Poems, moral and descriptive :: :: University of Virginia Library

Poems, moral and descriptive

By the late Richard Jago ... (Prepared for the press, and improved by the author, before his death.) To which is added, some account of the life and writings of Mr. Jago

Jago, Richard (1715-1781)

II.

III.

IV.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

ADAM:

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

EDGE-HILL:

A POEM. In FOUR BOOKS.

THE SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND ENLARGED.

“Salve, magna parens frugum, Saturnia tellus,
“Magna virum! tibi res antiquæ laudis, et artes
“Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.”
Virg.

“Our Sight is the most perfect, and most delightful of all our senses. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues the longest in action without being tired, or satiated with its proper enjoyment.” Spect. No 411, On the Pleasures of Imagination.

BOOK I. MORNING.

Argument to Book the First.

The Subject propos'd. Address. Ascent to the Hill. General View. Comparison. Philosophical Account of the Origin and Formation of Mountains, &c. Morning View, comprehending the South-West Part of the Scene, interspers'd with Elements and Examples of rural Taste; shewing, at the same Time, its Connexion with, and Dependance upon Civil Government; and concluding with an Historical Episode of the Red-Horse.

Britannia's rural charms, and tranquil scenes,
Far from the circling ocean, where her fleets,
Like Eden's nightly guards, majestic ride,
I sing; O may the theme and kindred soil
Propitious prove, and to th'appointed hill
Invite the Muses from their cloister'd shades,
With me to rove, and harmonize the strain!

Nor shall they, for a time, regret the loss
Of their lov'd Isis, and fair Cherwel's stream,
While to the north of their own beauteous fields
The pictur'd scene they view, where Avon shapes
His winding way, enlarging as it flows,
Nor hastes to join Sabrina's prouder wave.
Like a tall rampart! here the mountain rears
Its verdant edge; and, if the tuneful Maids
Their presence deign, shall with Parnassus vie.
Level, and smooth the track, which thither leads!
Of champaign bold and fair! Its adverse side
Abrupt, and steep! Thanks, Miller ! to thy paths,
That ease our winding steps! Thanks to the fount,
The trees, the flow'rs, imparting to the sense
Fragrance or dulcet sound of murm'ring rill,
And stilling ev'ry tumult in the breast!
And oft the stately tow'rs, that overtop
The rising wood, and oft the broken arch,
Or mould'ring wall, well taught to counterfeit
The waste of time, to solemn thought excite,
And crown with graceful pomp the shaggy hill.

So Virtue paints the steep ascent to fame:
So her aerial residence displays.

Still let thy friendship, which prepar'd the way,
Attend, and guide me, as my ravish'd sight
O'er the bleak hill, or shelter'd valley roves.
Teach me with just observance to remark
Their various charms, their storied fame record,
And to the visual join the mental search.

The summit's gain'd! and, from its airy height,
The late-trod plain looks like an inland sea,
View'd from some promontory's hoary head,
With distant shores environ'd; not with face
Glassy, and uniform, but when its waves
Are gently ruffled by the southern gale,
And the tall masts like waving forests rise.

Such is the scene! that, from the terrac'd hill,
Displays its graces; intermixture sweet
Of lawns and groves, of open and retir'd.
Vales, farms, towns, villas, castles, distant spires,
And hills on hills, with ambient clouds enrob'd,

In long succession court the lab'ring sight,
Lost in the bright confusion. Thus the youth,
Escap'd from painful drudgery of words,
Views the fair fields of science wide display'd;
Where Phoebus dwells, and all the tuneful Nine;
Perplext awhile he stands, and now to this,
Now that blest seat of harmony divine
Explores his way, with giddy rapture tir'd:
Till some sage Mentor, whose experienc'd feet
Have trod the mazy path, directs his search,
And leads him wond'ring to their bright abodes.
Come then, my Friend! guide thou th'advent'rous Muse,
And, with thy counsel, regulate her flight.

Yet, ere the sweet excursion she begins,
O! listen, while, from sacred records drawn,
My daring song unfolds the cause, whence rose
This various face of things—of high, and low—
Of rough, and smooth. For with its parent earth
Coeval not prevail'd what now appears
Of hill and dale; nor was its new-form'd shape,
Like a smooth, polish'd orb, a surface plain,

Wanting the sweet variety of change,
Concave, convex, the deep, and the sublime:
Nor, from old Ocean's watry bed, were scoop'd
Its neighb'ring shores; nor were they now depress'd,
Now rais'd by sudden shocks; but fashion'd all
In perfect harmony, by laws divine,
On passive matter, at its birth impress'd.

Milton. Paradise Lost, Book iv.

Sanderson Miller, Esquire, of Radway.

See Lord Shaftsbury's Judgment of Hercules.

Amongst the many fanciful conceits of writers on the subject, a learned Divine, in his Confutation of Dr. Burnett's Theory, supposes that hills and mountains might be occasioned by fermentation, after the manner of leaven in dough; while others have attributed their production to the several different causes mentioned above.

The following solution, by the descent of water from the surface of the earth to the center, seem'd most easy, and natural to the author, and is therefore adopted. Vid. Warren's Geologiæ, 1698.

WHEN now two days, as mortals count their time,
Th'Almighty had employ'd on man's abode;
To motion rous'd the dead, inactive mass,
The dark illumin'd, and the parts terrene
Impelling each to each, the circle form'd,

Compact, and firm, of earth's stupendous orb,
With boundless seas, as with a garment cloath'd,
On the third morn he bade the waters flow
Down to their place, and let dry land appear;
And it was so. Strait to their destin'd bed,
From every part, th'obedient waters ran,
Shaping their downward course, and, as they found
Resistance varying with the varying soil,
In their retreat they form'd the gentle slope,
Or headlong precipice, or deep-worn dale,
Or valley, stretching far its winding maze,
As farther still their humid train they led,
By Heav'n directed to the realms below.

Now first was seen the variegated face
Of earth's fair orb shap'd by the plastic flood:
Now smooth and level like its liquid plains,
Now, like its ruffled waves, sweet interchange
Of hill and dale, and now a rougher scene,
Mountains on mountains lifted to the sky.

Such was her infant form, yet unadorn'd!
And in the naked soil the subtle stream
Fretted its winding track. So He ordain'd!
Who form'd the fluid mass of atoms small,
The principles of things! who moist from dry,
From heavy sever'd light, compacting close
The solid glebe, stratum of rock, or ore,
Or crumbly marl, or close tenacious clay,
Or what beside, in wond'rous order rang'd,
Orb within orb, earth's secret depths contains.

So was the shapely sphere, on ev'ry side,
With equal pressure of surrounding air
Sustain'd, of sea and land harmonious form'd.
Nor beauteous cov'ring was withheld, for strait,
At the divine command, the verd'rous grass
Upsprang unsown, with ev'ry seedful herb,

Fruit, plant, or tree, pregnant with future store;
God saw the whole—And lo! 'twas very good.
But man, ungrateful man! to deadly ill
Soon turn'd the good bestow'd, with horrid crimes
Polluting earth's fair seat, his Maker's gift!
Till mercy cou'd no more with justice strive.

Then wrath divine unbarr'd Heav'n's watry gates,
And loos'd the fountains of the great abyss.
Again the waters o'er the earth prevail'd.
Hills rear'd their heads in vain. Full forty days
The flood increas'd, nor, till sev'n moons had wan'd,
Appear'd the mountain-tops. Perish'd all flesh,
One family except! and all the works
Of Art were swept into th'oblivious pool.
In that dread time what change th'avenging flood
Might cause in earth's devoted fabric, who
Of mortal birth can tell? Whether again
'Twas to its first chaotic mass reduc'd,
To be reform'd anew? or, in its orb,
What violence, what disruptions it endur'd?

What ancient mountains stood the furious shock?
What new arose? For doubtless new there are,
If all are not; strong proof exhibiting
Of later rise, and their once fluid state,
By stranger-fossils, in their inmost bed
Of looser mould, or marble rock entomb'd,
Or shell marine, incorp'rate with themselves:
Nor less the conic hill, with ample base,
Or scarry slope by rushing billows torn,
Or fissure deep, in the late delug'd soil
Cleft by succeeding drought, side answering side,
And curve to adverse curve exact oppos'd,
Confess the watry pow'r; while scatter'd trains,
Or rocky fragments, wash'd from broken hills,
Take up the tale, and spread it round the globe.
Then, as the flood retir'd, another face
Of things appear'd, another, and the same!

Taurus, and Libanus, and Atlas feign'd
To prop the skies! and that fam'd Alpine ridge,
Or Appenine, or snow-clad Caucasus,
Or Ararat on whose emergent top
First moor'd that precious barque, whose chosen crew
Again o'erspread earth's universal orb.
For now, as at the first, from ev'ry side
Hasted the waters to their ancient bounds,
The vast abyss! perhaps from thence ascend,
Urg'd by th'incumbent air, thro' mazy clefts
Beneath the deep, or rise in vapours warm,
Piercing the vaulted earth, anon condens'd
Within the lofty mountains' secret cells,
Ere they their summit gain, down their steep sides
To trickle in a never-ceasing round.

So up the porous stone, or crystal tube
The philosophic eye with wonder views
The tinctur'd fluid rise; so tepid dews
From chymic founts in copious streams distil.

Such is the structure, such the wave-worn face
Of Earth's huge fabric! beauteous to the sight,
And stor'd with wonders, to th'attentive mind
Confirming, with persuasive eloquence
Drawn from the rocky mount, or watry fen,
Those sacred pages, which record the past,
And awfully predict its future doom.

Now, while the sun its heav'nly radiance sheds
Across the vale, disclosing all its charms,
Emblem of that fair Light, at whose approach
The Gentile darkness fled! ye nymphs, and swains!
Come haste with me, while now 'tis early morn,
Thro' Upton's airy fields, to where yon' point
Projecting hides Northampton's ancient seat
Retir'd, and hid amidst surrounding shades:
Counting a length of honourable years,
And solid worth; while painted Belvideres,
Naked, aloft, and built but to be seen,
Shrink at the sun, and totter to the wind.

So sober Sense oft shuns the public view,
In privacy conceal'd, while the pert sons
Of Folly flutter in the glare of day.

Hence, o'er the plain, where strip'd with alleys green,
The golden harvest nods, let me your view

Progressive lead to Verney's sister walls,
Alike in honour, as in name allied!
Alike her walls a noble master own,
Studious of elegance. At his command,
New pillars grace the dome with Grecian pomp
Of Corinth's gay design. At his command,
On hill, or plain, new culture cloaths the scene
With verdant grass, or variegated grove;
And bubbling rills in sweeter notes discharge
Their liquid stores. Along the winding vale,
At his command, observant of the shore,
The glitt'ring stream, with correspondent grace,
Its course pursues, and o'er th'exulting wave
The stately bridge a beauteous form displays.
On either side, rich as th'embroider'd floor
From Persia's gaudy looms, and firm as fair,
The chequer'd lawns with count'nance blithe proclaim
The Graces reign. Plains, hills, and woods reply
The Graces reign, and Nature smiles applause.
Smile on, fair source of beauty, source of bliss!

To crown the master's cost, and deck her path
Who shares his joy, of gentlest manners join'd
With manly sense, train'd to the love refin'd
Of Nature's charms in Wroxton's beauteous groves.

Thy neighb'ring villa's ever open gate,
And festive board, O Walton! next invite
The pleasing toil. Unwilling who can pay
To thee the votive strain? For Science here,
And Candour dwell, prepar'd alike to chear
The stranger-guest, or for the nation's weal
To pour the stores mature of wisdom forth,
In senatorial councils often prov'd,
And, by the public voice attested long,
Long may it be! with well-deserv'd applause.
And see, beneath the shade of full-grown elm,
Or near the border of the winding brook,
Skirting the grassy lawn, her polish'd train
Walks forth to taste the fragrance of the grove,

Woodbine, or rose, or to the upland scene
Of wildly-planted hill, or trickling stream
From the pure rock, or moss-lin'd grottos cool,
The Naiads' humid cell! protract the way
With learned converse, or ingenuous song.
The search pursue to Charlecote's fair domain,
Where Avon's sportive stream delighted strays
Thro' the gay smiling meads, and to his bed,
Hele's gentle current wooes, by Lucy's hand
In ev'ry graceful ornament attir'd,
And worthier, such, to share his liquid realms!

Near, nor unmindful of th'increasing flood,
Stratford her spacious magazines unfolds,
And hails th'unwieldly barge from western shores,
With foreign dainties fraught, or native ore
Of pitchy hue, to pile the fewell'd grate
In woolly stores, or husky grain repay'd.
To speed her wealth, lo! the proud Bridge extends

His num'rous arches, stately monument
Of old munificence, and pious love
Of native soil! There Stower exulting pays
His tributary stream, well pleas'd with wave
Auxiliary her pond'rous stores to waft;
And boasting, as he flows, of growing fame,
And wond'rous beauties on his banks display'd—
Of Alscot's swelling lawns, and fretted spires
Of fairest model, Gothic, or Chinese—
Of Eatington's , and Tolton's verdant meads,
And groves of various leaf, and Honington ,
Profuse of charms, and Attic elegance;
Nor fails he to relate, in jocund mood,
How liberally the masters of the scene
Enlarge his current, and direct his course
With winding grace—and how his crystal wave

Reflects th'inverted spires, and pillar'd domes—
And how the frisking deer play on his sides,
Pict'ring their branched heads, with wanton sport,
In his clear face. Pleas'd with the vaunting tale,
Nor jealous of his fame, Avon receives
The prattling stream, and, towards thy nobler flood,
Sabrina fair, pursues his length'ning way.

Hail, beauteous Avon, hail! on whose fair banks
The smiling daisies, and their sister tribes,
Violets, and cuckow-buds, and lady-smocks,
A brighter dye disclose, and proudly tell
That Shakespeare, as he stray'd these meads along,
Their simple charms admir'd, and in his verse
Preserv'd, in never-fading bloom to live.

And thou, whose birth these walls unrival'd boast,
That mock'st the rules of the proud Stagyrite,
And Learning's tedious toil, hail mighty Bard!
Thou great Magician hail! Thy piercing thought
Unaided saw each movement of the mind,
As skilful artists view the small machine,
The secret springs and nice dependencies,

And to thy mimic scenes, by fancy wrought
To such a wond'rous shape, th'impassion'd breast
In floods of grief, or peals of laughter bow'd,
Obedient to the wonder-working strain,
Like the tun'd string responsive to the touch,
Or to the wizard's charm, the passive storm.
Humour and wit, the tragic pomp, or phrase
Familiar flow'd, spontaneous from thy tongue,
As flowers from Nature's lap.—Thy potent spells
From their bright seats aerial sprites detain'd,
Or from their unseen haunts, and slumb'ring shades
Awak'd the fairy tribes, with jocund step
The circled green, and leafy hall to tread:
While, from his dripping caves, old Avon sent
His willing Naiads to their harmless rout.

Alas! how languid is the labour'd song,
The slow result of rules, and tortur'd sense,
Compar'd with thine! thy animated thought,
And glowing phrase! which art in vain essays,
And schools can never teach. Yet, though deny'd
Thy pow'rs, by situation more allied,

I court the genius of thy sportive Muse
On Avon's bank, her sacred haunts explore,
And hear in ev'ry breeze her charming notes.

Beyond these flow'ry meads, with classic streams
Enrich'd, two sister rills their currents join,
And Ikenild displays his Roman pride.
There Alcester her ancient honour boasts.
But fairer fame, and far more happy lot
She boasts, O Ragley ! in thy courtly train
Of Hertford's splendid line! Lo! from these shades,
Ev'n now his sov'reign, studious of her weal,
Calls him to bear his delegated rule
To Britain's sister isle. Hibernia's sons
Applaud the choice, and hail him to their shore
With cordial gratulation. Him, well-pleas'd
With more than filial rev'rence to obey,
Beauchamp attends. What son, but wou'd rejoice

The deeds of such a father to record!
What father, but were blest in such a son!
Nor may the Muse omit with Conway's name
To grace her song. O! might it worthy flow
Of those her theme involves! The cyder-land,
In Georgic strains, by her own Philips sung,
Shou'd boast no brighter fame, though proudly grac'd
With loftiest-titled names—The Cecil line,
Or Beaufort's, or, O Chandois! thine, or his
In Anna's councils high, her fav'rite peer,
Harley! by me still honour'd in his race.

See, how the pillar'd isles and stately dome
Brighten the woodland-shade! while scatter'd hills,
Airy, and light, in many a conic form,
A theatre compose, grotesque and wild,
And, with their shaggy sides, contract the vale
Winding, in straiten'd circuit, round their base.
Beneath their waving umbrage Flora spreads
Her spotted couch, primrose, and hyacinth

Profuse, with ev'ry simpler bud that blows
On hill or dale. Such too thy flow'ry pride
O Hewel ! by thy master's lib'ral hand
Advanc'd to rural fame! Such Umberslade !
In the sweet labour join'd, with culture fair,
And splendid arts, from Arden's woodland shades
The pois'nous damps, and savage gloom to chase.

What happy lot attends your calm retreats,
By no scant bound'ry, nor obstructing fence,
Immur'd, or circumscrib'd; but spread at large
In open day: save what to cool recess
Is destin'd voluntary, not constrain'd
By sad necessity, and casual state
Of sickly peace! Such as the moated hall,
With close circumference of watry guard,
And pensile bridge proclaim! or, rear'd aloft,
And inaccessible the massy tow'rs,
And narrow circuit of embattled walls,

Rais'd on the mountain-precipice! Such thine
O Beaudesert ! old Montfort's lofty seat!
Haunt of my youthful steps! where I was wont
To range, chaunting my rude notes to the wind,
While Somerville disdain'd not to regard
With candid ear, and regulate the strain.

Such was the genius of the Gothic age,
And Norman policy! Such the retreats
Of Britain's ancient Nobles! less intent
On rural beauty, and sweet patronage
Of gentle arts, than studious to restrain,
With servile awe, Barbarian multitudes;
Or, with confed'rate force, the regal pow'r
Controul. Hence proudly they their vassal troops
Assembling, now the fate of empire plann'd:
Now o'er defenceless tribes, with wanton rage,
Tyrannic rul'd; and, in their castled halls
Secure, with wild excess their revels kept,
While many a sturdy youth, or beauteous maid,
Sole solace of their parents' drooping age!

Bewail'd their wretched fate, by force compell'd
To these abhorr'd abodes! Hence frequent wars,
In ancient annals fam'd! Hence haply feign'd
Th'enchanted castle, and its cursed train
Of giants, spectres, and magicians dire!
Hence gen'rous minds, with indignation fir'd,
And threat'ning fierce revenge, were character'd
By gallant knights on bold atchievements bent,
Subduing monsters, and dissolving spells.

Thus, from the rural landscape, learn to know
The various characters of time and place.
To hail, from open scenes, and cultur'd fields,
Fair Liberty, and Freedom's gen'rous reign,
With guardian laws, and polish'd arts adorn'd.
While the portcullis huge, or moated fence
The sad reverse of savage times betray—
Distrust, barbarity, and Gothic rule.

Wou'd ye, with faultless judgment, learn to plan
The rural seat? To copy, as ye rove,
The well-form'd picture, and correct design?
First shun the false extremes of high, and low.

