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With ardent Hafte each Candidate of Fame
Ambitious catches at his tow'ring Name:
He fees, and pitying fees, vain Wealth bestow
Thofe pageant Honours which he fcorn'd below:
While Crowds aloft the laureat Buft behold,
Or trace his Form on circulating Gold,
Unknown, unheeded, long his Offspring lay,
And Want hung threat'ning o'er her flow Decay.
What tho' fhe fhine with no Miltonian Fire,
No fav'ring Mufe her Morning Dreams inspire ;
Yet fofter Claims the melting Heart engage,
Her Youth laborious, and her blameless Age:
Hers the mild Merits of domeftic Life,
The patient Suff'rer, and the faithful Wife.
Thus grac'd with humble Virtue's native Charms,
Her Grandfire leaves her in Britannia's Arms,
Secure with Peace, with Competence, to dwell,
While tutelary Nations guard her Cell.
Yours is the Charge, ye Fair, ye Wife, ye Brave!
'Tis yours to crown Defert-beyond the Grave!







REST by the Load of Life, the weary
Surveys the general Toil of Human-kind;
With cool Submiffion joins the labouring Train,
And focial Sorrow, lofes half its Pain:

Our anxious Bard, without Complaint, may fhare
This bustling Seafon's epidemic Care.
Like Cæfar's Pilot, dignify'd by Fate,

Toft in one common Storm with all the Great,
Diftreft alike, the Statesman and the Wit,
When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit.
The bufy Candidates for Power and Fame,
Have Hopes and Fears, and Wishes, just the same ;
Difabled both to combat, or to fly,

Muft hear all Taunts, and hear without Reply,
Uncheck'd on both, loud Rabbles vent their Rage,
As Mongrels bay the Lion in a Cage.

Th' offended Burgefs hoards his angry Tale
For that bleft Year when all that vote may rail;



Their Schemes of Spite the Poet's Foes difmifs,
Till that glad Night when all that hate may hifs.
This Day the powder'd Curls and golden Coat,
Says fwelling Crispin, begg'd a Cobler's Vote.
This Night our Wit, the pert Apprentice cries,
Lies at my Feet, I hifs him, and he dies.

The Great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing Tribe;
The Bard may fupplicate, but cannot bribe.
Yet judg'd by thofe whofe Voices ne'er were fold,
He feels no want of ill-perfuading Gold;
But confident of Praife, if Praise be due,
Trufts without Fear, to Merit, and to you.


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Quis inepta

Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat fe? Juv.


HO' Grief and Fondness in my Breaft



When injur'd THALES bids the Town farewell,
Yet ftill my calmer Thoughts his Choice commend,
I praise the Hermit, but regret the Friend,
Who now refolves from Vice, and LONDON far,
To breathe in diftant Fields a purer Air,
And, fix'd on Cambria's folitary Shore,
Give to St. David one true Briton more.


(a) Quamvis digreffu veteris confufus amici; Laudo, tamen, vacuis quod fedem figere Cumis Deftinet, atque unum civem donare Sibylla.

(b) For

(b) For who wou'd leave, unbrib'd, Hibernia's


Or change the Rocks of Scotland for the Strand?
There none are swept by fudden Fate away,
But all whom Hunger fpares, with Age decay:
Here Malice, Rapine, Accident, confpire,
And now a Rabble rages, now a Fire;
Their Ambush here relentless Ruffians lay,
And here the fell Attorney prowls for Prey;
Here falling Houses thunder on your Head,
And here a female Atheist talks you dead.

(c) While THALES waits the Wherry that con


Of diffipated Wealth the small Remains,
On Thames's Banks in filent Thought we stood,
Where Greenwich fmiles upon the filver Flood:
Struck with the Seat that gave + Eliza Birth,
We kneel, and kifs the confecrated Earth;
In pleafing Dreams the blifsful Age renew,
And call Britannia's Glories back to View;
Behold her Crofs triumphant on the Main,
The Guard of Commerce, and the Dread of Spain,
Ere Masquerades debauch'd, Excife oppress'd,
Or English Honour grew a ftanding Jest.

A tranfient Calm the happy Scenes beftow,
And for a Moment lull the Sense of Woe.
At Length awaking, with contemptuous Frown,
Indignant THALES eyes the neighb'ring Town.


Ego vel Prochytam præpono Suburræ,
Nam quid tam miferum, tam folum vidimus, ut non
Deterius credas horrere incendia, lapfus
Tectorum affiduos, et mille pericula fava
Urbis, & Augufto recitantes, menfe poetas?
(c) Sed, dum tota domus rhedâ componitur unâ,
Subftitit ad veteres arcus.

† Queen Elizabeth born at Greenwich.

(d) Sicne

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