SUPPLEMENT AND CONCLUSION
Mr. MILTO N's incomparable Poem, entitled, IL PENSEROSO, or THE PENSIVE MAN, was also writ by Mr. Hughes.
It seems neceflary to quote the eight foregoing lines for the right understanding of it.
ND may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
'Where I may fit, and rightly spell
'Of every star that Heaven doth fhew,
And every herb that fips the dew;
'Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic train.'
There let Time's creeping winter shed
His hoary fnow around my head;
And while I feel, by faft degrees,
My fluggard blood wax chill, and freeze,
Let thought unveil to my fixt eye,
The fcenes of deep eternity,
Till life diffolving at the view,
I wake, and find those visions true!
YES!-Hear, all ye beaux and wits,
Musicians, poets, 'fquires, and cits,
All, who in town or country dwell!
Say, can you tale or tidings tell
Of Tortorella's hafty flight?
Why in new groves she takes delight,
And if in concert, or alone,
The cooing murmurer makes her moan?
Now learn the marks, by which you may
Trace out and ftop the lovely stray!
Some wit, more folly, and no care,
Thoughtless her conduct, free her air;
Gay, fcornful, fober, indifcreet,
In whom all contradictions meet;
Civil, affronting, peevish, eafy,
Form'd both to charm you and displease you;
Much want of judgment, none of pride,
Modifh her dress, her hoop full wide;
Brown skin, her eyes of fable hue,
Angel, when pleas'd, when vex'd, a shrew.
Genteel her motion, when the walks, Sweetly the fings, and loudly talks ;
Knows all the world, and its affairs.
Who goes to court, to plays, to prayers,
Who keeps, who marries, fails, or thrives,
Leads honeft, or dishonest, lives;
What money match'd each youth or maid,
And who was at each masquerade;
Of all fine things in this fine town,
She's only to herself unknown.
By this description, if you meet her,
With lowly bows, and homage greet her;
And if you bring the vagrant beauty
Back to her mother and her duty,
Ask for reward a lover's blifs,
And (if he'll let you) take a kiss;
Or more, if more you wish and may,
Try if at church the words she'll fay,
Then make her, if you can-" obey."
LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN.
OW godlike is the man, how truly great,
Who, midft contending factions of the state, In council cool, in refolution bold,
Nor brib'd by hopes, nor by mean fears control'd,
And proof alike against both foes and friends,
Ne'er from the golden mean of virtue bends!
But wifely fix'd, nor to extremes inclin'd,
Maintains the steady purpose of his mind.
So Atlas, pois'd on his broad base, defies
The shock of gathering ftorms and wintry skies;
Above the clouds, ferene, he lifts his brow,
And fees unmov'd the thunder break below.
But where's the patriot, by these virtues known, Unfway'd by others paffions, or his own? Just to his prince, and to the publick true, That fhuns, in all events, each partial view? That ne'er forgets the whole of things to weigh, And fcorns the short-liv'd wisdom of a day?
If there be one-hold Mufe, nor more reveal-
(Yet oh that numbers could his name conceal!)
Thrice happy Britain, of such wealth possest!
On thy firm throne, great George, unshaken rest,
Safe in his judgment, on his faith rely,
And prize the worth which kingdoms cannot buy!
Rich in itfelf, the genuine diamond fhines,
And owes its value to its native mines;
Yet fet in Britain's crown, drinks ampler rays
Of the fun's light, and cafts a wider blaze.
With pleasure we the well-plac'd gem behold,
That adds a luftre to the royal gold.
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