With watry vapours this your fretted walls
Will soon deface; and that, with rough assault,
And frequent tempests shake your tott'ring roof.
Me most the gentle eminence delights
Of healthy champaign, to the sunny south
Fair-op'ning, and with woods, and circling hills,
Nor too remote, nor, with too close embrace,
Stopping the buxom air, behind enclos'd.
But if your lot hath fall'n in fields less fair,
Consult their genius, and, with due regard
To Nature's clear directions, shape your plan.
The site too lofty shelter, and the low
With sunny lawns, and open areas chear.
The marish drain, and, with capacious urns,
And well-conducted streams refresh the dry.
So shall your lawns with healthful verdure smile,
While others, sick'ning at the sultry blaze,
A russet wild display, or the rank blade,
And matted tufts the careless owner shame.
Seek not, with fruitless cost, the level plain
To raise aloft, nor sink the rising hill.
Each has its charms tho' diff'rent, each in kind

Improve, not alter. Art with art conceal.
Let no strait terrac'd lines your slopes deform.
No barb'rous walls restrain the bounded sight.
But to the distant fields the closer scene
Connect. The spacious lawn with scatter'd trees
Irregular, in beauteous negligence,
Clothe bountiful. Your unimprison'd eye,
With pleasing freedom, thro' the lofty maze
Shall rove, and find no dull satiety.
The sportive stream with stiffen'd line avoid
To torture, nor prefer the long canal,
Or labour'd fount to Nature's easy flow.
Your winding paths, now to the sunny gleam
Directed, now with high embow'ring trees,
Or fragrant shrubs conceal'd, with frequent seat,
And rural structure deck. Their pleasing form
To fancy's eye suggests inhabitants
Of more than mortal make, and their cool shade,
And friendly shelter to refreshment sweet,
And wholesome meditation shall invite.

To ev'ry structure give its proper site.
Nor, on the dreary heath, the gay alcove,
Nor the lone hermit's cell, or mournful urn
Build on the sprightly lawn. The grassy slope
And shelter'd border for the cool arcade
Or Tuscan porch reserve. To the chaste dome,
And fair rotunda give the swelling mount
Of freshest green. If to the Gothic scene
Your taste incline, in the well-water'd vale,
With lofty pines embrown'd, the mimic fane,
And mould'ring abbey's fretted windows place.
The craggy rock, or precipitious hill,
Shall well become the castle's massy walls.
In royal villas the Palladian arch,
And Grecian portico, with dignity,
Their pride display: ill suits their lofty rank
The simpler scene. If chance historic deeds
Your fields distinguish, count them doubly fair,
And studious aid, with monumental stone,
And faithful comment, fancy's fond review.

Now other hills, with other wonders stor'd,
Invite the search. In vain! unless the Muse

The landscape order. Nor will she decline
The pleasing task. For not to her 'tis hard
To soar above the mountain's airy height,
With tow'ring pinions, or, with gentler wing,
T'explore the cool recesses of the vale.
Her piercing eye extends beyond the reach
Of optic tube, levell'd by midnight sage,
At the moon's disk, or other distant sun,
And planetary worlds beyond the orb
Of Saturn. Nor can intervening rocks
Impede her search. Alike the sylvan gloom,
Or earth's profoundest caverns she pervades,
And, to her fav'rite sons, makes visible
All that may grace, or dignify the song,
Howe'er envelop'd from their mortal ken.

So Uriel, winged regent of the sun!
Upon its evening-beam to Paradise
Came gliding down; so, on its sloping ray,
To his bright charge return'd. So th'heav'nly guest,
From Adam's eyes the carnal film remov'd,
On Eden's hill, and purg'd his visual nerve
To see things yet unform'd, and future deeds.

Lo! where the southern hill, with winding course,
Bends tow'rd the west, and, from his airy seat,
Views four fair provinces in union join'd;
Beneath his feet, conspicuous rais'd, and rude,
A massy pillar rears its shapeless head.
Others in stature less, an area smooth
Inclose, like that on Sarum's ancient plain.
And some of middle rank apart are seen:
Distinguish'd those! by courtly character
Of knights, while that the regal title bears.
What now the circle drear, and stiffen'd mass
Compose, like us, were animated forms,
With vital warmth, and sense, and thought endued;
A band of warriors brave! Effect accurs'd
Of necromantic art, and spells impure.

So vulgar fame. But clerks, in antique lore
Profoundly skill'd, far other story tell:
And, in its mystic form, temple, or court
Espy, to fabled gods, or throned kings

Devote; or fabric monumental, rais'd
By Saxon hands, or by that Danish chief
Rollo ! the builder in the name imply'd.

Yet to the west the pleasing search pursue,
Where from the vale, Brails lifts his scarry sides,
And Illmington, and Campden's hoary hills,
(By Lyttelton's sweet plaint, and thy abode
His matchless Lucia! to the Muse endear'd)
Impress new grandeur on the spreading scene,
With champaign fields, broad plain, and covert vale
Diversified: By Ceres some adorn'd
With rich luxuriance of golden grain,
And some in Flora's liv'ry gaily dight,
And some with sylvan honours graceful crown'd.
Witness the forest-glades, with stately pride,
Surrounding Sheldon's venerable dome!
Witness the sloping lawns of Idlicot !

And Honington's irriguous meads! Some wind
Meand'ring round the hills disjoin'd, remote,
Giving full license to their sportive range;
While distant, but distinct, his Alpine ridge
Malvern erects o'er Esham's vale sublime,
And boldly terminates the finish'd scene.

Still are the praises of the Red-Horse Vale
Unsung; as oft it happens to the mind
Intent on distant themes, while what's more near,
And nearer, more important, 'scapes its note.

From yonder far-known hill, where the thin turf
But ill conceals the ruddy glebe, a form
On the bare soil portray'd, like that fam'd steed,
Which, in its womb, the fate of Troy conceal'd,
O'erlooks the vale.—Ye swains, that wish to learn,
Whence rose the strange phænomenon, attend!

Britannia's sons, tho' now for arts renown'd,
A race of ancestors untaught, and rude,
Acknowledge; like those naked Indian tribes,
Which first Columbus in the Atlantic isles
With wonder saw. Alike their early fate,

To yield to conquering arms! Imperial Rome
Was then to them what Britain is to these,
And thro' the subject-land her trophies rear'd.

But haughty Rome, her ancient manners flown,
Stoop'd to Barbaric rage. O'er her proud walls
The Goths prevail, which erst the Punic bands
Assail'd in vain, tho' Cannæ's bloody field
Their valour own'd, and Hannibal their guide!
Such is the fate, which mightiest empires prove,
Unless the virtues of the son preserve
What his forefather's ruder courage won!

No Cato now, the list'ning senate warm'd
To love of virtuous deeds, and public weal.
No Scipios led her hardy sons to war,
With sense of glory fir'd. Thro' all her realms
Or hostile arms invade, or factions shake
Her tott'ring state. From her proud capitol

Her tutelary gods retire, and Rome,
Imperial Rome, once mistress of the world,
A victim falls, so righteous Heav'n ordains,
To Pride and Luxury's all-conqu'ring charms.

Mean time her ancient foes, ere while restrain'd
By Roman arms, from Caledonia's hills
Rush like a torrent, with resistless force,
O'er Britain's fenceless bounds, and thro' her fields
Pour the full tide of desolating war.
Ætius, thrice Consul! now an empty name,
In vain her sons invoke. In vain they seek
Relief in servitude. Ev'n servitude
Its miserable comforts now denies,
From shore to shore they fly. The briny flood,
A guardian once, their further flight restrains.
Some court the boist'rous deep, a milder foe,
Some gain the distant shores, and fondly hope
In each to find a more indulgent home.
The rest, protracting still a wretched life,
From Belgia's coast in wild despair invite
Its new inhabitants, a Saxon race!
On enterprize, and martial conquest bent.

With joy the Saxons to their aid repair,
And soon revenge them on their northern foes.
Revenge too dearly bought! These courted guests
Give them short space for joy. A hostile look
On their fair fields they cast, (for feeble hands
Alas! too fair,) and seize them for their own.

And now again the conquer'd isle assumes
Another form; on ev'ry plain, and hill
New marks exhibiting of servile state,
The massy stone with figures quaint inscrib'd—
Or dyke by Woden, or the Mercian King ,
Vast bound'ry made—or thine, O Ashbury !
And Tysoe's wond'rous theme, the martial Horse,

Carv'd on the yielding turf, armorial sign
Of Hengist, Saxon Chief! of Brunswick now,
And with the British lion join'd, the bird
Of Rome surpassing. Studious to preserve
The fav'rite form, the treach'rous conquerors
Their vassal tribes compel, with festive rites,
Its fading figure yearly to renew,
And to the neighb'ring vale impart its name.

Called in scripture, the deep, the great deep, the deep that lieth under, or beneath the earth—the Tartarus or Erebus of the Heathens.

------So the watry throng
With serpent error wand'ring found their way,
And on the washy ooze deep channels wore.
Easy! ere God had bid the ground be dry,
All but within those banks, where rivers now
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train.

Milton. Paradise Lost, Book vii.

According to Mr. Hutchinson and his followers.

According to Dr. Burnett's Theory.

There are some remarkable traces of the great event here treated of, in each of these kinds, at Welcombe, near Stratford upon Avon, formerly a seat of the Combe family, the whole scene bearing the strongest marks of some violent conflict of Nature, and particularly of the agency of water.

May not the ebbing and flowing of the sea, to whatever cause it is owing, tend to assist this operation, as the pulsation of the heart accelerates the circulation of the blood in animal bodies?

The reader may see this hypothesis very ably supported by Mr. Catcot, in his Essay on the Deluge, 2d edit. together with many respectable names, ancient and modern, by whom it is patronized. The following passage from Lucretius is quoted by him, as well expressing their general meaning.

Partim quod subter per terras diditur omnes.
Percolatur enim virus, retroque remanat
Materies humoris, et ad caput amnibus omnis
Convenit, unde super terras fluit agmine dulci,
Quà via secta semel liquido pede detulit undas.

Trees of a very large size, torn up by the roots, and other vegetable and animal bodies, the spoils of the deluge, are found in every part of the earth, but chiefly in fens, or bogs, or amongst peat-earth, which is an assemblage of decayed vegetables. See Woodward's Nat. Hist. of the Earth, &c.

Upton, the seat of Robert Child, Esq.

Compton-Winyate, a seat of the Right Hon. the Earl of Northampton, at the foot of Edge-Hill.

Compton-Verney, a seat of the Right Hon. Lord Willoughby de Broke.

Wroxton, the seat of the Right Hon. the Earl of Guilford, father of Lady Willoughby de Broke.

Walton, the seat of Sir Charles Mordaunt, Bart. many years a Member of Parliament for the county of Warwick.

Charlecote, the seat of George Lucy, Esq.

This Bridge was built in the reign of K. Henry VII. at the sole cost and charge of Sir Hugh Clopton, Knt. Lord Mayor of the City of London, and a native of this place.

The seat of James West, Esq.

The seat of the Hon. George Shirley, Esq.

The seat of Sir Henry Parker, Bart.

The seat of Joseph Townshend, Esq.

So called from its situation on the river Alenus, or Alne, and from its being a Roman station on the Ikenild-Street.

A seat of the Right Hon. the Earl of Hertford.

The Right Hon. Henry Seymour Conway, Esq; one of his Majesty's principal Secretaries of State, and brother to the Right Hon. the Earl of Hertford.

The seat of the Right Hon. the Earl of Plymouth.

The seat of the Right Hon. Lord Archer.

The forest, or woodland part of Warwickshire.

So called, from its pleasant rural situation.

Called the Barons wars.

Hæc amat obscurum, volet hæc sub luce videri. Hor.

Stone-henge.

Call'd the King's-stone, or Koning-stone.

Call'd Roll-rich-Stones.

Weston, the seat of William Sheldon, Esq.

The seat of the late Baron Legge, now belonging to Robert Ladbroke, Esq.

Non his juventus orta parentibus
Infecit æquor sanguine Punico,
Pyrrhumque, et ingentem cecidit
Antilochum, Hannibalemque dirum.

Horat.

Wansdyke, or Wodensdyke, a boundary of the kingdom of the West Saxons, in Wiltshire.

Offa, from whom the boundary between the kingdom of the Mercians, and the Britons in Wales, took its name.

Ashbury, in Berkshire, near which is the figure of a horse cut on the side of a hill, in whitish earth, which gives name to the neighbouring valley.

The figure of the Red Horse, here described, is in the parish of Tysoe.

Call'd, from this figure, the Vale of Red-Horse.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

BOOK II. NOON.

Argument to Book the Second:

Noon. The Mid-Scene from the Castle on Ratley-Hill. More particular Account of the several Parts of this Scene, and of whatever is most remarkable in it. Warwick. Its Antiquity. Historical Account of the Earls of Warwick. Story of Guy. Guy's-Cliffe. Kenelworth. Its Castle. History of it. Balsal. Wroxal. Coventry. Its Environs. Manufactures. Story of Godiva. Peroration.

The Sun, whose eastern ray had scarcely gilt
The mountain's brow, while up the steep ascent,
With early step, we climb'd, now wide displays
His radiant orb, and half his daily stage
Hath nearly measur'd. From th'illumin'd vale
The soaring mists are drain'd, and, o'er the hill,
No more breathes grateful the cool, balmy air,
Chearing our search, and urging on our steps

Delightful. See, the languid herds forsake
The burning mead, and creep beneath the shade
Of spreading tree, or shelt'ring hedge-row tall:
Or, in the mant'ling pool, rude reservoir
Of wintry rains, and the slow, thrifty spring!
Cool their parch'd limbs, and lave their panting sides.

Let us too seek the shade. Yon' airy dome,
Beneath whose lofty battlements we found
A covert passage to these sultry realms,
Invites our drooping strength, and well befriends
The pleasing comment on fair Nature's book,
In sumptuous volume, open'd to our view.

Ye sportive nymphs! that o'er the rural scene
Preside, you chief! that haunt the flow'ry banks
Of Avon, where, with more majestic wave,
Warwick's illustrious Lord, thro' the gay meads
His dancing current guides, or round the lawn
Directs th'embroider'd verge of various dyes,
O! teach me all its graces to unfold,
And, with your praise, join his attendant fame.

'Tis well! Here shelter'd from the scorching heat,
At large we view the subject vale sublime,

And unimpeded. Hence its limits trace
Stretching, in wanton bound'ry, from the foot
Of this green mountain, far as human ken
Can reach, a theatre immense! adorn'd
With ornaments of sweet variety,
By Nature's pencil drawn—the level meads,
A verdant floor! with brightest gems inlaid,
And richly-painted flow'rs—the tillag'd plain,
Wide-waving to the sun a rival blaze
Of gold, best source of wealth!—the prouder hills,
With outline fair, in naked pomp display'd,
Round, angular, oblong; and others crown'd
With graceful foliage. Over all her horn
Fair Plenty pours, and Cultivation spreads
Her height'ning lustre. See, beneath her touch,
The smiling harvests rise, with bending line,
And wavy ridge, along the dappled glebe
Stretching their lengthen'd beds. Her careful hand
Piles up the yellow grain, or rustling hay
Adust for wintry store—the long-ridg'd mow,
Or shapely pyramid, with conic roof,
Dressing the landscape. She the thick-wove fence

Nurses, and adds, with care, the hedge-row elm.
Around her farms and villages she plans
The rural garden, yielding wholesome food
Of simple viands, and the fragrant herb
Medicinal. The well-rang'd orchard now
She orders, or the shelt'ring clump, or tuft
Of hardy trees, the wintry storms to curb,
Or guard the sweet retreat of village-swain,
With health, and plenty crown'd. Fair Science next,
Her offspring! adds towns, cities, vaulted domes,
And splendid palaces, and chases large,
With lake, and planted grove. Hence Warwick, fair
With rising buildings, Coventry's tall spires,
And Kenelworth! thy stately castle rose,
Which still, in ruin, charms th'astonish'd sight.
To crown the beauteous scene, the curtain'd sky,
Its canopy divine of azure tint,
Spreads heav'nly fair, and softens ev'ry charm.

Now yet again, with accurate survey,
The level plain, hills rising various, woods,
And meadows green, the simple cot, and towns,

Nurs'ries of arts, and commerce! Warwick, fair
With rising buildings, Coventry's tall spires,
Magnificent in ruin Kenelworth!
And still more distant scenes, with legends strange,
And smoaky arts, taught in the dusky schools
Of Tubal's sons, attentive let us scan,
And all their charms, and mysteries explore.

First view, but cautious, the vast precipice;
Lest, startled at the giddy height, thy sense
Swimming forsake thee, and thy trembling limbs,
Unnerv'd, and fault'ring, threaten dang'rous lapse.
Along th'indented bank, the forest-tribes,
The thin-leav'd ash, dark oak, and glossy beech,
Of polish'd rind, their branching boughs extend,
With blended tints, and amicable strife,
Forming a checker'd shade. Below, the lawns,
With spacious sweep, and wild declivity,
To yellow plains their sloping verdure join.

There, white with flocks, and, in her num'rous herds
Exulting, Chadsunt's pastures, large, and fair

Salute the sight, and witness to the fame
Of Lichfield's mitred saint . The furzy heaths
Succeed; close refuge of the tim'rous Hare,
Or prowling Fox, but refuge insecure!
From their dark covert oft the hunter-train
Rouse them unwilling, and, o'er hill, and dale,
With wild, tumultuous joy, their steps pursue.
Just vengeance on the midnight thief! and life
With life aton'd! But that poor, trembling wretch!
‘Who doubts if now she lives,’ what hath she done
Guiltless of blood, and impotent of wrong?
How num'rous, how insatiate yet her foes!
Ev'n in these thickets, where she vainly sought
A safe retreat from man's unfeeling race,
The busy hound, to blood, and slaughter train'd,
Snuffs her sweet vapour, and, to murth'rous rage,
By mad'ning sounds impell'd, in her close seat,
With fury tears her, and her corse devours:
Or scares her o'er the fields, and, by the scent,
With keen desire of reeking gore inflam'd,

Loud-bellowing tortures her with deathful cries.
Nor more secure her path! Man even there,
Watching, with foul intent, her secret haunts,
Plants instruments of death, and round her neck
The fatal snare entwines. Thus Innocence,
In human things, by wily Fraud ensnar'd,
Oft helpless falls, while the bold Plund'rer 'scapes.
Next the wide champaign, and the cheerful downs
Claim notice; chiefly thine, O Chesterton !
Pre-eminent. Nor 'scape the roving eye
Thy solemn wood, and Roman vestiges,
Encampment green, or military road!
Amusive to the grave, historic mind.
Thee Tachbroke joins with venerable shade.
Nor distant far, in Saxon annals fam'd,
The rural court of Offa, Mercian King!

Where, sever'd from its trunk, low lies the head
Of brave Fermundus, slain by coward hands,
As on the turf supine in sleep he lay,
Nor wist it sleep from which to wake no more!

Now Warwick claims the song; supremely fair
In this fair realm; conspicuous rais'd to view
On the firm rock, a beauteous eminence
For health, and pleasure form'd. Full to the south
A stately range of high, embattled walls
And lofty tow'rs, and precipices vast,
Its guardian worth, and ancient pomp confess.
The northern hills, where Superstition long
Her gloomy rites maintain'd, a tranquil scene
Of gentler arts, and pleasures more refin'd
Displays. Lawns, parks, and meadows fair,
And groves around their mingled graces join,
And Avon pours his tributary stream.

On thee contending kings their bounty pour'd,
And call'd the favour'd city by their names.

