See there-amidst the crowds our view
Some scatter'd virtues ftrike;

But those fo throng'd, and these fo few,
The world looks all alike.

Yet, through this cloud of human kind,
The Talbots we survey,

The Pitts, the Yorks, the Seckers find,
Who fhine in open day.

ODE TO JOHN PITT, Esq.

On the fame fubject.

'ER curious models as you rove
The vales with piles to crown,

And great Palladio's plans improve
With nobler of your own;

O bid a ftructure o'er the floods

From this high mountain rife,
Where we may fit enthron'd like gods,
And revel in the fkies.

Th' afcending breeze, at each repaft,
Shall breathe an air divine,

Give a new brightness to the taste,
New Spirit to the wine.

Or these low pleasures we may quit

For banquets more refin`d,
The works of each immortal wit,

The luxury of the mind.

Plato,

Plato, or Boyle's, or Newton's page,

Our towering thoughts shall raise,
Or Homer's fire, or Pindar's rage,
Or Virgil's lofty lays.

Or with amusive thoughts the Sea
Shall entertain the mind,
While we the rolling fcene furvey,
An emblem of mankind.

Where, like fworn foes, fucceffive all,
The furious furges run,
To urge their predeceffor's fall,
Though follow'd by their own.

Where, like our moderns fo profound,
Engag'd in dark difpute,

The skuttles caft their ink around

To puzzle the difpute.

Where fharks, like fhrewd directors, thrive,
Like lawyers, rob at will;
Where flying-fifh, like trimmers live;

Like foldiers, fword-fish kill.

Where on the less the greater feed,

The tyrants of an hour,

Till the huge royal whale fucceed,

And all at once devour.

Thus in the moral world we now

Too truly understand,

Each monfter of the fea below

Is match'd by one at land.

ON MRS. WALKER'S POEMS.

Particularly that on the Author.

BLUSH, Wilmot, blush; a female Muse,

Without one guilty line,

The tender theme of love pursues

In fofter ftrains than thine.

'Tis thine the paffion to blafpheme,
'Tis her's with wit and eafe
(When a mere nothing is the theme)
Beyond thyfelf to please.

Then be to her the prize decreed,
Whose merit has prevail'd;
For what male poet can fucceed,
If Rochefter has fail'd?

Since Phœbus quite forgetful grows,
And has not yet thought fit,

In his high wifdom, to impofe
A falique law on wit;

Since of your rights he takes no care,

Ye Priors, Popes, and Gays;

'Tis hard!but let the women wear

The breeches and the bays.

VERSES ON A FLOWERED CARPET.

Worked by the young Ladies at Kingston.

WHEN Pallas faw the piece her pupils wrought,

She ftood long wondering at the lovely draught:
"And, Flora, now (the cried) no more display
Thy flowers, the trifling beauties of a day:
For fee! how these with life immortal bloom,
And spread and flourish for an age to come!
In what unguarded hour did I impart
To these fair virgins all my darling art?
In all my wit I faw thefe rivals thine,
But this one art I thought was always mine:
Yet lo! I yield; their miftrefs now no more,
But proud to learn from these I taught before.
For look, what vegetable fenfe is here!
How warm with life thefe blufhing leaves appear!
What temper'd fplendors o'er the piece are laid!
Shade fteals on light, and light dies into shade.
Through heaven's gay bow lefs various beauties run,
And far lefs bright, though painted by the fun.
See in each blooming flower what spirit glows!
What vivid colours flush the opening rose!
In fome few hours thy lily disappears;
But this shall flourish through a length of years,
See unfelt winters pass fucceffive by,

And scorn a mean dependence on the sky.
And oh! may Britain, by my counfels fway'd,
But live and flourish, till these flowers fhall fade!

Then go, fond Flora, go, the palm refign

To work's more fair and durable than thine :
For I, even I, in juftice yield the crown
To works fo far fuperior to my own."

VERSES ON A FLOWERED CARPET.

N this fair ground, with ravish'd eyes,

ON

We fee a fecond Eden rise,

As gay and glorious as the first,

Before th' offending world was curst.

While these bright nymphs the needle guide,
To paint the rose in all her pride,\

Nature, like her, may blush to own

Herself so far by art outdone.

Thefe flowers fhe rais'd with all her care,

So blooming, fo divinely fair!

The glorious children of the fun,
'That David's regal heir out-fhone,
Were fcarce like one of these array'd;
They died, but these shall never fade.

ΟΝ