Sidor som bilder

One talks of mildew and of frost,

And one of storms of hail, And one of pigs that he has lost

By inaggots at the tail.


one, A rarer man than you In pulpit none shall hear: But yet, methinks, to tell you true,

You sell it plaguy dear.'

Oh, why are farmers made fo coarse,

Or clergy made so fine!
A kick that scarce would move a horse

May kill a sound divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home;

'Twould cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sum,

Without the clowns that pay.

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Two Poets,* (poets, by report,

Not oft so well agree)
Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court!

Conspire to honour Thee.

They best can judge a poet's worth

Who oft themselves have known The pangs of a poetic birth

By labours of their own.

We, therefore, pleas'd, extol thy song,

Though various yet complete, Rich in embellishment as strong,

And learn'd as it is sweet.

No envy mingles with our praise,

Though, could our hearts repine At any poet's happier lays,

They would--they must at thine!

* Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied this.

Bat'we, in mutual bondage knit

Of friendship's closest tie,
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit.

With an unjaundiced eye;

And deem the Bard, whoe'ér he be,

And howsoever known,
Who would not twine a wreath for Thee,

Unworthy of his own.




The Birds put off their ev'ry hue
To dress a room for Montague.

The Peacock sends his heav'nly dyes,
His rainlows and his starry eyes;
The Pheasant, plumes, which round infold -
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show;
And, river-blanch'd, the Swan, his snow.

All tribes beside of Indian name,
That gloffy shine or vivid flame,
Where rises, and where sets the day,
Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Con:ribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dathing show'r
Nor blasts that shake the dripping bow'r
Shall drench again or discompose,
But screen'd from ev'ry storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montague.

To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,
Which, though new-born, with vigour move,
Like Pallas springing armd froin Jove-
Imagination scatt'ring round
Wild roses over furrow'd ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smile-
Wit flashing on Religion's fide,
Whofe fires to facred Truth applied,

The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice more,
Like sun-beams on the golden height
Of some tall temple playing bright-
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that to which he keeps confin'd
The various treasures of his mind-
All thefe to Montague's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffed plumage calm refit,
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar)
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.

She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright Regent of the day;
The Plume and Poet both we know
Their lustre to his influence owe,
And she the works of Phæbns aiding,
Both Poet saves and Plume from fading.

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