Thy worth the Romans publish'd, when to thee
Their legions they consign'd. Thee Ethelflede ,
Thy guardian Fair! with royal grace restor'd,
When Pagan foes had raz'd thy goodly streets.
A monarch's care, those walls to learning rais'd,
These an asylum to declining age
A Leicester's love proclaim. Nor pass unsung
The train of gallant chiefs, by thy lov'd name
Distinguish'd, and by deeds of high renown
Gracing the lofty title. Arthgal first,
And brave Morvidus, fam'd in Druid song,
And British annals. Fair Felicia's sire,
Rohand! and with her join'd in wedded love,

Immortal Guy! who near Wintonia's walls
With that gigantic braggard Colebrand hight!
For a long summer's day sole fight maintain'd.
But huge gigantic size, and braggart oaths,
And sword, or massy club dismay'd thee not.
Thy skill the stroke eluded, or thy shield
Harmless receiv'd, while on his batter'd sides
Fell thick thy galling blows, till from his hands
Down dropp'd the pond'rous weapon, and himself
Prostrate, to thy keen blade his grizly head
Reluctant yielded. Lamentations loud,
And shouts victorious, in strange concert join'd,
Proclaim the champion's fall. Thee Athelstan
His great deliverer owns, and meditates
With honours fair, and festive pomp to crown.
But other meed thy thoughtful mind employ'd,
Intent in heav'nly solitude to spend
The precious eve of life. Yet shall the Muse
Thy deed record, and on her patriot list
Enrol thy name, tho' many a Saxon chief
She leaves unsung. A Norman race succeeds,

To thee, fair town ! by charitable deeds,
And pious gifts endear'd. The Beauchamps too
Thou claim'st, for arms, and courtly manners fam'd!
Him chief, whom three imperial Henrys crown'd
With envied honours. Mirror fair was he
Of valour, and of knightly feats atchiev'd
In tilt, and tournament. Thee Nevil boasts
For bold exploits renown'd, with civil strife
When Britain's bleeding realm her weakness mourn'd,
And half her nobles in the contest slain
Of York, and Lancaster. He, sworn to both,
As int'rest tempted, or resentment fir'd,

To Henry now, and now to Edward join'd
His pow'rful aid; now both to empire rais'd,
Now from their summit pluck'd, till in the strife
By Edward's conquering arms at length he fell.
Thou, Clarence, next, and next thy hapless son,
The last Plantagenet awhile appears
To dignify the list; both sacrific'd
To barb'rous policy! Proud Dudley now
From Edward's hand the bright distinction bore,
But soon to Mary paid his forfeit head,
And in his fate a wretched race involv'd:
Thee chief, thee wept by ev'ry gentle Muse,
Fair Jane! untimely doom'd to bloody death,

For treason not thy own. To Rich's line
Was then transfer'd th'illustrious name, to thine
O Greville! last. Late may it there remain!
With promise fair, as now, (more fair what heart
Parental craves?) of long, transmissive worth,
Proud Warwick's name, with growing fame to grace,
And crown, with lasting joy, her castled hill.

Hail, stately pile; fit mansion for the great!
Worthy the lofty title! Worthy him ,
To Beauchamp's gallant race allied! the friend

Of gentle Sidney! to whose long desert,
In royal councils prov'd, his sov'reign's gift
Consign'd the lofty structure: Worthy he!
The lofty structure's splendor to restore.

Nor less intent who now, by lineal right,
His place sustains, with reparations bold,
And well-attemper'd dignity to grace
Th'embattled walls. Nor spares his gen'rous mind
The cost of rural work, plantation large,
Forest, or fragrant shrub; or shelter'd walks,
Or ample, verdant lawns, where the sleek deer
Sport on the brink of Avon's flood, or graze
Beneath the rising walls; magnificence
With grace uniting, and enlarg'd delight
Of prospect fair, and Nature's smiling scenes!

Still is the colouring faint. O! cou'd my verse,
Like their Louisa's pencil'd shades describe
The tow'rs, the woods, the lawns, the winding stream,
Fair like her form, and like her birth sublime!

Not Windsor's royal scenes by Denham sung,
Or that more tuneful bard on Twick'nam's shore
Should boast a loftier strain, but in my verse
Their fame shou'd live, as lives, proportion'd true,
Their beauteous image in her graven lines.

Transporting theme! on which I still cou'd waste
The ling'ring hours, and still protract the song
With new delight; but thy example, Guy!
Calls me from scenes of pomp, and earthly pride,
To muse with thee in thy sequester'd cell .

Here the calm scene lulls the tumultuous breast
To sweet composure. Here the gliding stream,
That winds its watry path in many a maze,
As loth to leave th'enchanted spot, invites
To moralize on fleeting time, and life,
With all its treach'rous sweets, and fading joys,
In emblem shewn, by many a short-liv'd flow'r,
That on its margin smiles, and smiling falls
To join its parent Earth. Here let me delve,
Near thine, my chamber in the peaceful rock,

And think no more of gilded palaces,
And luxury of sense. From the till'd glebe,
Or ever-teeming brook, my frugal meal
I'll gain, and slake my thirst at yonder spring.
Like thee, I'll climb the steep, and mark the scene
How fair! how passing fair! in grateful strains
Singing the praises of creative love.
Like thee, I'll tend the call of mattin bell
To early orisons, and latest tune
My evening song to that more wond'rous love,
Which sav'd us from the grand Apostate's wiles,
And righteous vengeance of Almighty ire,
Justly incens'd. O pow'r of grace divine!
When mercy met with truth, with justice, peace.
Thou, holy Hermit! in this league secure,
Did'st wait Death's vanquish'd spectre as a friend,
To change thy mortal coil for heav'nly bliss.

Next, Kenelworth! thy fame invites the song.
Assemblage sweet of social, and serene!
But chiefly two fair streets, in adverse rows,

Their lengthen'd fronts extend, reflecting each
Beauty on each reciprocal. Between,
A verdant valley, slop'd from either side,
Forms the mid-space, where gently-gliding flows
A crystal stream, beneath the mould'ring base
Of an old abbey's venerable walls.
Still further in the vale her castle lifts
Its stately tow'rs, and tott'ring battlements,
Drest with the rampant ivy's uncheck'd growth
Luxuriant. Here let us pause awhile,
To read the melancholy tale of pomp
Laid low in dust, and, from historic page,
Compose its epitaph. Hail, Clinton! hail!
Thy Norman founder still yon' neighb'ring Green,
And massy walls, with stile Imperial grac'd,
Record. The Montforts thee with hardy deeds,

And memorable siege by Henry's arms,
And senatorial acts, that bear thy name
Distinguish. Thee the bold Lancastrian line,
A royal train! from valiant Gaunt deriv'd,
Grace with new lustre; till Eliza's hand
Transferr'd thy walls to Leicester's favour'd Earl.
He long, beneath thy roof, the maiden Queen,
And all her courtly guests, with rare device
Of mask, and emblematic scenery,
Tritons, and sea-nymphs, and the floating isle,
Detain'd. Nor feats of prowess, joust, or tilt
Of harness'd knights, nor rustic revelry
Were wanting; nor the dance, and sprightly mirth
Beneath the festive walls, with regal state,
And choicest lux'ry serv'd. But regal state,

And sprightly mirth, beneath the festive roof,
Are now no more. No more assembled crowds
At the stern porter's lodge admittance crave.
No more, with plaint, or suit importunate,
The thronged lobby echoes, nor with staff,
Or gaudy badge, the busy pursuivants
Lead to wish'd audience. All, alas! is gone,
And Silence keeps her melancholy court
Throughout the walls; save, where, in rooms of state,
Kings once repos'd! chatter the wrangling daws,
Or screech-owls hoot along the vaulted isles.
No more the trumpet calls the martial band,
With sprightly summons, to the guarded lists;
Nor lofty galleries their pride disclose
Of beauteous nymphs in courtly pomp attir'd,
Watching, with trembling hearts, the doubtful strife,
And, with their looks, inspiring wond'rous deeds.
No more the lake displays its pageant shows,
And emblematic forms. Alike the lake,
And all its emblematic forms are flown,
And in their place mute flocks, and heifers graze,
Or buxom damsels ted the new-mown hay.

What art thou, Grandeur! with thy flatt'ring train
Of pompous lies, and boastful promises?
Where are they now, and what's their mighty sum?
All, all are vanish'd! like the fleeting forms
Drawn in an evening cloud. Nought now remains,
Save these sad relicks of departed pomp,
These spoils of time, a monumental pile!
Which to the vain its mournful tale relates,
And warns them not to trust to fleeting dreams.

Thee too, tho' boasting not a royal train,
The Muse, O Balshal! in her faithful page
Shall celebrate: for long beneath thy roof
A band of warriors bold, of high renown,
To martial deeds, and hazardous emprize
Sworn, for defence of Salem's sacred walls,
From Paynim-foes, and holy pilgrimage.
Now other guests thou entertain'st,
A female band, by female charity

Sustain'd. Thee, Wroxal! too, in fame allied,
Seat of the Poet's, and the Muse's friend!
My verse shall sing, with thy long-exil'd Knight,
By Leonard's pray'rs, from distant servitude,
To these brown thickets, and his mournful mate,
Invisibly convey'd. Yet doubted she
His speech, and alter'd form, and better proof
Impatient urg'd. (So Ithaca's chaste queen
Her much-wish'd lord, by twice ten absent years,
And wise Minerva's guardian care disguis'd,
Acknowledg'd not: so, with suspended faith,
His bridal claim repress'd.) Strait he displays
Part of the nuptial ring between them shar'd,
When in the bold crusade his shield he bore.
The twin memorial of their plighted love
Within her faithful bosom she retain'd.
Quick from its shrine the hallow'd pledge she drew,
To match it with its mate, when, strange to tell!
No sooner had the separated curves

Approach'd each other, but, with sudden spring,
They join'd again, and the small circle clos'd.
So they, long sever'd, met in close embrace.

At length, O Coventry! thy neighb'ring fields,
And fair surrounding villas we attend,
Allesley, and Whitley's pastures, Stivichale,
That views with lasting joy thy green domains,
And Bagington's fair walls, and Stonely! thine,
And Coombe's majestic pile, both boasting once
Monastic pomp, still equal in renown!
And, as their kindred fortunes they compare,
Applauding more the present, than the past.

Ev'n now the pencil'd sheets, unroll'd, display
More sprightly charms of beauteous lawn, and grove,
And sweetly-wand'ring paths, and ambient stream,
To chear with lasting flow th'enamell'd scene,
And themes of song for future bards prepare.

Fair City! thus environ'd! and thyself
For royal grants, and silken arts renown'd!
To thee the docile youth repair, and learn,
With sidelong glance, and nimble stroke, to ply
The flitting shuttle, while their active feet,
In mystic movements, press the subtle stops
Of the loom's complicated frame, contriv'd,
From the loose thread, to form, with wond'rous art,
A texture close, inwrought with choice device
Of flow'r, or foliage gay, to the rich stuff,
Or silky web, imparting fairer worth.
Nor shall the Muse, in her descriptive song,
Neglect from dark oblivion to preserve
Thy mould'ring Cross, with ornament profuse

Of pinnacles, and niches, proudly rais'd,
Height above height, a sculptur'd chronicle!
Less lasting than the monumental verse.
Nor scornful will she flout thy cavalcade,
Made yearly to Godiva's deathless praise,
While gaping crowds around her pageant throng,
With prying look, and stupid wonderment.
Not so the Muse! who, with her virtue fir'd,
And love of thy renown, in notes as chaste
As her fair purpose, from memorials dark,
Shall, to the list'ning ear, her tale explain.

When Edward, last of Egbert's royal race,
O'er sev'n united realms the sceptre sway'd,
Proud Leofric, with trust of sov'reign pow'r,
The subject Mercians rul'd. His lofty state
The loveliest of her sex! a noble dame
Of Thorold's ancient line, Godiva shar'd.
But pageant pomp charm'd not her saintly mind
Like virtuous deeds, and care of others weal.
Such tender passions in his haughty breast

He cherish'd not, but with despotic sway,
Controul'd his vassal tribes, and, from their toil,
His luxury maintain'd. Godiva saw
Their plaintive looks; with grief she saw thy sons,
O Coventry! by tyrant laws oppress'd,
And urg'd her haughty lord, but urg'd in vain!
With patriot-rule, thy drooping arts to chear.
Yet, tho' forbidden e'er again to move
In what so much his lofty state concern'd,
Not so from thought of charitable deed
Desisted she, but amiably perverse
Her hopeless suit renew'd. Bold was th'attempt!
Yet not more bold than fair, if pitying sighs
Be fair, and charity which knows no bounds.
What had'st thou then to fear from wrath inflam'd
At such transcendent guilt, rebellion join'd
With female weakness, and officious zeal?
So thy stern lord might call the gen'rous deed;
Perhaps might punish as befitted deed
So call'd, if love restrain'd not: yet tho' love
O'er anger triumph'd, and imperious rule,

Not o'er his pride; which better to maintain,
His answer thus he artfully return'd.

Why will the lovely partner of my joys,
Forbidden, thus her wild petition urge?
Think not my breast is steel'd against the claims
Of sweet humanity. Think not I hear
Regardless thy request. If piety,
Or other motive, with mistaken zeal,
Call'd to thy aid, pierc'd not my stubborn frame,
Yet to the pleader's worth, and modest charms,
Wou'd my fond love no trivial gift impart.
But pomp and fame forbid. That vassalage,
Which, thoughtless, thou wou'dst tempt me to dissolve,
Exalts our splendor, and augments my pow'r.
With tender bosoms form'd, and yielding hearts,
Your sex soon melts at sights of vulgar woe;
Heedless how glory fires the manly breast
With love of rank sublime. This principle
In female minds a feebler empire holds,
Opposing less the specious arguments
For milder rule, and freedom's popular theme.

But plant some gentler passion in its room,
Some virtuous instinct suited to your make,
As glory is to ours, alike requir'd
A ransom for the vulgar's vassal state,
Then wou'dst thou soon the strong contention own,
And justify my conduct. Thou art fair,
And chaste as fair; with nicest sense of shame,
And sanctity of thought. Thy bosom thou
Did'st ne'er expose to shameless dalliance
Of wanton eyes; nor, ill-concealing it
Beneath the treach'rous cov'ring, tempt aside
The secret glance, with meditated fraud.
Go now, and lay thy modest garments by:
In naked beauty, mount thy milk-white steed,
And through the streets, in face of open day,
And gazing slaves, their fair deliv'rer ride:
Then will I own thy pity was sincere,
Applaud thy virtue, and confirm thy suit.
But if thou lik'st not such ungentle terms,
And sure thy soul the guilty thought abhors!
Know then that Leofric, like thee, can feel,
Like thee, may pity, while he seems severe,

And urge thy suit no more. His speech he clos'd,
And, with strange oaths, confirm'd the sad decree.

Again, within Godiva's gentle breast
New tumults rose. At length her female fears
Gave way, and sweet humanity prevail'd.
Reluctant, but resolv'd, the matchless fair
Gives all her naked beauty to the sun:
Then mounts her milk-white steed, and, thro' the streets,
Rides fearless; her dishevell'd hair a veil!
That o'er her beauteous limbs luxuriant flow'd,
Nurs'd long by Fate for this important day!
Prostrate to earth th'astonish'd vassals bow,
Or to their inmost privacies retire.
All, but one prying slave! who fondly hop'd,
With venial curiosity, to gaze
On such a wond'rous dame. But soul disgrace
O'ertook the bold offender, and he stands,
By just decree, a spectacle abhorr'd,
And lasting monument of swift revenge
For thoughts impure, and beauty's injur'd charms.

Ye guardians of her rights, so nobly won!
Cherish the Muse, who first in modern strains
Essay'd to sing your lovely Patriot's fame,
Anxious to rescue from oblivious time
Such matchless virtue, her heroic deed
Illustrate, and your gay procession grace.

END OF BOOK THE SECOND.

The seat of James Newsam Craggs, Esq.

St. Chadd.

A seat of the Right Honourable Lord Willoughby de Broke, so called from its being a Roman station on the Foss-Way.

A seat of Sir Walter Bagot, Bart.

Offchurch, the seat of Whitwick Knightley, Esq.

The Castle.

The Priory, now the seat of Henry Wise, Esq.

Called Caer-Leon from Guth-Leon, also Caer-Gwayr, or Guaric, from Gwar, two British Kings. Its present name is said to be taken from Warremund, a Saxon.

It was the Præsidium of the Romans.

She rebuilt it when it had been destroyed by the Danes.

The Free-School.

The Hospital.

The first Earl of Warwick, and one of the Knights of King Arthur's round table.

Henry de Novo Burgo, the first Norman Earl, founded the priory at Warwick, and Roger his son built and endowed the church of St. Mary.

Richard Earl of Warwick, in the reigns of K. Henry IV. V. and VI. was Governor of Calais, and Lieutenant General of France. He founded the Lady's Chapel, and lies interred there under a very magnificent monument.

Called Make-King. He was killed at the battle of Barnet.

He married the Earl of Warwick's daughter, and was put to death by his brother, Edward IV.

Beheaded in the Tower by Henry VII. under a pretence of favouring the escape of Peter Warbeck.

Made Earl of Warwick by Edward VI. and afterwards Duke of Northumberland.

Lady Jane Grey, married to a son of the Earl of Warwick.

Robert Lord Rich, created Earl of Warwick by James I.

Greville Lord Brook, first created Earl Brook of Warwick Castle, and afterwards Earl of Warwick, by K. George II.

Sir Fulke Greville, made Baron Brook of Beaucamp's-court, by James I. had the Castle of Warwick, then in a ruinous condition, granted to him; upon which he laid out 20,000 l. He lies buried in a neat octagon building, on the north side of the chancel at Warwick, under a fine marble monument, on which is the following very significant, laconic inscription,

“TROPHOEVM PECCATI!

Fulke Greville, Servant to Queen Elizabeth, Counsellor to King James, and Friend to Sir Philip Sidney.”

The Right Hon. Lady Louisa Greville, daughter to the Right Hon. the Earl of Warwick.

Called Guy's Cliff, the seat of the Right Hon. Lady Mary Greatheed.

Here was anciently an oratory, where tradition says, Guy spent the latter part of his life in devotional exercises.

Geoffry de Clinton, who built both the Castle, and the adjoining Monastery, Temp. Hen. I.

Clinton-Green.

Cæsar's-Tower.

The Montforts, Earls of Leicester, of which Simon de Montfort, and his son Henry, were killed at the battle of Evesham.

Henry III. who besieged this Castle, and call'd a convention here, which passed an act for redeeming forfeited estates, called Dictum de Kenelworth.

From whom a part of this structure is called Lancaster's Buildings.

Granted by Queen Elizabeth to Dudley Earl of Leicester.

Formerly a seat of the Knights Templars, now an Almshouse for poor widows, founded by the Lady Katharine Levison, a descendant of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester.

The seat of Christopher Wren, Esq; once a nunnery, dedicated to St. Leonard.—See Dugdale's Antiquities.

The seat of M. Neale, Esq.

The seat of Ed. Bowater, Esq; now belonging to Francis Wheeler, Esq.

The seat of Arthur Gregory, Esq; commanding a pleasant view of Coventry park, &c.

The seat of William Bromley, Esq; one of the Representatives in Parliament for the county of Warwick.

The seat of the Right Hon. Lord Leigh.

The seat of the Right Hon. Lord Craven.

Built by Sir William Hollies, Lord Mayor of London, in the reign of King Henry VIII.

Edward the Confessor.

See Dugdale's Antiquities of Warwickshire.

It is pleasant enough to observe, with what gravity the above-mentioned learned writer dwells on the praises of this renown'd lady. “And now, before I proceed,” says he, “I have a word more to say of the noble Countess Godeva, which is, that besides her devout advancement of that pious work of his, i. e. her husband Leofric, in this magnificent monastery, viz. of Monks at Coventry, she gave her whole treasure thereto, and sent for skilful goldsmiths, who, with all the gold and silver she had, made crosses, images of saints, and other curious ornaments.” Which passages may serve as a specimen of the devotion and patriotism of those times.

BOOK III. AFTERNOON.

Argument to Book the Third.

Address to the Right Hon. the Earl of Clarendon. Metaphysical Subtleties exploded. Philosophical Account of Vision, and Optic Glasses. Objects of Sight not sufficiently regarded on Account of their being common. Story relative thereto. Return to the Mid-Scene. Solihul. School-Scene. Bremicham. Its Manufactures. Coal-Mines. Iron-Ore. Process of it. Panegyric upon Iron.

Again, the Muse her airy flight essays.
Will Villers, skill'd alike in classic song,
Or, with a critic's eye, to trace the charms
Of Nature's beauteous scenes, attend the lay?
Will he, accustom'd to soft Latian climes,
As to their softer numbers, deign awhile
To quit the Mantuan Bard's harmonious strain,
By sweet attraction of the theme allur'd?
The Latian Poet's song is still the same.

