Old Thames can scarce his joy sustain, With fhame the confcious Mufe withdraws; ON THE MASQUERADE S. "Si Natura negat, facit indignatio verfum." WE ELL-we have reach'd the precipice at last; The prefent age of vice obfcures the past. Our dull forefathers were content to stay, But But this bleft age has found a fairer road, In vain, the modish evil to redress, Would tire an Ovid's or a Proteus' art; Where loft in one promifcuous whim we fee, Sex, age, condition, quality, degree. Where the facetious crowd themselves lay down, And take up every perfon but their own. Fools, dukes, rakes, cardinals, fops, Indian queens, Belles in tye-wigs, and lords in harlequins ; And garter'd fmall-coal-merchants crowd the room : Lacqueys of ftate, and footmen with a star : And chimney-fweepers drive their coach and fix. Statefmen 1 Statefmen fo us'd at court the mafk to wear, But guard thy fancy, Mufe, nor flain thy pen Of lawyers forc'd, and judges brought to bed: But the chafte Mufe, with blushes cover'd o'er, Ο Ν A SHADOW. AN OD E. HOW are deluded human kind In all their hopes and fchemes they find The The profpects of a truncheon caft The fond philofophers for gain Will leave unturn'd no ftone; But though they toil with endless pain, By the fame rock the chemists drown, But melt their ready fpecie down, What is the mad projector's care? He builds his caftles in the air, Yet wants an houfe to dwell in. At court the poor dependants fail, How to philofophers will found So ftrange a truth display'd? There's not a fubftance to be found, "But every where a shade. Το To CELIA PLAYING ON A LUTE. ΑΝ O D E. WHILE Calia's hands fly swiftly o'er, And ftrike this foft machine, Her touch awakes the fprings, and life Sweetly they fink into the ftrings, The quivering ftrings rebound, Each ftroke obfequiously obey, And tremble into found. Oh! had you bleft the years of old; His lute had Ovid ftrung, And dwelt on yours, the charming theme Of his immortal fong. Your's, with Arion's wondrous harp, And on the new-born ftar bestow'd The honours of the sky.` The radiant fpheres had ceas'd their tunes, Pleas'd the new harmony to hear, More heavenly than their own. Of old to raife one fhade from hell, To Orpheus was it given : An angel from his heaven. To |