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For thee her mind in doubtful terms fhe told,
NEW CONSPIRACY. 1716.
WHERE, where, degenerate countrymen-how high
Will your fond folly and your madness Aly?
Are scenes of death, and fervile chains fo dear,
To court a change — though certain of the worst?
There is no climate which you have not fought, Where tools of war, and vagrant kings, are bought; O! noble paffion, to your country kind,
To crown her with
the refufe of mankind.
As if the new Rome, which your schemes unfold,
Were to be built on rapine, like the old,
While her afylum openly provides
: For every
ruffian every nation hides.
ftill tempt the great avenger's blow, And force the bolt which he is loath to throw ? Have there too few already bit the plains,
To make you feek new Prestons and Dumblains?
Say, is it rafhnefs or defpair provokes
Your harden'd hearts to these repeated strokes? Reply: - Behold, their looks, their fouls declare, All pale with guilt, and dumb with deep despair. Hear then, you fons of blood, your destin'd fate, Hear, ere you fin too soon - repent too late.
Madly you try to weaken George's reign,
PALLAS, deftructive to the Trojan line,
Raz'd their proud walls, though built by hands divine:
But Love's bright goddefs, with propitious grace,
Preferv'd a hero, and reftor'd the race.
Thus the fam'd en
ere the Iber flows,
Fell by Elize
Muse inspire ;
NARLISLE's a name can every To Carlisle fill the glafs, and tune the lyre. With his lov'd bays the God of Day shall crown A wit and luftre equal to his own.
AT once the Sun and Carlisle took their way, To warm the frozen north, and kindle day; The flowers to both their glad creation ow'd, Their virtues he, their beauties fhe bestow'd.
THE braveft hero, and the brightest dame,
To Effex fill the fprightly wine;
THE God of Wine grows jealous of his art,
ON LADY HYDE IN CHILD-BED.
HYDE, though in agonies, her graces keeps,
A thousand charms the nymph's complaints adorn
In tears of dew fo mild Aurora weeps,
But her bright offspring is the chearful morn.
WHEN Jove to Ida did the gods invite,
TO-DAY a mighty hero comes, to warm
Your curdling blood, and bid you, Britons, arm.
To valour much he owes, to virtue more;
He fights to fave, and conquers to restore.
His fword deftroys lefs than his mercy faves,
Britons, for fhame! your factious feuds decline,
Is born to nod upon a Spanish throne.