Not so the Latian fields. The gentle Arts
That made those fields so fair, when Gothic Rule,
And Superstition, with her bigot train,
Fixt there their gloomy seat, to this fair Isle
Retir'd, with Freedom's gen'rous sons to dwell,
To grace her cities, and her smiling plains
With plenty cloathe, and crown the rural toil.

Nor hath he found, throughout those spacious realms
Where Albis flows, and Ister's stately flood,
More verdant meads, or more superb remains
Of old magnificence, than his own fields
Display, where Clinton's venerable walls
In ruin, still their ancient grandeur tell.

Requires there aught of learning's pompous aid
To prove that all this outward frame of things
Is what it seems, not unsubstantial air,
Ideal vision, or a waking dream,

Without existence, save what Fancy gives?
Shall we, because we strive in vain to tell
How Matter acts on incorporeal Mind,
Or how, when sleep has lock'd up ev'ry sense,
Or fevers rage, Imagination paints
Unreal scenes, reject what sober sense,
And calmest thought attest? Shall we confound
States wholly diff'rent? Sleep with wakeful life?
Disease with health? This were to quit the day,
And seek our path at midnight. To renounce
Man's surest evidence, and idolize
Imagination. Hence then banish we
These metaphysic subtleties, and mark
The curious structure of these visual orbs,
The windows of the mind; substance how clear,
Aqueous, or crystalline! through which the soul,
As thro' a glass, all outward things surveys.

See, while the sun gilds, with his golden beam,
Yon' distant pile, which Hyde, with care refin'd,
From plunder guards, its form how beautiful!
Anon some cloud his radiance intercepts,
And all the splendid object fades away.

Or, if some incrustation o'er the sight
Its baleful texture spread, like a clear lens,
With filth obscur'd! no more the sensory,
Thro' the thick film, imbibes the chearful day,
‘But cloud instead, and ever-during night
Surround it.’ So, when on some weighty truth
A beam of heav'nly light its lustre sheds,
To Reason's eye it looks supremely fair.
But if foul Passion, or distemper'd Pride,
Impede its search, or Phrenzy seize the brain,
Then Ignorance a gloomy darkness spreads,
Or Superstition, with mishapen forms,
Erects its savage empire in the mind.

The vulgar race of men, like herds that graze,
On Instinct live, not knowing how they live;
While Reason sleeps, or waking stoops to Sense.
But sage Philosophy explores the cause
Of each phænomenon of sight, or sound,
Taste, touch, or smell; each organ's inmost frame,
And correspondence with external things:
Explains how diff'rent texture of their parts
Excites sensations diff'rent, rough, or smooth,

Bitter, or sweet, fragrance, or noisome scent:
How various streams of undulating air,
Thro' the ear's winding labyrinth convey'd,
Cause all the vast variety of sounds.
Hence too the subtle properties of light,
And sev'n-fold colour are distinctly view'd
In the prismatic glass, and outward forms
Shewn fairly drawn, in miniature divine,
On the transparent eye's membraneous cell.
By combination hence of diff'rent orbs,
Convex, or concave, thro' their crystal pores,
Transmitting variously the solar ray,
With line oblique, the telescopic tube
Reveals the wonders of the starry sphere,
Worlds above worlds; or, in a single grain,
Or watry drop, the penetrative eye
Discerns innumerable inhabitants
Of perfect structure, imperceptible
To naked view. Hence each defect of sense
Obtains relief; hence to the palsy'd ear
New impulse, vision new to languid sight,
Surprize to both, and youthful joys restor'd!

Cheap is the bliss we never knew to want!
So graceless spendthrifts waste unthankfully
Those sums, which Merit often seeks in vain,
And Poverty wou'd kneel to call its own.
So objects, hourly seen, unheeded pass,
At which the new-created sight would gaze
With exquisite delight. Doubt ye this truth?
A tale shall place it fairer to your view.

A youth there was, a youth of lib'ral mind,
And fair proportion in each lineament
Of outward form; but dim suffusion veil'd
His sightless orbs, which roll'd, and roll'd in vain
To find the blaze of day. From infancy,
Till full maturity glow'd on his cheek,
The long, long night its gloomy empire held,
And mock'd each gentle effort, lotions,
Or cataplasms, by parental hands,
With fruitless care employ'd. At length a Leech,
Of skill profound, well-vers'd in optic lore,

An arduous task devis'd aside to draw
The veil, which, like a cloud, hung o'er his sight,
And ope a lucid passage to the sun.
Instant the Youth the promis'd blessing craves.
But first his parents, with uplifted hands,
The healing Pow'rs invoke, and pitying friends
With sympathizing heart, the rites prepare:
'Mongst these, who well deserv'd the important trust,
A gentle Maid there was, that long had wail'd
His hapless fate. Full many a tedious hour
Had she, with converse, and instructive song,
Beguil'd. Full many a step darkling her arm
Sustain'd him; and, as they their youthful days
In friendly deeds, and mutual intercourse
Of sweet endearment pass'd, love in each breast
His empire fix'd; in her's with pity join'd,
In his with gratitude, and deep regard.

The friendly wound was giv'n; th'obstructing film
Drawn artfully aside; and, on his sight
Burst the full tide of day. Surpriz'd he stood,
Not knowing where he was, nor what he saw!
The skilful artist first, as first in place

He view'd, then seiz'd his hand, then felt his own,
Then mark'd their near resemblance, much perplex'd,
And still the more perplex'd, the more he saw.

Now silence first th'impatient mother broke,
And, as her eager looks on him she bent,
“My son,” she cried, “my son!” On her he gaz'd
With fresh surprize. And, what? he cried, art thou
My mother? for thy voice bespeaks thee such,
Tho' to my sight unknown. Thy mother I!
She quick reply'd, thy sister, brother these—
O! 'tis too much, he said; too soon to part,
Ere well we meet! But this new flood of day
O'erpow'rs me, and I feel a death-like damp
Chill all my frame, and stop my fault'ring tongue.

Now Lydia, so they call'd his gentle friend,
Who, with averted eye, but, in her soul,
Had felt the lancing steel, her aid apply'd,
And stay, dear youth, she said, or with thee take
Thy Lydia, thine alike in life, or death.

At Lydia's name, at Lydia's well-known voice,
He strove again to raise his drooping head,

And ope his closing eye, but strove in vain,
And on her trembling bosom sunk away.

Now other fears distract his weeping friends.
But short this grief! for soon his life return'd,
And, with return of life, return'd their peace.
Yet, for his safety, they resolve awhile
His infant sense from day's bright beams to guard,
Ere yet again they tempt such dang'rous joy.

As, when from some transporting dream awak'd,
We fondly on the sweet delusion dwell,
And, with intense reflection, to our minds
Picture th'enchanted scene—angelic forms—
Converse sublime—and more than waking bliss!
Till the coy vision, as the more we strive
To paint it livelier on th'enraptur'd sense,
Still fainter grows, and dies at last away:
So dwelt the Youth on his late transient joy,
So long'd the dear remembrance to renew.

At length, again the wish'd-for day arriv'd.
The task was Lydia's! her's the charge, alone
From dangers new to guard the dear delight;
But first th'impatient Youth she thus address'd.

Dear Youth! my trembling hands but ill essay
This tender task, and with unusual fear,
My flutt'ring heart forebodes some danger nigh.

Dismiss thy fears, he cried, nor think so ill
I con thy lessons, as still need be taught
To hail, with caution, the new-coming day.
Then loose these envious folds, and teach my sight,
If more can be, to make thee more belov'd.

Ah! there's my grief, she cried: 'tis true our hearts
With mutual passion burn, but then 'tis true
Thou ne'er hast known me by that subtle sense
Thro' which love most an easy passage finds;
That sense! which soon may shew thee many a maid
Fairer than Lydia, tho' more faithful none.
And may she not cease then to be belov'd?
May she not then, when less thou need'st her care,
Give place to some new charmer? 'Tis for this
I sigh; for this my sad foreboding fears
New terrors form. And can'st thou then, he cried,
Want aught that might endear thee to my soul?
Art thou not excellence? Art thou not all
That man cou'd wish? Goodness, and gentlest love?

Can I forget thy long assiduous care?
Thy morning-tendance, surest mark to me
Of day's return, of night thy late adieu?
Do I need aught to make my bliss compleat,
When thou art by me? when I press thy hand?
When I breath fragrance at thy near approach;
And hear the sweetest music in thy voice?
Can that, which to each other sense is dear,
So wond'rous dear, be otherwise to sight?
Or can sight make, what is to reason good,
And lovely, seem less lovely, and less good?
Perish the sense, that wou'd make Lydia such!
Perish its joys, those joys however great!
If to be purchas'd with the loss of thee.
O my dear Lydia! if there be indeed
The danger thou report'st, O! by our love,
Our mutual love, I charge thee, ne'er unbind
These hapless orbs, or tear them from their seat,
Ere they betray me thus to worse than death.

No, Heav'n forbid! she cried, for Heav'n hath heard
Thy parents pray'rs, and many a friend now waits
To mingle looks of cordial love with thine.

And shou'd I rob them of the sacred bliss?
Shou'd I deprive thee of the rapt'rous sight?
No! be thou happy; happy be thy friends;
Whatever fate attends thy Lydia's love;
Thy hapless Lydia!—Hapless did I say?
Ah! wherefore? wherefore wrong I thus thy worth?
Why doubt thy well-known truth, and constant mind?
No, happiest she of all the happy train,
In mutual vows, and plighted faith secure!

So saying, she the silken bandage loos'd,
Nor added further speech, prepar'd to watch
The new surprize, and guide the doubtful scene,
By silence more than tenfold night conceal'd.
When thus the Youth. And is this then the world,
In which I am to live? Am I awake?
Or do I dream? Or hath some pow'r unknown,
Far from my friends, far from my native home;
Convey'd me to these radiant seats? O thou!
Inhabitant of this enlighten'd world!
Whose heav'nly softness far transcends his shape,
By whom this miracle was first atchiev'd,
O! deign thou to instruct me where I am;

And how to name thee by true character,
Angel, or mortal! Once I had a friend,
Who, but till now, ne'er left me in distress.
Her speech was harmony, at which my heart
With transport flutter'd; and her gracious hand
Supplied me with whate'er my wish cou'd form;
Supply, and transport ne'er so wish'd before!
Never, when wanted, yet, so long denied!
Why is she silent now, when most I long
To hear her heav'nly voice? why flies she not
With more than usual speed to crown my bliss?
Ah! did I leave her in that darksome world?
Or rather dwells she not in these bright realms,
Companion fit for such fair forms as thine?
O! teach me, if thou canst, how I may find
This gentle counsellor; when found, how know
By this new sense, which, better still to rate
Her worth, I chiefly wish'd. The lovely form
Replied, In me behold that gentle friend,
If still thou own'st me such. O! yes, 'tis she,
He cried; 'tis Lydia! 'tis her charming voice!
O! speak again; O! let me press thy hand:

On these I can rely. This new-born sense
May cheat me. Yet so much I prize thy form,
I willingly would think it tells me true—

Ha! what are these? Are they not they, of whom
Thou warn'dst me? Yes—true—they are beautiful.
But have they lov'd like thee, like thee convers'd?
They move not as we move, they bear no part
In my new bliss. And yet methinks, in one,
Her form I can descry, tho' now so calm!
Who call'd me son. Mistaken Youth! she cried,
These are not what they seem; are not as we,
Not living substances, but pictur'd shapes,
Resemblances of life! by mixture form'd
Of light, and shade, in sweet proportion join'd.
But hark! I hear, without, thy longing friends,
Who wait my summons, and reprove my stay.

To thy direction, cried th'enraptur'd Youth,
To thy direction I commit my steps.
Lead on, be thou my guide, as late, so now,
In this new world, and teach me how to use
This wond'rous faculty; which thus, so soon
Mocks me with phantoms. Yet enough for me!

That all my past experience joins with this
To tell me I am happier than I know.
To tell me thou art Lydia! From whose side
I never more will part! with whom compar'd,
All others of her sex, however fair,
Shall be like painted, unsubstantial forms.

So when the soul, inflam'd with strong desire
Of purer bliss, its earthly mansion leaves,
Perhaps some friendly genius, wont to steer
With ministerial charge, his dang'rous steps;
Perhaps some gentle partner of his toil,
More early blest, in radiant lustre clad,
And form celestial, meets his dazzled sight;
And guides his way, thro' trackless fields of air,
To join, with rapt'rous joy, th'ethereal train.

Now to the midland search the Muse returns.
For more, and still more busy scenes remain;
The promis'd schools of wise artificers
In brass, and iron. But another school
Of gentler arts demands the Muse's song,
Where first she learn'd to scan the measur'd verse,
And aukwardly her infant notes essay'd.

Hail Solihul! respectful I salute
Thy walls; more awful once! when, from the sweets
Of festive freedom, and domestic ease,
With throbbing heart, to the stern discipline
Of pædagogue morose I sad return'd.
But tho' no more his brow severe, nor dread
Of birchen sceptre awes my riper age,
A sterner tyrant rises to my view,
With deadlier weapon arm'd. Ah! Critic! spare,
O! spare the Muse, who feels her youthful fears
On thee transfer'd, and trembles at thy lash.
Against the venal tribe, that prostitutes
The tuneful art, to sooth the villain's breast,
To blazon fools, or feed the pamper'd lust
Of bloated vanity; against the tribe
Which casts its wanton jests at holy truths,
Or clothes, with virtue's garb, th'accursed train
Of loathsome vices, lift thy vengeful arm,
And all thy just severity exert.
Enough to venial faults, and hapless want
Of animated numbers, such as breathe

The soul of epic song, hath erst been paid
Within these walls, still stain'd with infant blood.

Yet may I not forget the pious care
Of love parental, anxious to improve
My youthful mind. Nor yet the debt disown
Due to severe restraint, and rigid laws,
The wholesome curb of Passion's headstrong reign.
To them I owe that ere, with painful toil,
Thro' Priscian's crabbed rules, laborious task!
I held my course, till the dull, tiresome road
Plac'd me on classic ground, that well repaid
The labours of the way. To them I owe
The pleasing knowledge of my youthful mates
Matur'd in age, and honours. These among,
I gratulate whom Augusta's senate hails
Father! and, in each charge, and high employ,
Found worthy all her love, with amplest trust,
And dignity invests. And well I ween,
Her tribunitial pow'r, and purple pomp
On thee confers, in living manners school'd
To guard her weal, and vindicate her rights,
O Ladbroke! once in the same fortunes class'd

Of early life; with count'nance unestrang'd,
For ev'ry friendly deed still vacant found!

Nor can the Muse, while she these scenes surveys,
Forget her Shenstone, in the youthful toil
Associate; whose bright dawn of genius oft
Smooth'd my incondite verse; whose friendly voice
Call'd me from giddy sports to follow him
Intent on better themes—call'd me to taste
The charms of British song, the pictur'd page
Admire, or mark his imitative skill;
Or with him range in solitary shades,
And scoop rude grottos in the shelving bank.
Such were the joys that cheer'd life's early morn!
Such the strong sympathy of soul, that knit
Our hearts congenial in sweet amity!
On Cherwel's banks, by kindred science nurs'd;
And well-matur'd in life's advancing stage,
When, on Ardenna's plain, we fondly stray'd,
With mutual trust, and amicable thought;
Or in the social circle gaily join'd:
Or round his Leasowe's happy circuit rov'd;
On hill, and dale invoking ev'ry Muse,

Nor Tempe's shade, nor Aganippe's fount
Envied; so willingly the Dryads nurs'd
His groves; so lib'rally their crystal urns
The Naiads pour'd, enchanted with his spells;
And pleas'd to see their ever-flowing streams
Led by his hand, in many a mazy line;
Or, in the copious tide, collected large,
Or tumbling from the rock, in sportive falls,
Now, from the lofty bank, precipitate;
And now, in gentler course, with murmurs soft
Soothing the ear; and now, in concert join'd,
Fall above fall, oblique, and intricate,
Among the twisted roots. Ah! whilst I write,
In deeper murmur flows the sadning stream;
Wither the groves; and from the beauteous scene,
Its soft enchantments fly. No more for me
A charm it wears, since he alas! is gone,
Whose genius plann'd it, and whose spirit grac'd.
Ah! hourly does the fatal doom, pronounc'd
Against rebellious sin, some social band
Dissolve, and leave a thousand friends to weep,
Soon such themselves, as those they now lament!

This mournful tribute to thy mem'ry paid!
The Muse pursues her solitary way;
But heavily pursues, since thou art gone,
Whose counsel brighten'd, and whose friendship shar'd
The pleasing task. Now Bremicham! to thee
She steers her flight, and, in thy busy scenes,
Seeks to restrain awhile the starting tear.

Yet ere her song describes the smoky forge,
Or sounding anvil, to the dusky heath
Her gentle train she leads. What? tho' no grain,
Or herbage sweet, or waving woods adorn
Its dreary surface, yet it bears, within,
A richer treasury. So worthy minds
Oft lurk beneath a rude, unsightly form.
More hapless they! that few observers search,
Studious to find this intellectual ore,
And stamp, with gen'rous deed, its current worth.
Here many a merchant turns adventurer,
Encourag'd, not disgusted. Interest thus,
On sordid minds, with stronger impulse works,
Than virtue's heav'nly flame. Yet Providence
Converts to gen'ral use man's selfish ends.

Hence are the hungry fed, the naked cloath'd,
The wintry damps dispell'd, and social mirth
Exults, and glows before the blazing hearth.

When likely signs th'adventrous search invite,
A cunning artist tries the latent soil:
And if his subtle engine, in return,
A brittle mass contains of sable hue,
Strait he prepares th'obstructing earth to clear,
And raise the crumbling rock. A narrow pass
Once made, wide, and more wide the gloomy cave
Stretches its vaulted isles, by num'rous hands
Hourly extended. Some the pick-axe ply,
Loos'ning the quarry from its native bed.
Some waft it into light. Thus the grim ore,
Here useless, like the miser's brighter hoard,
Is from its prison brought, and sent abroad,
The frozen hours to cheer, to minister
To needful sustenance, and polish'd arts.
Mean while the subterraneous city spreads
Its covert streets, and echoes with the noise
Of swarthy slaves, and instruments of toil.
They, such the force of Custom's pow'rful laws!

Pursue their sooty labours, destitute
Of the sun's cheering light, and genial warmth.
And oft a chilling damp, or unctuous mist,
Loos'd from the crumbly caverns, issues forth,
Stopping the springs of life. And oft the flood,
Diverted from its course, in torrents pours,
Drowning the nether world. To cure these ills
Philosophy two curious arts supplies,
To drain th'imprison'd air, and, in its place,
More pure convey, or, with impetuous force,
To raise the gath'ring torrents from the deep.
One from the wind its salutary pow'r
Derives, thy charity to sick'ning crowds,
From cheerful haunts, and Nature's balmy draughts
Confin'd; O friend of man, illustrious Hales!
That, stranger still! its influence owes to air ,
By cold, and heat alternate now condens'd,
Now rarefied . Agent! to vulgar thought

How seeming weak, in act how pow'rful seen!
So Providence, by instruments despis'd,
All human force, and policy confounds.

But who that fiercer element can rule?
When, in the nitrous cave, the kindling flame,
By pitchy vapours fed, from cell to cell,
With fury spreads, and the wide fewell'd earth,
Around, with greedy joy, receives the blaze.
By its own entrails nourish'd, like those mounts
Vesuvian, or Ætnean, still it wastes,
And still new fewel for its rapine finds
Exhaustless. Wretched he! who journeying late,
O'er the parch'd heath, bewilder'd, seeks his way.
Oft will his snorting steed, with terror struck,
His wonted speed refuse, or start aside,
With rising smoak, and ruddy flame annoy'd.
While, at each step, his trembling rider quakes,
Appall'd with thoughts of bog, or cavern'd pit,
Or treach'rous earth, subsiding where they tread,
Tremendous passage to the realms of death!

