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

Our towering thoughts fhall raife,
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 fkuttles caft their ink around

To puzzle the dispute.

Where fharks, like fhrewd directors, thrive,

Like lawyers, rob at will;
Where flying-fifh, like trimmers live;

Like foldiers, fword-fifh 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.

U

ON

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 purfues

In fofter ftrains than thine.

'Tis thine the paffion to blaspheme,
'Tis her's with wit and ease
(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 Phoebus 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

THEN Pallas faw the piece her pupils wrought, She ftood long wondering at the lovely draught "And, Flora, now (fhe cried) no more display Thy flowers, the trifling beauties of a day : For fee! how thefe with life immortal bloom, And spread and flourish for an age to come! In what unguarded hour did I impart To thefe fair virgins all my darling art? In all my wit I saw these rivals fhine, But this one art I thought was always mine: Yet lo! I yield; their miftrefs now no more, But proud to learn from thefe 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 rofe! In fome few hours thy lily dilappears ; But this fhall flourish through a length of years, See unfelt winters pafs fucceffive by,

And fcorn 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 works 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.

Ο

N this fair ground, with ravish'd eyes,

We fee a fecond Eden rife,

As gay and glorious as the first,

Before th' offending world was curst.

While these bright nymphs the needle guide,

To paint the rofe in all her pride,

Nature, like her, may blush to own

Herself fo 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.

ON

ON THE ART OF PREACHING.

A FRAGMENT.

In imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry.

Pendent opera interrupta.—————”

HOULD fome fam'd hand, in this fantastic age,

SHOU

Draw Rich, as Rich appears upon the stage,

With all his poftures, in one motley plan,

The god, the hound, the monkey, and the man;
Here o'er his head high brandishing a leg,
And there juft hatch'd, and breaking from his egg;
While monfter crouds on monfter through the piece,
Who could help laughing at a fight like this?
Or as a drunkard's dream together brings
A court of coblers, and a mob of kings;
Such is a fermon, where, confus'dly dark,

Join Hoadly, Sharp, South, Sherlock, Wake, and
Clarke.

So eggs

of different parishes will run

To batter, when you beat fix yolks to one;
So fix bright chemic liquors if you mix,
In one dark fhadow vanifh all the fix.

This licence priests and painters ever had,
To run bold lengths, but never to run mad;
For those can't reconcile God's grace to fin,
Nor thefe paint tigers in an afs's skin;
No common dauber in one piece would join,
A fox and goofe,-unless upon a sign.

U 3

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