friend.
THE COALITION PURVEYORS:—A FABLE.
[From the Public Ledger.]
HEN two men ride upon a horse,
One of them muft, by choice or force,
Submit upon the rump to ftraddle,
While t'other occupies the faddie :
So 't is when in the cabinet
Two adverse parties chance to get:
Their only union of wish is
To gobble up the loaves and fifhes-
The one must rule, the one fubmit,
Or nothing can be done that's fit.
The Lion's chosen Jackal dead,
The royal table who fhall spread ?—
The Fox and Wolf, both beafts of parts,
This fam'd for strength, and that for arts,
Proffer'd their labours to unite,
To fet afide prefcriptive right,
And ouft all Jackais, who, they fwore,
Had brought their mafter to death's door.-
But long-indulg'd antipathies,
The talk was, how to neutralize!
The Fox ftood up for Geefe and Chickens,
For these were his own favourite pickings;
The Wolf, for a more generous food,
That might invigorate the blood!
Thus more like quacks than cooks contending,
Each his own fyftem while defending,
The wafte of Nature unfupplied,
'T were odds, in time, their patient-died!
ON MR. FOX DECLARING IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, THAT THE COUNTRY WOULD PREFER A LARGE INCREASE OF THE PROPERTY TAX "PER,SALTUM,” TO A
[From the Morning Poft.]
FOX us'd to think our taxes high,
And often ftrove to halt 'em ;
But now he's jump'd fo high himself,
He likes to tax per faltum.
IMPROMPTU ON THE PROPOSED TAXES.
S ftreamlets to wide rivers grow,
And richest meadows overflow;
So taxes from a Petty fource
May yet o'erwhelm us in their courfe.
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