Yet want there not ev'n here some lucid spots
The smoaky scene to cheer, and, by contrast,

More fair. Such Dartmouth's cultivated lawns!
Himself, distinguish'd more with ornament
Of cultur'd manners, and supernal light!
Such thine, O Bridgman! Such—but envious time
Forbids the Muse to these fair scenes to rove,
Still minding her of her unfinish'd theme,
From russet heaths, and smould'ring furnaces,
To trace the progress of thy steely arts,
Queen of the sounding anvil! Aston thee,
And Edgbaston with hospitable shade,
And rural pomp invest. O! warn thy sons;
When, for a time, their labours they forget,
Not to molest these peaceful solitudes.
So may the masters of the beauteous scene,
Protect thy commerce, and their toil reward.

Nor does the barren soil conceal alone
The sable rock inflammable. Oft-times
More pond'rous ore beneath its surface lies,
Compact, metallic, but with earthy parts
Incrusted. These the smoaky kiln consumes,
And to the furnace's impetuous rage
Consigns the solid ore. In the fierce heat
The pure dissolves, the dross remains behind.
This push'd aside, the trickling metal flows
Thro' secret valves along the channel'd floor,
Where in the mazy moulds of figur'd sand,
Anon it hardens. Now the busy forge
Reiterates its blows, to form the bar
Large, massy, strong. Another art expands,
Another yet divides the yielding mass
To many a taper length, fit to receive
The artist's will, and take its destin'd form.

Soon o'er thy furrow'd pavement, Bremicham!
Ride the loose bars obstrep'rous; to the sons
Of languid sense, and frame too delicate
Harsh noise perchance, but harmony to thine.

100

Instant innumerable hands prepare
To shape, and mould the malleable ore.
Their heavy sides th'inflated bellows heave,
Tugged by the pulley'd line, and, with their blast
Continuous, the sleeping embers rouse,
And kindle into life. Strait the rough mass,
Plung'd in the blazing hearth, its heat contracts,
And glows transparent. Now, Cyclopean chief!
Quick on the anvil lay the burning bar,
And with thy lusty fellows, on its sides
Impress the weighty stroke. See, how they strain
The swelling nerve, and lift the sinewy arm
In measur'd time; while with their clatt'ring blows,
From street to street the propagated sound
Increasing echoes, and, on ev'ry side,
The tortur'd metal spreads a radiant show'r.

'Tis noise, and hurry all! The thronged street,
The close-piled warehouse, and the busy shop!

101

With nimble stroke the tinkling hammers move;
While slow, and weighty the vast sledge descends,
In solemn base responsive, or apart,
Or socially conjoin'd in tuneful peal.
The rough file grates; yet useful is its touch,
As sharp corrosives to the schirrhous flesh,
Or, to the stubborn temper, keen rebuke.

How the coarse metal brightens into fame
Shap'd by their plastic hands! what ornament!
What various use! See there the glitt'ring knife
Of temper'd edge! The scissars' double shaft,
Useless apart, in social union join'd,
Each aiding each! Emblem how beautiful
Of happy nuptial leagues! The button round,
Plain, or imbost, or bright with steely rays!
Or oblong buckle, on the lacker'd shoe,
With polish'd lustre, bending elegant
Its shapely rim. But who can count the forms

102

That hourly from the glowing embers rise,
Or shine attractive thro' the glitt'ring pane,
And emulate their parent fires? what art
Can, in the scanty bounds of measur'd verse,
Display the treasure of a thousand mines
To wond'rous shapes by stubborn labour wrought?

Nor this alone thy praise. Of various grains
Thy sons a compound form, and to the fire
Commit the precious mixture, if perchance
Some glitt'ring mass may bless their midnight toil,
Or glossy varnish, or enamel fair,
To shame the pride of China, or Japan.
Nor wanting is the graver's pointed steel,
Nor pencil, wand'ring o'er the polish'd plate,
With glowing tints, and mimic life endued.
Thine too, of graceful form, the letter'd type!
The friend of learning, and the poet's pride!
Without thee what avail his splendid aims,

103

And midnight labours? Painful drudgery!
And pow'rless effort! But that thought of thee
Imprints fresh vigour on his panting breast,
As thou ere long shalt on his work impress;
And, with immortal fame, his praise repay.

Hail, native British Ore! of thee possess'd,
We envy not Golconda's sparkling mines,
Nor thine Potosi! nor thy kindred hills,
Teeming with gold. What? tho' in outward form
Less fair? not less thy worth. To thee we owe
More riches than Peruvian mines can yield,
Or Motezuma's crowded magazines,
And palaces cou'd boast, though roof'd with gold.
Splendid barbarity! and rich distress!
Without the social arts, and useful toil;
That polish life, and civilize the mind!
These are thy gifts, which gold can never buy.

Thine is the praise to cultivate the soil;
To bare its inmost strata to the sun;
To break, and meliorate the stiffen'd clay,
And, from its close confinement, set at large
Its vegetative virtue. Thine it is

104

The with'ring hay, and ripen'd grain to sheer,
And waft the joyous harvest round the land.

Go now, and see if, to the Silver's edge,
The reedy stalk will yield its bearded store,
In weighty sheafs. Or if the stubborn marle,
In sidelong rows, with easy force will rise
Before the Silver plowshare's glitt'ring point.
Or wou'd your gen'rous horses tread more safe
On plated Gold? Your wheels, with swifter force
On golden axles move? Then grateful own,
Britannia's sons! Heav'n's providential love,
That gave you real wealth, not wealth in shew,
Whose price in bare imagination lies,
And artificial compact. Thankful ply
Your Iron arts, and rule the vanquish'd world.

Hail, native Ore! without thy pow'rful aid,
We still had liv'd in huts, with the green sod,
And broken branches roof'd. Thine is the plane,
The chissel thine; which shape the well-arch'd dome,
The graceful portico; and sculptur'd walls.

Wou'd ye your coarse, unsightly mines exchange
For Mexiconian hills? to tread on gold,

105

As vulgar sand? with naked limbs, to brave
The cold, bleak air? to urge the tedious chace,
By painful hunger stung, with artless toil,
Thro' gloomy forests, where the sounding axe,
To the sun's beam, ne'er op'd the cheerful glade,
Nor culture's healthful face was ever seen?
In squalid huts to lay your weary limbs,
Bleeding, and faint, and strangers to the bliss
Of home-felt ease, which British swains can earn,
With a bare spade; but ill alas! cou'd earn,
With spades of gold? Such the poor Indian's lot!
Who starves 'midst gold, like misers o'er their bags;
Not with like guilt! Hail, native British Ore!
For thine is trade, that with its various stores,
Sails round the world, and visits ev'ry clime,
And makes the treasures of each clime her own,
By gainful commerce of her woolly vests,
Wrought by the spiky comb; or steely wares,
From the coarse mass, by stubborn toil, refin'd.
Such are thy peaceful gifts! And War to thee
Its best support, and deadliest horror owes,

106

The glitt'ring faulchion, and the thund'ring tube!
At whose tremendous gleam, and volley'd fire,
Barbarian kings fly from their useless hoards,
And yield them all to thy superior pow'r.

END OF BOOK THE THIRD.

The magnificent ruins of Kenilworth Castle, built by Geofry de Clinton, and more particularly described in the preceding book, belong to the Right Hon. the Earl of Clarendon, many years resident in Italy, and Envoy to most of the Courts in Germany.

For the general subject of the following story, see the Tatler, Numb. 55, and Smith's Optics.

The Ventilator.

Dr. Stephen Hales.

The Fire-engine.

“Densat erant quæ rara modo, et quæ densa relaxat.”

Sandwel, the seat of the Right Hon. the Earl of Dartmouth.

Castle-Bromwick, the seat of Sir Henry Bridgman, Bart.

Bremicham, alias Birmingham.

The seat of Sir Lister Holt, Bart.

The seat of Sir Henry Gough, Bart.

“Illi inter sese magnâ vi brachia tollunt
“In numerum, versantque tenaci forcipe ferrum.

Virg.

“Tum ferri rigor, et argutæ lamina serræ,
“Tum variæ venere artes, &c.”

Virg.

“Sed neque quàm multæ species, nec nomina quæ sint,
“Est numerus: neque enim numero comprêndere refert.”

Virg.

107

BOOK IV. EVENING.

108

Argument to Book the Fourth.

Evening Walk along the Hill to the N. E. Point. Scene from thence. Dasset-Hills. Farnborough. Wormleighton. Shuckburg. Leame and Ichene. Places near those two Rivers. Bennones, or High-Cross. Foss-Way. Watling-Street. Inland Navigation. Places of Note. Return. Panegyric on the Country. The Scene moralized. Tho' beautiful, yet transient. Change by Approach of Winter. Of Storms and Pestilential Seasons. Murrain. Rot amongst the Sheep. General Thoughts on the Vanity and Disorders of human Life. Battle of Edge-Hill. Reflections. Conclusion.

109

In purple vestments clad, the temper'd sky
Invites us from our hospitable roof,
To taste her influence mild; while to the west
The jocund sun his radiant chariot drives,
With rapid course, untir'd. Ye nymphs, and swains!
Now quit the shade, and, with recruited strength,
Along the yet untroden terrace urge
Your vig'rous steps. With moderated heat,

110

And ray oblique, the sun shall not o'erpow'r,
But kindly aid your yet unfinish'd search.

Not after sable night, in silence hush'd,
More welcome is th'approach of op'ning morn,
‘With song of early birds,’ than the fresh breeze
Of soften'd air succeeding sultry heat,
And the wild tumult of the buzzing day.

Nor think, tho' much is past, that nought remains,
Or nought of beauty, or attractive worth,
Save what the morning-sun, or noon-tide ray,
Hath, with his rising beam, distinctly mark'd,
Or more confus'dly, with meridian blaze,
Daz'ling display'd imperfect. Downward he
Shall other hills illumine opposite,
And other vales as beauteous as the past;
Suggesting to the Muse new argument,
And fresh instruction for her closing lay.

There Dasset's ridgy mountain courts the song.
Scarce Malvern boasts his adverse boundary
More graceful. Like the tempest-driven wave,
Irregularly great, his bare tops brave

111

The winds, and, on his sides, the fat'ning ox
Crops the rich verdure. When at Hastings' field,
The Norman Conqueror a kingdom won
In this fair Isle, and to another race
The Saxon pow'r transferr'd; an alien lord,
Companion of his toil! by sov'reign grant,
These airy fields obtain'd. Now the tall Mount,
By claim more just, a nobler master owns;
To tyrant force, and slavish laws a foe.
But happier lands, near Ouse's reedy shore,
(What leisure ardent love of public weal
Permits) his care employ; where Nature's charms
With learned Art combin'd; the richest domes,
And fairest lawns, adorn'd with ev'ry grace
Of beauty, or magnificent design,
By Cobham's eye approv'd, or Grenville plann'd,
The villas of imperial Rome outvie;
And form a scene of statelier pomp—a Stowe.
Her walls the living boast, these boast the dead,
Beneath their roof, in sacred dust entomb'd.

112

Lie light, O earth! on that illustrious Dame ,
Who, from her own prolific womb deriv'd,
To people thy green orb, successive saw
Sev'n times an hundred births. A goodlier train!
Than that, with which the Patriarch journey'd erst
From Padan-Aram, to the Mamrean plains:
Or that more num'rous, which, with large increase,
At Joseph's call, in wond'rous caravans,
Reviving sight! by Heav'n's decree prepar'd,
He led to Goshen, Egypt's fruitful soil.

Where the tall pillar lifts its taper head,
Her spacious terrace, and surrounding lawns,
Deckt with no sparing cost of planted tufts,
Or ornamented building, Farnborough boasts.
Hear they her master's call? in sturdy troops,
The jocund labourers hie, and, at his nod,
A thousand hands or smooth the slanting hill,

113

Or scoop new channels for the gath'ring flood,
And, in his pleasures, find substantial bliss.

Nor shall thy verdant pastures be unsung
Wormleighton! erst th'abode of Spenser's race,
Their title now! What? tho' in height thou yield'st
To Dasset, not in sweet luxuriance
Of fatning herbage, or of rising groves;
Beneath whose shade the lusty steers repose
Their cumbrous limbs, mixt with the woolly tribes,
And leisurely concoct their grassy meal.

Her wood-capt summit Shuckburgh there displays;
Nor fears neglect, in her own worth secure,
And glorying in the name her master bears.
Nor will her scenes, with closer eye, survey'd,
Frustrate the searcher's toil, if steepy hills,
By frequent chasms disjoin'd, and glens profound,

114

And broken precipices, vast, and rude
Delight the sense; or Nature's lesser works,
Tho' lesser, not less fair! or native stone,
Or fish, the little Astroit's doubtful race,
For starry rays, and pencil'd shades admir'd!
Invite him to these fields, their airy bed.

Where Leame and Ichene own a kindred rise,
And haste their neighb'ring currents to unite,
New hills arise, new pastures green, and fields
With other harvests crown'd; with other charms
Villas, and towns with other arts adorn'd.
There Ichington its downward structures views
In Ichene's passing wave, which, like the Mole,
Her subterraneous journey long pursues,
Ere to the sun she gives her lucid stream.
Thy villa, Leamington! her sister nymph
In her fair bosom shews; while, on her banks,
As further she her liquid course pursues,

115

Amidst surrounding woods his ancient walls
Birb'ry conceals, and triumphs in the shade.

Not such thy lot, O Bourton! nor from sight
Retirest thou, but, with complacent smile,
Thy social aspect courts the distant eye,
And views the distant scene reciprocal,
Delighting, and delighted. Dusky heaths
Succeed, as oft to mirth, the gloomy hour!
Leading th'unfinish'd search to thy fam'd seat
Bennones! where two military ways
Each other cross, transverse from sea to sea,
The Romans hostile paths! There Newnham's walls
With graceful pride ascend, th'inverted pile
In her clear stream, with flow'ry margin grac'd,
Admiring. Newbold there her modest charms

116

More bashfully unveils, with solemn woods,
And verdant glades enamour'd. Here her lawns,
And rising groves for future shelter form'd,
Fair Coton wide displays. There Addison,
With mind serene, his moral theme revolv'd,
Instruction drest in Learning's fairest form!
The gravest wisdom with the liveliest wit
Attemper'd! or, beneath thy roof retir'd
O Bilton! much of peace, and liberty
Sublimely mus'd, on Britain's weal intent,
Or in thy shade the coy Pierians woo'd.

Another theme demands the varying song.
Lo! where but late the flocks, and heifers graz'd,
Or yellow harvests wav'd, now, thro' the vale,
Or o'er the plain, or round the slanting hill
A glitt'ring path attracts the gazer's eye,
Where sooty barques pursue their liquid track
Thro' lawns, and woods, and villages remote
From public haunt, which wonder as they pass.

117

The channel'd road still onward moves, and still
With level course, the flood attendant leads.
Hills, dales oppose in vain. A thousand hands
Now thro' the mountain's side a passage ope,
Now with stupendous arches bridge the vale,
Now over paths, and rivers urge their way
Aloft in air. Again the Roman pride
Beneath thy spacious camp embattled hill,
O Brinklow! seems with gentler arts return'd.
But Britain now no bold invader fears,
No foreign aid invokes. Alike in arts
Of peace, or war renown'd. Alike in both
She rivals ancient Rome's immortal fame.

Still villas fair, and populous towns remain—
Polesworth, and Atherstone, and Eaton's walls
To charity devote! and, Tamworth, thine

118

To martial fame! and thine, O Merival!
Boasting thy beauteous woods, and lofty scite!
And Coleshill! long for momentary date
Of human life, tho' for our wishes short,
Repose of Digby's honourable age!

Nor may the Muse, tho' on her homeward way
Intent, short space refuse his alleys green,
And decent walls with due respect to greet
On Blythe's fair stream, to whose laborious toil
She many a lesson owes, his painful search
Enjoying without pain, and, at her ease,
With equal love of native soil inspir'd,
Singing in measur'd phrase her country's fame.

Nor, Arbury! may we thy scenes forget,

119

Haunt of the Naiads, and each woodland nymph!
Rejoicing in his care, to whom adorn'd
With all the graces which her schools expound,
The gowny sons of Isis trust their own,
And Britain's weal. Nor shall thy splendid walls,
O Packington! allure the Muse in vain.
The Goths no longer here their empire hold.
The shaven terrac'd hill, slope above slope,
And high impris'ning walls to Belgia's coast
Their native clime retire.—In formal bounds
The long canal no more confines the stream
Reluctant.—Trees no more their tortur'd limbs
Lament—no more the long-neglected fields,
Like outlaws banish'd for some vile offence,
Are hid from sight—from its proud reservoir
Of amplest size, and fair indented form,
Along the channel'd lawn the copious stream
With winding grace the stately current leads.
The channel'd lawn its bounteous stream repays,
With ever-verdant banks, and cooling shades,

120

And wand'ring paths, that emulate its course.
On ev'ry side spreads wide the beauteous scene,
Assemblage fair of plains, and hills, and woods,
And plants of od'rous scent—plains, hills, and woods,
And od'rous plants rejoice, and smiling hail
The reign of Nature, while attendant Art
Submissive waits to cultivate her charms.

Hail happy land! which Nature's partial smile
Hath robed profusely gay! whose champaigns wide
With plenteous harvests wave; whose pastures swarm
With horned tribes, or the sheep's fleecy race;
To the thronged shambles yielding wholesome food,
And various labour to man's active pow'rs,
Not less benign than to the weary rest.
Nor destitute thy woodland scenes of wealth,
Or sylvan beauty! there the lordly swain
His scantier fields improves; o'er his own realms
Supreme, at will to sow his well-fenc'd glebe,
With grain successive; or with juicy herbs,
To swell his milky kine; or feed, at ease,
His flock in pastures warm. His blazing hearth,
With copious fewel heap'd, defies the cold;

121

And housewife-arts or teize the tangled wool,
Or, from the distaff's hoard, the ductile thread,
With sportive hand entice; while to the wheel
The sprightly carol join'd, or plaintive song
Diffuse, and artless sooths th'untutor'd ear
With heart-felt strains, and the slow task beguiles.

Nor hath the sun, with less propitious ray,
Shone on the masters of the various scene.
Witness the splendid train! illustrious names,
That claim precedence on the lists of fame,
Nor fear oblivious time! enraptur'd Bards!
Or learned Sages! gracing, with their fame,
Their native soil, and my aspiring verse.

Say, now my dear companions! for enough
Of leisure to descriptive song is giv'n;
Say, shall we, ere we part, with moral eye,
The scene review, and the gay prospect close
With observation grave, as sober eve
Hastes now to wrap in shades the closing day?
Perhaps the moral strain delights you not!
Perhaps you blame the Muse's quick retreat;
Intent to wander still along the plain,

122

In coverts cool, lull'd by the murm'ring stream,
Or gentle breeze; while playful fancy skims,
With careless wing, the surfaces of things:
For deep research too indolent, too light
For grave reflection. So the Syren queen
Tempted Alcides, on a flow'ry plain,
With am'rous blandishment, and urg'd to waste
His prime inglorious: but fair Virtue's form
Rescued the yielding youth, and fir'd his breast
To manly toil, and glory's well-earn'd prize.
O! in that dang'rous season, O! beware
Of Vice, envenom'd weed! and plant betimes
The seeds of virtue in th'untainted heart.
So on its fruit th'enraptur'd mind shall feast
When, to the smiling day, and mirthful scene
Night's solemn gloom, cold winter's chilling blasts,
And pain, and sickness, and old age succeed.
Nor slight your faithful guide, my gentle train!
But, with a curious eye, expatiate free
O'er Nature's moral plan. Tho' dark the theme,
Tho' formidable to the sensual mind;
Yet shall the Muse, with no fictitious aid,

123

Inspir'd, still guide you with her friendly voice,
And to each seeming ill some greater good
Oppose, and calm your lab'ring thoughts to rest.

