FATAL FRIENDSHIP,
A TRAGEDY.
AS when Camilla once, a warlike dame,
In bloody battles won immortal fame,
Forfook her female arts, and chose to bear
The ponderous fhield, and heave the maffy spear,
Superior to her fex: fo fwift the flew
Around the field, and such vast numbers flew,
That friends and foes, alike furpriz'd, behold
The brave Virago defperately bold,
And thought her Pallas in a human mold.
Such is our wonder, matchlefs maid! to fee
The tragic laurel thus deferv'd by thee.
Still greater praife is yours; Camilla fhines
For ever bright in Virgil's facred lines,
You in your own.—
Nor need you to another's bounty owe,
For what yourself can on yourfelf bestow;
So monarchs in full health are wont to rear,
At their own charge, their future fepulchre.
Who thy perfections fully would commend,
Must think how others their vain hours mifpend, 20
In trifling vifits, pride, impertinence,
Drefs, dancing, and discourse devoid of fenfe ;
To twirl a fan, to please fome foolish beau,
And fing an empty fong, the moft they know ;
In body weak, more impotent of mind.
Thus fome have reprefented woman-kind.
But you, your fex's champion, are come forth
To fight their quarrel, and affert their worth;
Our Salick law of wit you have destroy'd,
Establish'd female claim, and triumph'd o'er our pride.
While we look on, and with repining eyes
Behold you bearing off so rich a prize,
Spite of ill-nature, we are forc'd t' approve
Such dazzling charms, and spite of envy
Nor is this all th' applaufe that is your due,
You ftand the first of stage reformers too;
No vicious trains pollute your moral scene,
Chalte are your thoughts, and your expreffion clean;
Strains fuch as yours the ftricteft teft will bear:
Sing boldly then, nor bufy cenfure fear,
Your virgin voice offends no virgin ear.
Proceed, in tragic numbers to disclose
Strange turns of fate, and unexpected woes.
Reward, and punish! awfully dispense
Heaven's judgments, and declare a Providence; 45
Nor let the comic Muse your labours share,
'Tis meanness, after this, the fock to wear :
Though that too merit praise, 'tis nobler toil
T' extort a tear, than to provoke a smile.
What hand, that can defign a history,
Would copy low-land boors at Snic-a-Snee?
Accept this tribute, madam, and excuse The hafty raptures of a stranger Muse.
'N Nature's golden age, when new-born day
Array'd the skies, and earth was green and gay; When God, with pleasure, all his works survey'd, And virgin innocence before him play'd; In that illuftrious morn, that lovely spring, The Mufe, by Heaven inspir'd, began to fing. Defcending Angels, in harmonious lays, Taught the first happy pair their Maker's praise. Such was the facred art-We now deplore The Mufe's lofs, fince Eden is no more. When Vice from hell rear'd up its hydra-head, Th' affrighted maid, with chaste Aftræa, fled, And fought protection in her native sky;
In vain the heathen Nine her absence would supply.
Yet to fome few, whofe dazzling virtues fhone 15
In ages past, her heavenly charms were known.
Hence learn'd the bard, in lofty strains to tell
How patient Virtue triumph'd over hell;
And hence the chief, who led the chofen race
Through parting feas, deriv'd his fongs of praife: 20
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She gave the rapturous ode, whofe ardent lay
Sings female force, and vanquish'd Sifera;
She tun'd to pious notes the pfalmist's lyre,
And fill'd Ifaiah's breaft with more than Pindar's fire!
WRITTEN FOR THE LATE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S BIRTH-DAY.
HILE Venus in her inowy arms
The God of battles held,
And footh'd him with her tender charms,
Victorious from the field;
By chance the cast a lovely smile,
Propitious, down to earth,
And view'd in Britain's happy isle
Great Gloucefter's glorious birth.
Look, Mars, the faid; look down, and fee
Let's crown the bright Nativity
With every princely grace :
Thy heavenly image let me bear,
And fhine a Mars below;
From you his mind to warlike care,
I'll fofter gifts below.
Thus at his birth two deities
Their bleffings did impart ;
And love was breath'd into his eyes,
And glory form'd his heart.
His childhood makes of war a game;
Betimes his beauty charms
The fair; who burn'd with equal flame
For him, as he for arms.
WHEN Fancy did Molinda's hand invite,
Without the help of colour, fhade, or light,
To form in vellum, fpotlefs as her mind,
The fairest image of the feather'd kind,
Nature herself a Arict attendance paid,
Charm'd with th' attainments of th' illustrious maid,
Infpir'd her thought, and, smiling, faid, I'll fee
How well this fair-one's art can copy me.
So to her favourite Titian once she came,
To guide his pencil, and atteft his fame,
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