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With ardent Haste each Candidate of Fame
Ambitious catches at his tow'ring Name :
He sees, and pitying fees, vain Wealth bestow
Those pageant Honours which he scorn'd below :
While Crowds aloft the laureat Bust behold,
Or trace his Form on circulating Gold,
Unknown, unheeded, long his Offspring lay,
And Want hung threat’ning o'er her slow Decay.
What tho' she shine with no Miltonian Fire,
No fav’ring Muse her Morning Dreams inspire ;
Yet fofter Claims the melting Heart engage,
Her Youth laborious, and her blameleis Age:
Hers the mild Merits of domestic Life,
The patient Sust'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 Wise, ye Brave !
'Tis yours to crown Desert-beyond the Grave!






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REST by the Load of Life, the weary Mind

Surveys the general Toil of Human-kind; With cool Submission joins the labouring Train, And social Sorrow, loses half its Pain : Our anxious Bard, without Complaint, may share This bustling Season's epidemic Care. Like Cæsar's Pilot, dignify'd by Fate, Tost in one common Storm with all the Great , Distrest alike, the Statesman and the Wit, When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit. The busy Candidates for Power and Fame, Have Hopes and Fears, and Wishes, just the same ; Disabled both to combat, or to fly, Must 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 Burgess hoards his angry Tale For that blest Year when all that vote may rail ; 5


Their Schemes of Spite the Poet's Foes dismiss,
Till that glad Night when all that hate may hiss.
This Day the powder'd Curls and golden Coat,
Says swelling Crispin, begg'd a Cobler's Vote.
This Night our Wit, the pert Apprentice cries,
Lies at my Feet, I hiss him, and he dies.
The Great, 'tis true, can charm th' electing Tribe;
The Bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe.
Yet judg’d by those whose Voices ne'er were sold,
He feels no want of ill-persuading Gold ;
But confident of Praise, if Praise be due,
Trusts without Fear, to Merit, and to you.

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Quis inepta
Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus, ut teneat se? Juv.


(a) HO' Grief and Fondness in my Breast

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 resolves from Vice, and LONDON far,
To breathe in distant Fields a purer Air,
And, fix'd on Cambrid's folitary Shore,
Give to St. David one true Briton more.


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

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

Land, Or change the Rocks of Scotland for the Strand? There none are swept by sudden Fate away, But all whom Hunger spares, with Age decay: Here Malice, Rapine, Accident, conspire, 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


dead. (c) While THALES waits the Wherry that con

Of dissipated Wealth the small Remains,
On Thames's Banks in filent Thought we stood,
Where Greenwich (miles upon the silver Flood:
Struck with the Seat that gave + Eliza Birth,
We kneel, and kiss the consecrated Earth
In pleasing Dreams the blissful Age renew,
And call Britannia's Glories back to View ;
Behold her Cross triumphant on the Main,
The Guard of Commerce, and the Dread of Spain,
Ere Masquerades debauch'd, Excise oppress'd,
Or English Honour grew a standing Jest.

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

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(6) Ego vel Prochytam præpono Suburre,
Nam quid tam miferum, tam solum vidimus, ut non
Deterius credas horrere incendia, lapsus
Teetorum afsiduos, et mille pericula fave
Urbis, & Augufto recitantes, mense poetas?
(c) Sed, dum tota domus rhedå componitur una,
Subftitit ad veteres arcus. - -

† Queen Elizabeth born at Greenwich.

(d) Sicne

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