Nature herself bids us be serious,
Bids us be wise; and all her works rebuke
The ever-thoughtless, ever-titt'ring tribe.
What, tho' her lovely hills, and valleys smile
To-day, in beauty drest? yet, ere three moons
Renew their orb, and to their wane decline,
Ere then the beauteous landscape all will fade;
The genial airs retire; and shiv'ring swains
Shall, from the whiten'd plain, and driving storm,
Avert the smarting cheek, and humid eye.

So some fair maid to time's devouring rage
Her bloom resigns, and, with a faded look,
Disgusts her paramour; unless thy charms,
O Virtue! with more lasting beauty grace
Her lovelier mind, and, thro' declining age,
Fair deeds of piety, and modest worth,
Still flourish, and endear her still the more.

Nor always lasts the Landscape's gay attire
Till surly Winter, with his ruffian blasts,

124

Benumbs her tribes, and dissipates her charms.
As sickness oft the virgin's early bloom
Spoils immature, preventing hoary age,
So blasts and mildews oft invade the fields
In all their beauty, and their summer's pride.
And oft the sudden show'r, or sweeping storm
O'erflows the meads, and to the miry glebe
Lays close the matted grain; with awful peal,
While the loud thunder shakes a guilty world,
And forked lightnings cleave the sultry skies.

Nor does the verdant mead, or bearded field
Alone the rage of angry skies sustain.
Oft-times their influence dire the bleating flock,
Or lowing herd assails, and mocks the force
Of costly med'cine, or attendant care.
Such late the wrathful pestilence, that seiz'd
In pastures far retir'd, or guarded stalls,

125

The dew-lap'd race! with plaintive lowings they,
And heavy eyes, confess'd the pois'nous gale,
And drank infection in each breath they drew.
Quick thro' their veins the burning fever ran,
And from their nostrils stream'd the putrid rheum
Malignant; o'er their limbs faint languors crept,
And stupefaction all their senses bound.
In vain their master, with officious hand,
From the pil'd mow the sweetest lock presents;
Or anxiously prepares the tepid draught
Balsamic; they the proffer'd dainty loath,
And Death exulting claims his destin'd prey.

Nor seldom coughs, and watry rheums afflict
The woolly tribes, and on their vitals seize;
Thinning their folds; and, with their mangled limbs,

126

And tatter'd fleeces, the averted eye
Disgusting, as the squeamish traveller,
With long-suspended breath, hies o'er the plain.
And is their lord, proud Man! more safe than they?
More privileg'd from the destroying breath,
That, thro' the secret shade, in darkness walks,
Or smites whole pastures at the noon of day?
Ah! no, Death mark'd him from his infant birth;
Mark'd for his own, and, with envenom'd touch,
His vital blood defil'd. Thro' all his veins
The subtle poison creeps; compounded joins
Its kindred mass to his increasing bulk;
And, to the rage of angry elements,
Betrays his victim, poor, ill-fated Man;
Not surer born to live, than born to die!
In what a sad variety of forms
Clothes he his messengers? Deliriums wild!
Inflated dropsy! slow consuming cough!
Jaundice, and gout, and stone; convulsive spasms;
The shaking head, and the contracted limb;
And ling'ring atrophy, and hoary age;
And second childhood, slack'ning ev'ry nerve,

127

To joy, to reason, and to duty dead!
I know thee, who thou art, offspring of Sin,
And Satan! nurs'd in Hell, and then let loose
To range, with thy accursed train, on earth,
When man, apostate man! by Satan's wiles,
From life, from bliss, from God, and goodness fell!
Who knows thee not? who feels thee not within,
Plucking his heart-strings? whom hast thou not robb'd
Of parent, wife, or friend, as thou hast me?
Glutting the grave with ever-crowding guests,
And, with their image, sad'ning ev'ry scene,
Less peopled with the living than the dead!

Thro' populous streets the never-ceasing bell
Proclaims, with solemn sound, the parting breath;
Nor seldom from the village-tow'r is heard
The mournful knell. Alike the grassy ridge,
With osiers bound, and vaulted catacomb,
His spoils inclose. Alike the simple stone,
And mausoleum proud, his pow'r attest,
In wretched doggrel, or elab'rate verse.

128

Perhaps the peasant's humble obsequies;
The flowing sheet, and pall of rusty hue,
Alarm you not. You slight the simple throng;
And for the nodding plumes, and scutcheon'd hearse,
Your tears reserve. Then mark, o'er yonder plain,
The grand procession suited to your taste.
I mock you not. The sable pursuivants
Proclaim th'approaching state. Lo! now the plumes!
The nodding plumes, and scutcheon'd hearse appear!
And clad in mournful weeds, a long sad train
Of slowly-moving pomp, that waits on death!
Nay—yet another melancholy train!
Another triumph of the ghastly fiend
Succeeds! 'Tis so. Perhaps ye have not heard
The mournful tale. Perhaps no messenger
Hath warn'd you to attend the solemn deed!
Then from the Muse the piteous story learn;
And, with her, on the grave procession wait,
That to their early tomb, to mould'ring dust
Of ancestors, that crowd the scanty vault,

129

Near which our song began, Northampton bears,
The gay Northampton, and his beauteous Bride!
Far other pageants in his youthful breast
He cherish'd, while, with delegated trust,
On stately ceremonials, to the shore,
Where Adria's waves the sea-girt city lave,
He went; and, with him, join'd in recent love,
His blooming Bride, of Beaufort's royal line,
The charming Somerset! But royal blood,
Nor youth, nor beauty, nor employment high,
Cou'd grant protection from the rude assault
Of that barbarian Death; who, without form,
To courts and cottages unbidden comes;
And his unwelcome embassy fulfils,
Without distinction, to the lofty peer,
The graceful bride, or peasant's homely race.
Ere, from her native soil, she saw the sun

130

Run half his annual course, in Latian climes,
She breath'd her last; him, ere that course was done,
Death met returning on the Gallic plains,
And sent to join her yet unburied dust:
Who, but this youthful pair's untimely fate
Must weep, who, but in theirs, may read their own?

Another lesson seek ye, other proof
Of vanity, and lamentable woe
Betiding man? Another scene to grace
With troops of victims the terrific king,
And humble wanton Folly's laughing sons?
The Muse shall from her faithful memory
A tale select; a tale big with the fate
Of kings, and heroes on this now fair field
Embattled! but her song shall to your view
Their ranks embody, and, to future peace,
Their fierce designs, and hostile rage convert.

Not on Pharsalia's plain a bolder strife
Was held, tho' twice with Roman blood distain'd,
Than when thy subjects, first imperial Charles!
Dared, in these fields, with arms their cause to plead.

131

Where once the Romans pitch'd their hostile tents,
Other Campanias fair, and milder Alps
Exploring, now a nobler warrior stood,
His country's sov'reign liege! Around his camp
A gallant train of loftiest rank attend,
By loyalty, and love of regal sway,
To mighty deeds impell'd. Mean while below
Others no less intrepid courage boast,
From source as fair, the love of Liberty!
Dear Liberty! when rightly understood,
Prime social bliss! Oh! may no fraud
Usurp thy name, to veil their dark designs
Of vile ambition, or licentious rage!

Long time had they, with charge of mutual blame,
And fierce debate of speech, discordant minds
Avow'd, yet not to desp'rate chance of war
'Till now their cause referr'd: rude arbiter
Of fit, and right! Unhappy native land!
Nought then avail'd that Nature form'd thy fields
So fair, and with her wat'ry barrier fenc'd!

132

Nought then avail'd thy forms of guardian laws,
The work of ages, in a moment lost,
And ev'ry social tie at once dissolv'd!
For now no more sweet peace, and order fair,
And kindred love remain'd, but hostile rage
Instead, and mutual jealousy, and hate,
And tumult loud! nor, hadst thou then been there,
O Talbot! cou'd thy voice, so often heard
On heav'nly themes! nor his fraternal! skill'd
In social claims, the limits to define
Of law, and right, have calm'd the furious strife,
Or still'd the rattling thunder of the field.

Across the plain, where the slight eminence,
And scatter'd hedge-rows mark a midway space
To yonder town, once deem'd a royal court;
Now harbouring no friends to royalty!
The popular troops their martial lines extend.

133

High on the hill, the royal banners wave
Their faithful signals. Rang'd along the steep,
The glitt'ring files, in burnish'd armour clad,
Reflect the downward sun; and, with its gleam,
The distant crowds affright, who trembling wait
For the dire onset, and the dubious fight.

As pent-up waters, swell'd by sudden rains,
Their former bounds disdain, and foam, and rage
Impatient of restraint; till, at some breach,
Outward they burst impetuous, and mock
The peasant's feeble toil, which strives to check
Their headlong torrent; so the royal troops,
With martial rage inflam'd, impatient wait
The trumpet's summons. At its sprightly call,
The airy seat they leave, and down the steep,
Rank following rank, like wave succeeding wave,
Rush on the hostile wings. Dire was the shock,
Dire was the clash of arms! The hostile wings
Give way, and soon in flight their safety seek.
They, with augmented force, and growing rage
The flying foe pursue. But too secure,
And counting of cheap conquest quickly gain'd

134

O'er dastard minds, in wordy quarrels bold,
But slack by deeds to vindicate their claim,
In chace, and plunder long they waste the day,
And late return, of order negligent.
Mean while the battle in the centre rag'd
With diff'rent fortune, by bold Essex led,
Experienc'd chief! and to the monarch's cause,
And youthful race, for martial deeds unripe,
Menac'd destruction. In the royal breast
High passions rose, by native dignity
Made more sublime, and urg'd to pow'rful act
By strong, paternal love, and proud disdain
Of vulgar minds, arraigning in his race
The rights of sov'reignty, from ancient kings
In order fair deriv'd. Amidst his troops
With haste he flies, their broken ranks reforms,
To bold revenge re-animates their rage,
And from the foe his short-liv'd honour wrests.

135

Now Death, with hasty stride, stalks o'er the field,
Grimly exulting in the bloody fray.
Now on the crested helm or burnish'd shield,
He stamps new horrors; now the levell'd sword
With weightier force impells, with iron-hoof
Now tramples on th'expiring ranks; or gores
The foaming steed against th'opposing spear.
But chiefly on the cannon's brazen orb
He sits triumphant, and, with fatal aim,
Involves whole squadrons in the sulph'rous storm.

Then Lindsey fell, nor from the shelt'ring straw,
Ceas'd he to plead his sov'reign's slighted cause
Amidst surrounding foes; nor but with life,
Expir'd his loyalty. His valiant son
Attempts his rescue, but attempts in vain!
Then Verney too, with many a gallant knight,
And faithful courtier, anxious for thy weal,

136

Unhappy Prince! but mindless of their own,
Pour'd out his life upon the crimson plain.
Then fell the gallant Stewart, Aubigny,
And Kingsmill! He whose monumental stone
Protects his neighb'ring ashes, and his fame.

The closing day compos'd the furious strife:
But for short time compos'd! anon to wake
With tenfold rage, and spread a wider scene
Of terror, and destruction o'er the land!

Now mark the glories of the great debate!
Yon' grass-green mount, where waves the planted pine,
And whispers to the winds the mournful tale,
Contains them in its monumental mould;
A slaughter'd crew, promiscuous lodg'd below!
Still as the plowman breaks the clotted glebe,
He ever and anon some trophy finds,

137

The relicks of the war—or rusty spear,
Or canker'd ball; but, from sepulchral soil,
Cautious he turns aside the shining steel,
Lest haply, at its touch, uncover'd bones
Should start to view, and blast his rural toil.

Such were the fruits of Passion, froward Will,
And unsubmitting Pride! Worse storms than those
That rend the sky, and waste our cultur'd fields!
Strangers alike to man's primæval state,
Ere Evil entrance found to this fair world,
Permitted, not ordain'd, whatever Pride
May dream of order in a world of sin,
Or pre-existent soul, and penal doom
For crimes unknown. More wise, more happy he!
Who in his breast oft pond'ring, and perplext
With endless doubt, and learning's fruitless toil,
His weary mind at length reposes sure

138

On Heav'n's attested oracles. To them
Submiss he bows, convinc'd, however weak
His reason the mysterious plan to solve,
That all He wills is right, who, ere the worlds
Were form'd, in his all-comprehensive mind,
Saw all that was, or is, or e'er shall be.
Who to whate'er exists, or lives, or moves,
Throughout creation's wide extent, gave life,
Gave being, pow'r, and thought to act, to move
Impelling, or impell'd, to all ordain'd
Their ranks, relations, and dependencies,
And can direct, suspend, controul their pow'rs,
Else were he not supreme! Who bids the winds
Be still, and they obey; who to the sea
Assigns its bounds, and calms its boisterous waves.
Who, with like ease can moral discord rule,
And all apparent evil turn to good.

Hail then, ye sons of Eve! th'unerring guide,
The sovereign grant receive, sin's antidote!
A cure for all our griefs! So heav'nly Truth
Shall wide display her captivating charms,
And Peace her dwelling fix with human race.

139

So Love thro' ev'ry clime his gentle reign
Shall spread, and at his call discordant realms
Shall beat their swords to plowshares, and their spears
To pruning-hooks, nor more learn murth'rous war.
So when revolving years, by Heav'n's decree,
Their circling course have run, new firmaments,
With blessings fraught, shall fill the bright expanse,
Of tempests void, and thunder's angry voice.
New verdure shall arise to cloathe the fields:
New Edens! teeming with immortal fruit!
No more the wing'd inhabitants of air
Or those that range the fields, or skim the flood,
Their fierceness shall retain, but brute with brute,
And all with man in amicable league
Shall join, and enmity for ever cease.

Remains there aught to crown the rapt'rous theme?
'Tis this, unfading joy, beyond the reach
Of elemental worlds, and short-liv'd time.
This too is yours—from outward sense conceal'd,
But, by resemblance of external things,
Inward display'd, to elevate the soul
To thoughts sublime, and point her way to Heav'n.

140

So, from the top of Nebo's lofty mount,
The patriot-leader of Jehovah's sons
The promis'd land survey'd; to Canaan's race
A splendid theatre of frantic joys,
And fatal mirth, beyond whose scanty bounds
Darkness, and horror dwell! Emblem to him
Of fairer fields, and happier seats above!
Then closed his eyes to mortal scenes, to wake
In the bright regions of eternal day.

The Earl of Mellent.

Dame Hester Temple, of whom this is recorded by Fuller, in his account of Buckinghamshire, and who lies buried, with many of that ancient family, in the parish-church of Burton-Dasset.

The seat of William Holbech, Esq.

An estate, and ancient seat, belonging to the Right Hon. Earl Spenser.

The seat of Sir Ch. Shuckburgh, Bart.

The Astroites, or Star-stones, found here.

The seat of Sir William Wheeler, Bart.

The seat of Sir Theophilus Biddulph, Bart.

The seat of John Shuckburgh, Esq.

A Roman station, where the Foss-Way and Watling-street cross each other.

The seat of the Right Hon. the Earl of Denbeigh.

The seat of Sir Francis Skipwith, Bart.

The seat of Dixwell Grimes, Esq.

The seat of the Right Hon. Joseph Addison, Esq.

The Canal design'd for a communication between the Cities of Oxford and Coventry, passes through Brinklow, where is a magnificent aqueduct, consisting of twelve arches, with a high bank of earth at each end, crossing a valley beneath the vestiges of a Roman camp, and tumulus, on the Foss-Way.

The seat of the late Edward Stratford, Esq; an extensive view to Charley Forest and Bosworth Field.

Seat of the late Right Hon. Lord Digby, commonly called, the good Lord Digby.

Blythe Hall, the seat of Sir William Dugdale, now belonging to Richard Geast, Esq.

The seat of Sir Roger Newdigate, Bart. Member of Parliament for the University of Oxford.

The seat of the Right Hon. the Earl of Aylesford.

“Sæpe etiam immensum cælo venit agmen aquarum,
“Et fædam glomerant tempestatem imbribus atris
“Collectæ ex alto nubes; ruit arduus æther,
“Et pluviâ ingenti sata læta, boumque labores
“Diluit.”

Virg.

“Hinc lætis vituli vulgo moriuntur in herbis,
“Et dulces animas plena ad præsepia reddunt.”

Virg.

“Non tam creber agens hyemem ruit æthere turbo,
“Quam multæ pecudum pestes, nec singula morbi
“Corpora corripiunt, sed tota æstiva repentè
“Spemque, gregemque simul, cunctamque ab origine gentem.”

Virg.

The Right Hon. the Earl of Northampton, who died on his return from an embassy to Venice, while the Author was writing this poem.

The Right Hon. the Countess of Northampton, daughter to the Duke of Beaufort.

A Roman camp at Warmington, on the top of Edge-Hill.

The Rev. Mr. Talbot, of Kineton.

Ch. Henry Talbot, Esq; of Marston, at the bottom of Edge-Hill.

Kineton, alias Kington. So called, as some conjecture, from a castle on a neighbouring hill, said to have been a palace belonging to King John.

Prince Charles, afterwards King Charles II. and his brother the Duke of York, afterwards King James II. were then in the field, the former being in the 13th, and the latter just enter'd into the 10th year of his age.

Earl of Lindsey, the King's general.

Lord Willoughby, son to the Earl of Lindsey.

Sir Edmund Verney, standard-bearer to the king.

Lord Stewart.

Lord Aubigny, son to the Duke of Lenox.

Captain Kingsmill, buried at Radway; whose monument see at the end of the Poem.

“Scilicet et tempus veniet, cum finibus illis,
“Agricola incurvo terram molitus aratro,
“Exesa inveniet scabrâ rubigine pila,
“Aut gravibus rastris galeas pulsabit inanes,
“Grandiaque effoffis mirabitur ossa sepulchris.”

Virg.

THE END.

141

LABOUR, AND GENIUS:

OR, THE Mill-Stream, and the Cascade.

A FABLE. INSCRIBED TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Esq.

------ “discordia Semina rerum.”
Ovid.

143

Nature, with lib'ral hand, dispenses
Her apparatus of the senses,
In articles of gen'ral use,
Nerves, sinews, muscles, bones profuse.
Distinguishing her fav'rite race
With form erect, and featur'd face:
The flowing hair, the polish'd skin—
But, for the furniture within,

144

Whether it be of brains, or lead,
What matters it, so there's a head?
For wisest noddle seldom goes,
But as 'tis led by corp'ral nose.
Nor is it thinking much, but doing,
That keeps our tenements from ruin.
And hundreds eat, who spin, or knit,
For one that lives by dint of wit.

The sturdy thresher plies his flail,
And what to this doth wit avail?
Who learns from wit to press the spade?
Or thinks 'twou'd mend the cobler's trade?
The pedlar, with his cumb'rous pack,
Carries his brains upon his back.
Some wear them in full-bottom'd wig,
Or hang them by with queue, or pig.
Reduc'd, till they return again,
In dishabille, to common men.
Then why, my friend, is wit so rare?
That sudden flash, that makes one stare!
A meteor's blaze, a dazzling shew!
Say what it is, for well you know.

145

Or, if you can with patience hear
A witless Fable, lend an ear.

BETWIXT two sloping verdant hills,
A Current pour'd its careless rills,
Which unambitious crept along,
With weeds, and matted grass o'erhung.
Till rural Genius, on a day,
Chancing along its banks to stray,
Remark'd with penetrating look
The latent merits of the Brook,
Much griev'd to see such talents hid,
And thus the dull by-standers chid.

How blind is man's incurious race,
The scope of Nature's plans to trace?
How do ye mangle half her charms,
And fright her hourly with alarms?
Disfigure now her swelling mounds,
And now contract her spacious bounds?
Fritter her fairest lawns to alleys,
Bare her green hills, and hide her valleys?

146

Confine her streams with rule and line,
And counteract her whole design?
Neglecting, where she points the way,
Her easy dictates to obey?
To bring her hidden worth to sight;
And place her charms in fairest light?

