Golden rings of flowing hair
More than Helen did ensnare;
Others a prince's grandeur did admire,
And, wondering, melted to defire.
Not only skilful Teucer knew
To direct arrows from the bended yew.
Troy more than once did fall,
Though hireling gods rebuilt its nodding wall.
Was Sthenelus the only valiant he,
A fubject fit for lasting poetry ?
Was Hector that prodigious man alone,
Who, to save others lives, expos'd his own?
Was only he fo brave to dare his fate,
And be the pillar of a tottering state?
No; others bury'd in oblivion lie,
As filent as their grave,
Because no charitable poet gave
Their well-deserved immortality.
Virtue with sloth, and cowards with the brave,
Are level'd in th' impartial grave,
If they no poet have.
But I will lay my music by,
And bid the mournful strings in filence lie;
Unless my fongs begin and end with you,
To whom my strings, to whoin my fongs, are due
No pride does with your rifing honours grow,
You meekly look on suppliant crowds below.
Should fortune change your happy state,
You could admire, yet envy not, the great.
Your equal hand holds an unbias'd scale,
Where no rich vices, gilded baits, prevail :
You with a generous honesty despise
What all the meaner world so dearly prize :
Nor does your virtue disappear,
With the small circle of one short-liv'd year:
Others, like comets, visit and away;
Your luftre, great as theirs, finds no decay,
But with the constant Sun makes an eternal day.
We barbarously call those blest,
Who are of largest tenements poffeft,
Whilst swelling coffers break their owner's reft.
More truly happy those, who can
Govern that little empire, Man ;
Bridle their paffions and direct their will
Through all the glittering paths of charming ill;
Who fpend their treasure freely as 'twas given
By the large bounty of indulgent heaven;
Who, in a fixt unalterable ftate,
Smile at the doubtful tide of Fate,
And scorn alike her friendship and her hate;
Who poifon less than falfhood fear,
Loth to purchase life so dear;
But kindly for their friend embrace cold Death,
And feal their country's love with their departing breath.
TRANSLATION of the following VERSE from LUCAN.
"Victrix causa Diis placuit, fed victa Catoni."
The Gods and Cato did in this divide,
They choose the conquering, he the conquer'd fide.
MUN, rarely credit Common Fame,
Unheeded let her praise or blame;
As whimfies guide the goffip tattles
Of wits, of beauties, and of battles;
To-day the warrior's brow she crowns,
For naval spoils, and taken towns;
To-morrow all her spite the rallies,
And votes the victor to the gallies.
Nor in her visits can she spare
The reputation of the fair.
For instance: - Chloe's bloom did boaft
A while to be the reigning toast;
Lean hectic sparks abandon'd bohea,
And in beer-glasses pledg'd to Chloe :
What fops of figure did she bring
To the Front-boxes and the Ring?
While nymphs of quality look fullen,
As breeding wives, or moulting pullen.
Bleft charmer she, till prying Fame
Incog. to Miss's toilet came;
Where in the gally-pots she spy'd
Lilies and roses, that defy'd
The frost of age, with certain pickles
They call-Cosmetics for the freckles :
Away she flew with what she wanted,
And told at Court that Chloé painted.
" Then who'd on Common Fame relý, "Whose chief employment's to decry? "A cogging, fickle, jilting female, "As ever ply'd at fix in the Mall; "The father of all fibs begat her "On fome old newsman's fusty daughter." O Captain! Taisez-vous---'twere hard Her novels ne'er should have regard : One proof I'll in her favour give, Which none but you will disbelieve.
When Phœbus fent her to recite The praifes of the most polite, Whose scenes have been, in every age, The glories of the British stage; Then she, to rigid truth confin'd, Your name with lofty Shakespeare join'd; And, speaking as the God directed, The praise she gave was unfuspected.
HENE'ER I wive, young Strephon cry'd,
Ye powers that o'er the noose preside !
Wit, beauty, wealth, and humour, give,
Or let me ftill a rover live :
But if all these no nymph can share,
And I'm predestin'd to the snare,
Let mine, ye powers! be doubly fair.
Thus pray'd the swain in heat of blood,
Whilst Cupid at his elbow stood;
And twitching him, faid, Youth, be wife,
Ask not impossibilities :
A faultless make, a manag'd wit,
Humour and fortune never met :
But if a beauty you'd obtain,
Court some bright Phyllis of the brain;
The dear idea long enjoy,
Clean is the bliss, and will not cloy.
But trust me, youth, for I'm fincere,
And know the ladies to a hair:
Howe'er small poets whine upon it,
In madrigal, and fong, and fonnet,
Their beauty 's but a SPELL, to bring
A lover to th' inchanted ring;
Ere the fack poffet is digefted,
Or half of Hymen's taper wasted,
The winning air, the wanton trip,
The radiant eye, the velvet lip,
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