Alike to intellectuals blind,
'Tis thus you treat the youthful mind;
Mistaking gravity for sense,
For dawn of wit, impertinence.

The boy of genuine parts, and merit,
For some unlucky prank of spirit,
With frantic rage is scourg'd from school,
And branded with the name of fool,
Because his active blood flow'd faster
Than the dull puddle of his master.
While the slow plodder trots along,
Thro' thick and thin, thro' prose and song,
Insensible of all their graces,
But learn'd in words, and common phrases:
Till in due time he's mov'd to college,
To ripen these choice seeds of knowledge.

147

So some taste-pedant, wond'rous wise,
Exerts his genius in dirt-pies.
Delights the tonsile yew to raise,
But hates your laurels, and your bays,
Because too rambling, and luxuriant,
Like forward youths, of brains too prurient.
Makes puns, and anagrams in box,
And turns his trees to bears, and cocks.
Excels in quaint jette-d'eau, or fountain,
Or leads his stream across a mountain,
To shew its shallowness, and pride,
In a broad grin, on t'other side.
Perverting all the rules of sense,
Which never offers violence,
But gently leads where Nature tends,
Sure, with applause, to gain its ends.

But one example may teach more,
Than precepts hackney'd o'er, and o'er.
Then mark this Rill, with weeds o'erhung,
Unnotic'd by the vulgar throng!
Ev'n this, conducted by my laws,
Shall rise to fame, attract applause;

148

Instruct in fable, shine in song,
And be the theme of ev'ry tongue.
He said: and, to his fav'rite son,
Consign'd the task, and will'd it done.

Damon his counsel wisely weigh'd,
And carefully the scene survey'd.
And, tho' it seems he said but little,
He took his meaning to a tittle.
And first, his purpose to befriend,
A bank he rais'd at th'upper end:
Compact, and close its outward side,
To stay, and swell the gath'ring tide:
But, on its inner, rough and tall,
A ragged cliff, a rocky wall.
The channel next he op'd to view,
And, from its course, the rubbish drew.
Enlarg'd it now, and now, with line
Oblique, pursued his fair design.

149

Preparing here the mazy way,
And there the fall for sportive play.
The precipice abrupt, and steep,
The pebbled road, and cavern deep.
The rooty seat, where best to view
The fairy scene, at distance due.
He last invok'd the Dryads aid,
And fring'd the borders round with shade.
Tap'stry, by Nature's fingers wove,
No mimic, but a real grove:
Part hiding, part admitting day,
The scene to grace the future play.

Damon perceives, with ravish'd eyes,
The beautiful enchantment rise.
Sees sweetly blended shade, and light,
Sees ev'ry part with each unite.
Sees each, as he directs, assume
A livelier dye, or deeper gloom:
So, fashion'd by the painter's skill,
New forms the glowing canvas fill.
So, to the summer's sun, the rose,
And jessamin their charms disclose.

150

While, all intent on this retreat,
He saw his fav'rite work compleat,
Divine enthusiasm seiz'd his breast,
And thus his transport he express'd.
“Let others toil, for wealth, or pow'r,
I court the sweetly-vacant hour:
Down life's smooth current calmly glide,
Nor vex'd with cares, nor rack'd with pride.
Give me, O Nature! to explore
Thy lovely charms, I ask no more.
For thee I fly from vulgar eyes,
For thee I vulgar cares despise.
For thee Ambition's charms resign;
Accept a vot'ry, wholly thine.

Yet still let Friendship's joys be near,
Still, on these plains, her train appear.
By Learning's sons my haunts be trod,
And Stamford's feet imprint my sod.
For Stamford oft hath deign'd to stray
Around my Leasow's flow'ry way.
And, where his honour'd steps have rov'd,
Oft have his gifts those scenes improv'd.

151

To him I'll dedicate my cell,
To him suspend the votive spell.
His name shall heighten ev'ry charm,
His name protect my groves from harm,
Protect my harmless sport from blame,
And turn obscurity to fame.”

He spake. His hand the pencil guides,
And Stamford o'er the scene presides.
The proud device, with borrow'd grace,
Conferr'd new lustre on the place:
As books, by dint of dedication,
Enjoy their patron's reputation.

Now, launching from its lofty shore,
The loosen'd stream began to roar:
As headlong, from the rocky mound,
It rush'd into the vast profound.
There checkt awhile, again it flow'd
Glitt'ring along the channel'd road:

152

From steep to steep, a frequent fall,
Each diff'rent, and each natural.
Obstructing roots and rocks between,
Diversify th'enchanted scene;
While winding now, and intricate,
Now more develop'd, and in state,
Th'united Stream, with rapid force,
Pursues amain its downward course,
Till at your feet absorb'd, it hides
Beneath the ground its bustling tides.

With prancing steeds, and liv'ried trains,
Soon daily shone the bord'ring plains.
And distant sounds foretold th'approach
Of frequent chaise, and crowded coach.
For sons of Taste, and daughters fair,
Hasted the sweet surprize to share:
While Hagley wonder'd at their stay,
And hardly brook'd the long delay.

Not distant far below, a Mill
Was built upon a neighb'ring Rill:

153

Whose pent-up stream, whene'er let loose,
Impell'd a wheel, close at its sluice,
So strongly, that, by friction's pow'r,
'Twou'd grind the firmest grain to flow'r.
Or, by a correspondence new,
With hammers, and their clatt'ring crew,
Wou'd so bestir her active stumps,
On iron-blocks, tho' arrant lumps,
That, in a trice, she'd manage matters,
To make 'em all as smooth as platters.
Or slit a bar to rods quite taper,
With as much ease, as you'd cut paper.
For, tho' the lever gave the blow,
Yet it was lifted from below;
And wou'd for ever have lain still,
But for the bustling of the Rill;
Who, from her stately pool, or ocean,
Put all the weels, and logs in motion;
Things in their nature very quiet,
Tho' making all this noise, and riot.

This Stream, that cou'd in toil excel,
Began with foolish pride to swell:

154

Piqu'd at her neighbour's reputation,
And thus express'd her indignation.

“Madam! methinks you're vastly proud,
You was'nt us'd to talk so loud.
Nor cut such capers in your pace,
Marry! what anticks, what grimace!
For shame! don't give yourself such airs,
In flaunting down those hideous stairs.
Nor put yourself in such a flutter,
Whate'er you do, you dirty gutter!
I'd have you know, you upstart minx!
Ere you were form'd, with all your sinks,
A Lake I was, compar'd with which,
Your Stream is but a paltry Ditch:
And still, on honest Labour bent,
I ne'er a single flash mispent.
And yet no folks of high degree,
Wou'd e'er vouchsafe to visit me,
As, in their coaches, by they rattle,
Forsooth! to hear your idle prattle.
Tho' half the business of my flooding
Is to provide them cakes, and pudding:

155

Or furnish stuff for many a trinket,
Which, tho' so fine, you scarce wou'd think it,
When Boulton's skill has fix'd their beauty,
To my rough toil first ow'd their duty.
But I'm plain Goody of the Mill;
And you are—Madam Cascadille!”

“Dear Coz, reply'd the beauteous Torrent,
Pray do not discompose your current.
That we all from one fountain flow,
Hath been agreed on long ago.
Varying our talents, and our tides,
As chance, or education guides.
That I have either note, or name,
I owe to Him who gives me fame.
Who teaches all our kind to flow,
Or gaily swift, or gravely slow.
Now in the lake, with glassy face,
Now moving light, with dimpled grace.
Now gleaming from the rocky height,
Now, in rough eddies, foaming white.

156

Nor envy me the gay, or great,
That visit my obscure retreat.
None wonders that a clown can dig,
But 'tis some art to dance a jig.
Your talents are employ'd for use,
Mine to give pleasure, and amuse.
And tho', dear Coz, no folks of taste
Their idle hours with you will waste,
Yet many a grist comes to your mill,
Which helps your master's bags to fill.
While I, with all my notes, and trilling,
For Damon never got a shilling.
Then, gentle Coz, forbear your clamours,
Enjoy your hoppers, and your hammers:
We gain our ends by diff'rent ways,
And you get Bread, and I get—Praise.

See Fable XLI. and LI. in Dodsley's new-invented Fables, and many little pieces printed in the public papers.

The scene here referr'd to, was inscribed to the Right Hon. the Earl of Stamford; but since to William Shenstone, Esq.

The seat of the Right Hon. Lord Lyttelton, distant but a few miles from the Leasows.

An eminent merchant, and very ingenious mechanic, at the So-ho Manufactory, near Birmingham.

157

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

159

ARDENNA.

A PASTORAL-ECLOGUE. To A LADY.

Damon, and Lycidas.
When o'er the Western world fair Science spread
Her genial ray, and Gothic darkness fled,
To Britain's Isle the Muses took their way,
And taught her list'ning groves the tuneful lay.
'Twas then two Swains the Doric reed essay'd
To sing the praises of a peerless maid.
On Arden's blissful plain her seat she chose,
And hence her rural name Ardenna rose.

160

In sportive verse alternately they vied,
Thus Damon sang, and Lycidas replied.
Damon.
Here, gentle Swain, beneath the shade reclin'd,
Remit thy labours, and unbend thy mind.
Well with the shepherd's state our cares agree,
For Nature prompts to pleasing industry.
'Tis this to all her gifts fresh beauty yields,
Health to our flocks, and plenty to our fields.
Yet hath she not impos'd unceasing toil,
Not restless plowshares always vex the soil.
Then, Shepherd, take the blessings Heav'n bestows,
Assist the song, and sweeten our repose.

Lycidas.
While others, sunk in sleep, or live in vain,
Or, slaves of indolence, but wake to pain,
Me let the call of earliest birds invite
To hail th'approaches of returning light;
To taste the freshness of the chearful morn,
While glist'ring dew-drops hang on ev'ry thorn.

161

Hence all the bliss that centers in our kind,
Health to the blood, and vigour to the mind.
Hence ev'ry task its meet attendance gains,
And leisure hence to listen to thy strains.

Damon.

Thrice happy swain, so fitly form'd to share
The shepherd's labour, and Ardenna's care!
To tell Ardenna's praise the rural train
Inscribe the verse, or chant it o'er the plain.
Plains, hills, and woods return the well-known sound,
And the smooth beech records the sportive wound.
Then, Lycidas, let us the chorus join,
So bright a theme our music shall refine.

Escap'd from all the busy world admires,
Hither the philosophic dame retires;
For in the busy world, or poets feign,
Intemp'rate vice, and giddy pleasures reign;
Then, when from crowds the Loves, and Graces flew,
To these lone shades the beauteous maid withdrew,
To study Nature in this calm retreat,
And with confed'rate Art her charms compleat.

162

How sweet their union is, ye shepherds, say,
And thou who form'dst the reed inspire my lay.

Her praise I sing by whom our flocks are freed
From the rough bramble, and envenom'd weed;
Who to green pastures turns the dreary waste,
With scatter'd woods in careless beauty grac'd.

'Tis she, Ardenna! Guardian of the scene,
Who bids the mount to swell, who smooths the green,
Who drains the marsh, and frees the struggling flood
From its divided rule, and strife with mud.
She winds its course the copious stream to shew,
And she in swifter currents bids it flow;
Now smoothly gliding with an even pace,
Now dimpling o'er the stones with roughen'd grace:
With glassy surface now serenely bright,
Now foaming from the rock all silver white.

'Tis she the rising bank with beeches crowns,
Now spreads the scene, and now contracts its bounds.
Cloaths the bleak hill with verdure ever gay,
And bids our feet thro' myrtle-valleys stray.
She for her shepherds rears the rooty shed,
The checquer'd pavement, and the straw-wove bed.

163

For them she scoops the grotto's cool retreat,
From storms a shelter, and a shade in heat.
Directs their hands the verdant arch to bend,
And with the leafy roof its gloom extend.
Shells, flint, and ore their mingled graces join,
And rocky fragments aid the chaste design.

Lycidas.
Hail happy lawns! where'er we turn our eyes,
Fresh beauties bloom, and opening wonders rise.
Whileome these charming scenes with grief I view'd
A barren waste, a dreary solitude!
My drooping flocks their russet pastures mourn'd,
And lowing herds the plaintive moan return'd.
With weary feet from field to field they stray'd,
Nor found their hunger's painful sense allay'd.
But now no more a dreary scene appears,
No more its prickly boughs the bramble rears,
No more my flocks lament th'unfruitful soil,
Nor mourn their ragged fleece, or fruitless toil.

164

Damon.
As this fair lawn excels the rushy mead,
As firs the thorn, and flow'rs the pois'nous weed,
Far as the warbling sky-larks soar on high,
Above the clumsy bat, or buzzing fly;
So matchless moves Ardenna o'er the green,
In mind alike excelling as in mien.

Lycidas.
Sweet is the fragrance of the damask rose,
And bright the dye that on its surface glows,
Fair is the poplar rising on the plain,
Of shapely trunk, and lofty branches vain;
But neither sweet the rose, nor bright its dye,
Nor poplar fair, if with her charms they vie.

Damon.
Grateful is sunshine to the sportive lambs,
The balmy dews delight the nibbling dams;
But kindlier warmth Ardenna's smiles impart,
A balm more rich her lessons to the heart.

165

Lycidas.
No more Pomona's guiding hand we need,
Nor Flora's help to paint th'enamell'd mead,
Nor Ceres' care to guard the rising grain,
And spread the yellow plenty o'er the plain;
Ardenna's precepts ev'ry want supply,
The grateful lay what shepherd can deny?

Damon.
A theme so pleasing, with the day begun,
Too soon were ended with the setting sun.
But see o'er yonder hill the parting ray,
And hark! our bleating flocks reprove our stay.

166

The SCAVENGERS.

A TOWN-ECLOGUE.

“Dulcis odor lucri ox re quâlibet.”

Awake, my Muse, prepare a loftier theme.
The winding valley, and the dimpled stream
Delight not all: quit, quit the verdant field,
And try what dusty streets, and alleys yield.

Where Avon wider flows, and gathers fame,
Stands a fair town, and Warwick is its name.
For useful arts entitled once to share
The gentle Ethelfleda's guardian care.
Nor less for deeds of chivalry renown'd,
When her own Guy was with her laurels crown'd.
Now Syren Sloth holds here her tranquil reign,
And binds in silken bonds the feeble train.
No frowning knights in uncouth armour lac'd,
Seek now for monsters on the dreary waste:
In these soft scenes they chace a gentler prey,
No monsters! but as dangerous as they.

167

In diff'rent forms as sure destruction lies,
They have no claws 'tis true—but they have eyes.

Last of the toiling race there liv'd a pair,
Bred up in labour, and inur'd to care!
To sweep the streets their task from sun to sun,
And seek the nastiness which others shun.
More plodding wight, or dame you ne'er shall see,
He Gaffer Pestel hight, and Gammer she.

As at their door they sate one summer's day,
Old Pestel first essay'd the plaintive lay:
His gentle mate the plaintive lay return'd,
And thus alternately their cares they mourn'd.

Old Pestel.
Alas! was ever such fine weather seen,
How dusty are the roads, the streets how clean!
How long, ye Almanacks! will it be dry?
Empty my cart how long, and idle I!
Ev'n at the best the times are not so good,
But 'tis hard work to scrape a livelihood.
The cattle in the stalls resign their life,
And baulk the shambles, and th'unbloody knife.

168

While farmers sit at home in pensive gloom,
And turnpikes threaten to compleat my doom.

Wife.
Well! for the turnpike that will do no hurt,
Some say the managers are friends to dirt.
But much I fear this murrain where 'twill end,
For sure the cattle did our door befriend.
Oft have I hail'd 'em, as they stalk'd along,
Their fat the butchers pleas'd, but me their dung.

Old Pestel.
See what a little dab of dirt is here!
But yields all Warwick more, O tell me where?
Yet, on this spot, tho' now so naked seen,
Heaps upon heaps, and loads on loads have been.
Bigger, and bigger, the proud dunghill grew,
Till my diminish'd house was hid from view.

Wife.
Ah! Gaffer Pestel, what brave days were those,
When higher than our house our muckhill rose!

169

The growing mount I view'd with joyful eyes,
And mark'd what each load added to its size.
Wrapt in its fragrant steam we often sate,
And to its praises held delightful chat.
Nor did I e'er neglect my mite to pay,
To swell the goodly heap from day to day.
A cabbage once I bought; but small the cost—
Nor do I think the farthing all was lost.
Again you sold its well-digested store,
To dung the garden where it grew before.

Old Pestel.
What tho' the beaus, and powder'd coxcombs jeer'd,
And at the scavenger's employment sneer'd,
Yet then at night content I told my gains,
And thought well paid their malice, and my pains.
Why toils the tradesman, but to swell his store?
Why craves the wealthy landlord still for more?
Why will our gentry flatter, fawn, and lie?
Why pack the cards, and what d'ye call't—the die?
All, all the pleasing paths of gain pursue,
And wade thro' thick, and thin, as we folks do.

170

Sweet is the scent that from advantage springs,
And nothing dirty which good int'rest brings.

Wife.

When goody Dobbins call'd me nasty bear,
And talk'd of kennels, and the ducking-chair,
With patience I cou'd hear the scolding quean,
For sure 'twas dirtiness that kept me clean.
Clean was my gown on Sundays, if not fine,
Nor Mrs. ---'s cap so white as mine.
A slut in silk, or kersey is the same,
Nor sweetest always is the finest dame.

Thus wail'd they pleasure past, and present cares,
While the starv'd hog join'd his complaint with theirs.
To still his grunting diff'rent ways they tend,
To West-Street he, and she to Cotton-End.

Names of the most remote, and opposite parts of the Town.

171

ABSENCE.

With leaden foot Time creeps along
While Delia is away,
With her, nor plaintive was the song,
Nor tedious was the day.

Ah! envious pow'r! reverse my doom,
Now double thy career,
Strain ev'ry nerve, stretch ev'ry plume,
And rest them when she's here.

To a LADY.

When Nature joins a beauteous face
With shape, and air, and life, and grace,
To ev'ry imperfection blind,
I spy no blemish in the mind.

172

When wit flows pure from Stella's tongue,
Or animates the sprightly song,
Our hearts confess the pow'r divine,
Nor lightly prize its mortal shrine.

Good-nature will a conquest gain,
Tho' wit, and beauty sigh in vain.

When gen'rous thoughts the breast inspire,
I wish its rank, and fortunes higher.

When Sidney's charms again unite
To win the soul, and bless the sight,
Fair, and learn'd, and good, and great!
An earthly goddess is compleat.

But when I see a sordid mind
With affluence, and ill-nature join'd,
And pride without a grain of sense,
And without beauty insolence,
The creature with contempt I view,
And sure 'tis like Miss—you know who.

173

To a LADY working a Pair of RUFFLES.

What means this useless cost, this wanton pride?
To purchase fopp'ry from yon' foreign strand!
To spurn our native stores, and arts aside,
And drain the riches of a needy land!

Pleas'd I survey, fair nymph, your happy skill,
Yet view it by no vulgar critic's laws:
With nobler aim I draw my sober quill,
Anxious to list each art in Virtue's cause.

Go on, dear maid, your utmost pow'r essay,
And if for fame your little bosom heave,
Know patriot-hands your merit shall display,
And amply pay the graces they receive.

Let ev'ry nymph like you the gift prepare,
And banish foreign pomp, and costly show;
What lover but wou'd burn the prize to wear,
Or blush by you pronounc'd his country's foe?

174

Your smiles can win when patriot-speeches fail,
Your frowns controul when justice threats in vain,
O'er stubborn minds your softness can prevail,
And placemen drop the bribe if you complain.

Then rise the guardians of your country's fame,
Or wherefore were ye form'd like angels fair?
By beauty's force our venal hearts reclaim,
And save the drooping Virtues from despair.

FEMALE EMPIRE.

A TRUE HISTORY.

Like Bruin's was Avaro's breast,
No softness harbour'd there;
While Sylvio some concern express'd,
When beauty shed a tear.

In Hymen's bands they both were tied,
As Cupid's archives shew ye;
Proud Celia was Avaro's bride,
And Sylvio's gentle Chloe.

175

Like other nymphs, at church they swore,
To honour, and obey,
Which, with each learned nymph before,
They soon explain'd away.

If Chloe now wou'd have her will,
Her streaming eyes prevail'd,
Or if her swain prov'd cruel still,
Hysterics never fail'd.

But Celia scorn'd the plaintive moan,
And heart-dissolving show'r;
With flashing eye, and angry tone,
She best maintain'd her pow'r.

Yet once the mandates of his Turk
Avaro durst refuse;
For why? important was his work,
“To register old shoes!”

And does, said she, the wretch dispute
My claim such clowns to rule?
If Celia cannot charm a brute,
She can chastise a fool.

176

Then strait she to his closet flew,
His private thoughts she tore,
And from its place the poker drew,
That fell'd him on the floor.

Henceforth, said she, my calls regard,
Own mine the stronger plea,
Nor let thy vulgar cares retard
The female rites of tea.

Victorious sex! alike your art,
And puissance we dread;
For if you cannot break our heart,
'Tis plain you'll break our head.

Place me, ye Gods, beneath the throne
Which gentle smiles environ,
And I'll submission gladly own,
Without a rod of iron.

The parish-register.

177

On Mr. Samuel Cooke's POEMS.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1749.

Indeed, Master Cooke!
You have made such a book,
As the learned in pastry admire:
But other wits joke
To see such a smoke
Without any visible fire.

What a nice bill of fare,
Of whatever is rare,
And approv'd by the critics of taste!
Not a classical bit,
Ev'ry fancy to hit,
But here in due order is plac'd.

178

Yet, for all this parade,
You are but a dull blade,
And your lines are all scragged, and raw;
And tho' you've hack'd, and have hew'd,
And have squeez'd, and have stew'd,
Your forc'd-meat isn't all worth a straw.

Tho' your satire you spit,
'Tisn't season'd a bit,
And your puffs are as heavy as lead;
Call each dish what you will,
Boil, roast, hash, or grill,
Yet still it is all a calve's-head.

I don't mind your huffing,
For you've put such vile stuff in,
I protest I'm as sick as a dog;
Were you leaner, or fatter,
I'd not mince the matter,
You're not fit to dress Æsop a frog.

179

Then, good master Slice!
Shut up shop, if your wise,
And th'unwary no longer trepan;
Such advice indeed is hard,
And may stick in your gizzard,
But digest it as well as you can.

The MISTAKE.

ON CAPTAIN BLUFF. 1750.

Says a Gosling, almost frighten'd out of her wits,
Help mother, or else I shall go into fits.
I have had such a fright, I shall never recover,
O! that Hawke, that you've told us of over and over.
See, there, where he sits, with his terrible face,
And his coat how it glitters all over with lace.
With his sharp hooked nose, and his sword at his heel,
How my heart it goes pit-a-pat, pray, mother, feel.

180

Says the Goose, very gravely, Pray don't talk so wild,
Those looks are as harmless as mine are, my child.
And as for his sword there, so bright, and so nice,
I'll be sworn 'twill hurt nothing besides frogs, and mice.
Nay, prithee don't hang so about me, let loose,
I tell thee he dares not say—bo to a Goose.
In short there is not a more innocent fowl,
Why, instead of a Hawke, look ye, child, 'tis an Owl.

To a LADY, with a basket of fruit.

Once of forbidden fruit the mortal taste
Chang'd beauteous Eden to a dreary waste.
Here you may freely eat, secure the while
From latent poison, or insidious guile.
Yet O! cou'd I but happily infuse
Some secret charm into the sav'ry juice,
Of pow'r to tempt your gentle breast to share
With me the peaceful cot, and rural fare:
A diff'rent fate shou'd crown the blest device,
And change my Desart to a Paradise.

181

PEYTOE's GHOST.

To Craven's health, and social joy,
The festive night was kept,
While mirth and patriot spirit flow'd,
And Dullness only slept.

When from the jovial crowd I stole,
And homeward shap'd my way;
And pass'd along by Chesterton,
All at the close of day.

The sky with clouds was over-cast:
An hollow tempest blow'd,
And rains and foaming cataracts
Had delug'd all the road.

When thro' the dark and lonesome shade,
Shone forth a sudden light;
And soon distinct an human form,
Engag'd my wondering sight.

182

Onward it mov'd with graceful port,
And soon o'ertook my speed;
Then thrice I lifted up my hands,
And thrice I check'd my steed.

Who art thou, passenger, it cry'd,
From yonder mirth retir'd?
That here pursu'st thy cheerless way,
Benighted, and be-mir'd.

I am, said I, a country clerk,
A clerk of low degree,
And yonder gay and gallant scene,
Suits not a curacy.

But I have seen such sights to-day,
As make my heart full glad,
Altho' it is but dark, 'tis true,
And eke—my road is bad.

For I have seen lords, knights, and squires,
Of great and high renown,
To chuse a knight for this fair shire,
All met at Warwick Town.

183

A wight of skill to ken our laws,
Of courage to defend,
Of worth to serve the public cause,
Before a private end.

And such they found, if right I guess—
Of gentle blood he came;
Of morals firm, of manners mild,
And Craven is his name.

Did half the British tribunes share
Experienc'd Mordaunt's truth,
Another half, like Craven, boast
A free unbiass'd youth:

The sun I trow, in all his race,
No happier realm should find;
Nor Britons hope for aught in vain,
From warmth with prudence join'd.

184

“Go on, my Country, favour'd soil,
Such Patriots to produce!
Go on, my Countrymen, he cry'd,
Such Patriots still to chuse.”

This said, the placid form retir'd,
Behind the veil of night;
Yet bade me, for my Country's good,
The solemn tale recite.

Was the late Lord Willoughey de Broke.

Hon. William Craven, of Wykin; he was afterwards Lord Craven.

The late Sir Charles Mordaunt, Bart.

To a LADY, Furnishing her LIBRARY, at ---, in Warwickshire.

When just proportion in each part,
And colours mixt with nicest art,
Conspire to shew the grace and mien
Of Cloe, or the Cyprian Queen:
With elegance throughout refin'd,
That speaks the passions of the mind,

185

The glowing canvas will proclaim,
A Raphael's, or a Titian's name.

So where thro' ev'ry learned page,
Each distant clime, each distant age
Display a rich variety,
Of wisdom in epitome;
Such elegance and taste will tell
The hand, that could select so well.
But when we all their beauties view,
United and improv'd by You,
We needs must own an emblem faint,
T'express those charms no art can paint.
Books must, with such correctness writ,
Refine another's taste and wit;
'Tis to your merit only due,
That theirs can be refin'd by You.

186

To WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Esq. on receiving a gilt pocket-book. 1751.

These spotless leaves, this neat array,
Might well invite your charming quill,
In fair assemblage to display
The power of Learning, Wit, and Skill.

But since you carelessly refuse,
And to my pen the task assign;
O! let your Genius guide my Muse,
And every vulgar thought refine.

Teach me your best, your best lov'd art,
With frugal care to store my mind;
In this to play the Miser's part,
And give mean lucre to the wind:

To shun the Coxcomb's empty noise,
To scorn the Villain's artful mask;
Nor trust gay Pleasure's fleeting joys
Nor urge Ambition's endless task.

187

Teach me to stem Youth's boisterous tide,
To regulate its giddy rage;
By Reason's aid my barque to guide,
Into the friendly port of Age:

To share what Classic Culture yields,
Thro' Rhetoric's painted meads to roam;
With you to reap historic fields,
And bring the golden Harvest home.

To taste the genuine sweets of Wit;
To quaff in Humour's sprightly bowl;
The philosophic mean to hit,
And prize the Dignity of Soul.

Teach me to read fair Nature's book,
Wide opening in each flow'ry plain;
And with judicious eye to look
On all the glories of her reign.

To hail her, seated on her throne,
By aweful woods encompass'd round,
Or her divine extraction own,
Tho' with a wreath of rushes crown'd.

188

Thro' arched walks, o'er spreading lawns,
Near solemn rocks, with her to rove;
Or court her, 'mid her gentle fawns,
In mossy cell, or maple grove.

Whether the prospect strain the sight,
Or in the nearer landskips charm,
Where hills, vales, fountains, woods unite,
To grace your sweet Arcadian farm:

There let me sit, and gaze with you,
On Nature's works by Art refin'd;
And own, while we their contest view,
Both fair, but fairest, thus combin'd!

189

An ELEGY on MAN.

WRITTEN JANUARY 1752.

Behold Earth's Lord, imperial Man,
In ripen'd vigour gay;
His outward form attentive scan,
And all within survey.

Behold his plans of future life,
His care, his hope, his love,
Relations dear of child, and wife,
The dome, the lawn, the grove.

Now see within his active mind,
More gen'rous passions share,
Friend, neighbour, country, all his kind,
By turns engage his care.

Behold him range with curious eye,
O'er Earth from pole to pole,
And thro' th'illimitable sky
Explore with daring soul.

190

Yet pass some twenty fleeting years,
And all his glory flies,
His languid eye is bath'd in tears,
He sickens, groans, and dies.

And is this all his destin'd lot,
This all his boasted sway?
For ever now to be forgot,
Amid the mould'ring clay!

Ah gloomy thought! ah worse than death!
Life sickens at the sound;
Better it were not draw our breath,
Than run this empty round.

Hence, cheating Fancy, then, away
O let us better try,
By Reason's more enlighten'd ray,
What 'tis indeed to die.

Observe yon mass of putrid earth,
It holds an embryo-brood,
Ev'n now the reptiles crawl to birth,
And seek their leafy food.

191

Yet stay 'till some few suns are past,
Each forms a silken tomb,
And seems, like man, imprison'd fast,
To meet his final doom.

Yet from this silent mansion too
Anon you see him rise,
No more a crawling worm to view,
But tenant of the skies.

And what forbids that man should share,
Some more auspicious day,
To range at large in open air,
As light and free as they?

There was a time when life first warm'd
Our flesh in shades of night,
Then was th'imperfect substance form'd,
And sent to view this light.

There was a time, when ev'ry sense
In straiter limits dwelt,
Yet each its task cou'd then dispense,
We saw, we heard, we felt.

192

And times there are, when thro' the veins
The blood forgets to flow,
Yet then a living pow'r remains,
Tho' not in active show.

Times too there be, when friendly Sleep's
Soft charms the Senses bind,
Yet Fancy then her vigils keeps,
And ranges unconfin'd.

And Reason holds her sep'rate sway,
Tho' all the Senses wake,
And forms in Mem'ry's storehouse play,
Of no material make.

What are these then, this eye, this ear,
But nicer organs found,
A glass to read, a trump to hear,
The modes of shape, or sound?

And blows may maim, or time impair
These instruments of clay,
And Death may ravish what they spare,
Compleating their decay.

193

But are these then that living Pow'r
That thinks, compares, and rules?
Then say a scaffold is a tow'r,
A workman is his tools.

For aught appears that Death can do,
That still survives his stroke,
Its workings plac'd beyond our view,
Its present commerce broke.

But what connections it may find,
Boots much to hope, and fear,
And if Instruction courts the mind,
'Tis madness not to hear.

Vid. Butler's Analogy.

194

On receiving a little IVORY BOX from a lady, curiously wrought by her own hands.

Little Box of matchless grace!
Fairer than the fairest face,
Smooth as was her parent-hand,
That did thy wond'rous form command.
Spotless as her infant mind,
As her riper age refin'd,
Beauty with the Graces join'd.

Let me clothe the lovely stranger,
Let me lodge thee safe from danger.
Let me guard thy soft repose,
From giddy Fortune's random blows.
From thoughtless mirth, barbaric hate,
From the iron-hand of Fate,
And Oppression's deadly weight.

Thou art not of a sort, or number
Fashion'd for a Poet's lumber;

195

Tho' more capacious than his purse,
Too small to hold his store of verse.
Too delicate for homely toil,
Too neat for vulgar hands to soil.

O! wou'd the Fates permit the Muse,
Thy future destiny to chuse!
In thy circle's fairy round,
With a golden fillet bound:
Like the snow-drop silver white,
Like the glow-worm's humid light,
Like the dew at early dawn,
Like the moon-light on the lawn,
Lucid rows of pearls shou'd dwell,
Pleas'd as in their native shell;
Or the brilliant's sparkling rays,
Shou'd emit a starry blaze.

And if the Fair whose magic skill,
Wrought thee passive to her will,
Deign to regard thy Poet's love,
Nor his aspiring suit reprove,
Her form should crown the fair design,
Goddess fit for such a shrine!

196

VALENTINE's DAY.

The tuneful choir in amorous strains,
Accost their feather'd loves;
While each fond mate with equal pains,
The tender suit approves.

With chearful hop from spray to spray,
They sport along the meads;
In social bliss together stray,
Where love or fancy leads.

Thro' Spring's gay scenes each happy pair
Their fluttering joys pursue;
Its various charms and produce share,
For ever kind and true.

Their sprightly notes from every shade,
Their mutual loves proclaim;
Till Winter's chilling blasts invade,
And damp th'enlivening flame.

197

Then all the jocund scene declines,
Nor woods nor meads delight;
The drooping tribe in secret pines,
And mourns th'unwelcome sight.

Go, blissful warblers! timely wise,
Th'instructive moral tell!
Nor thou their meaning lays despise,
My charming Annabelle!

HAMLET's SOLILOQUY, IMITATED.

To print, or not to print—that is the question.
Whether 'tis better in a trunk to bury
The quirks and crotchets of outrageous fancy,
Or send a well-wrote copy to the press,
And by disclosing, end them? To print, to doubt
No more; and by one act to say we end
The head-ach, and a thousand natural shocks

198

Of scribbling frenzy—'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To print—to beam
From the same shelf with Pope, in calf well bound:
To sleep, perchance, with Quarles—Ay, there's the rub—
For to what class a writer may be doom'd,
When he hath shuffled off some paltry stuff,
Must give us pause.—There's the respect that makes
Th'unwilling poet keep his piece nine years.
For who wou'd bear th'impatient thirst of fame,
The pride of conscious merit, and 'bove all,
The tedious importunity of friends,
When as himself might his quietus make
With a bare inkhorn? Who would fardles bear?
To groan and sweat under a load of wit?
But that the tread of steep Parnassus' hill,
That undiscover'd country, with whose bays
Few travellers return, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear to live unknown,
Than run the hazard to be known, and damn'd.
Thus Critics do make cowards of us all.
And thus the healthful face of many a poem,

199

Is sickly'd o'er with a pale manuscript;
And enterprizers of great fire, and spirit,
With this regard from Dodsley turn away,
And lose the name of authors.

ROUNDELAY, WRITTEN FOR THE JUBILEE AT STRATFORD UPON AVON,

CELEBRATED BY MR. GARRICK IN HONOUR OF SHAKESPEARE, SEPTEMBER 1769.
[_]

Set to Music by Mr. Dibdin.

I

Sisters of the tuneful train,
Attend your Parent's jocund strain,
'Tis Fancy calls you; follow me
To celebrate the Jubilee.

200

II

On Avon's banks, where Shakespeare's bust
Points out, and guards his sleeping dust;
The sons of scenic mirth agree,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

III

Come, daughters, come, and bring with you
Th'aerial Sprites and Fairy crew,
And the sister Graces three,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

IV

Hang around the sculptur'd tomb
The 'broider'd vest, the nodding plume,
And the mask of comic glee,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

V

From Birnam Wood, and Bosworth Field,
Bring the standard, bring the shield,

201

With drums, and martial symphony,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

VI

In mournful numbers now relate
Poor Desdemona's hapless fate,
With frantic deeds of jealousy,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

VII

Nor be Windsor's Wives forgot,
With their harmless merry plot,
The whitening mead, and haunted tree,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

VIII

Now in jocund strains recite
The humours of the braggard Knight,
Fat Knight, and Ancient Pistol he,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

202

IX

But see in crowds the Gay, the Fair,
To the splendid scene repair,
A scene as fine, as fine can be,
To celebrate the Jubilee.

The BLACKBIRDS.

An ELEGY.

The Sun had chas'd the mountain-snow,
His beams had pierc'd the stubborn soil,
The melting streams began to flow,
And Plowmen urg'd their annual toil.

'Twas then, amidst the vocal throng,
Whom Nature wak'd to mirth, and love,
A Blackbird rais'd his am'rous song,
And thus it echo'd thro' the grove.

203

O fairest of the feather'd train!
For whom I sing, for whom I burn,
Attend with pity to my strain,
And grant my love a kind return.

For see, the wint'ry storms are flown,
And zephyrs gently fan the air;
Let us the genial influence own,
Let us the vernal pastime share.

The Raven plumes his jetty wing,
To please his croaking paramour,
The Larks responsive carols sing,
And tell their passion as they soar:

But does the Raven's sable wing
Excel the glossy jet of mine?
Or can the Lark more sweetly sing,
Than we, who strength with softness join?

O let me then thy steps attend!
I'll point new treasures to thy sight:
Whether the grove thy wish befriend,
Or hedge-rows green, or meadows bright.

204

I'll guide thee to the clearest rill,
Whose streams among the pebbles stray;
There will we sip, and sip our fill,
Or on the flow'ry margin play.

I'll lead thee to the thickest brake,
Impervious to the school-boy's eye;
For thee the plaister'd nest I'll make,
And to thy downy bosom fly.

When, prompted by a mother's care,
Thy warmth shall form th'imprison'd young,
The pleasing task I'll gladly share,
Or cheer thy labours with a song.

To bring thee food I'll range the fields,
And cull the best of ev'ry kind,
Whatever Nature's bounty yields,
And love's assiduous care can find.

And when my lovely mate wou'd stray,
To taste the summer sweets at large,
I'll wait at home the live-long day,
And fondly tend our little charge.

205

Then prove with me the sweets of love,
With me divide the cares of life,
No bush shall boast in all the grove,
A mate so fond, so blest a wife.

He ceas'd his song—the plumy dame
Heard with delight the love-sick strain,
Nor long conceal'd a mutual flame,
Nor long repress'd his am'rous pain.

He led her to the nuptial bow'r,
And perch'd with triumph by her side;
What gilded roof cou'd boast that hour
A fonder mate, or happier bride?

Next morn he wak'd her with a song,
Behold, he said, the new-born day,
The Lark his mattin-peal has rung,
Arise, my love, and come away.

Together thro' the fields they stray'd,
And to the murm'ring riv'let's side,
Renew'd their vows, and hopp'd, and play'd
With artless joy, and decent pride.

206

When O! with grief my Muse relates
What dire misfortune clos'd the tale,
Sent by an order from the Fates,
A Gunner met them in the vale.

Alarm'd, the lover cried, My dear,
Haste, haste away, from danger fly;
Here, Gunner, point thy thunder here,
O spare my love, and let me die.

At him the Gunner took his aim,
Too sure the volley'd thunder flew!
O had he chose some other game,
Or shot—as he was wont to do!

Divided Pair! forgive the wrong,
While I with tears your fate rehearse,
I'll join the Widow's plaintive song,
And save the Lover in my verse.

207

The GOLDFINCHES.

An ELEGY. TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ.

Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes
Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros.

To you, whose groves protect the feather'd choirs,
Who lend their artless notes a willing ear,
To you, whom Pity moves, and Taste inspires,
The Doric strain belongs, O Shenstone hear.

'Twas gentle Spring, when all the plumy race,
By Nature taught in nuptial leagues combine,
A Goldfinch joy'd to meet the warm embrace,
And with her mate in Love's delights to join.

All in a garden, on a currant-bush,
With wond'rous art they built their airy seat;
In the next orchard liv'd a friendly Thrush,
Nor distant far a Woodlark's soft retreat.

208

Here blest with ease, and in each other blest,
With early songs they wak'd the neighb'ring groves,
Till time matur'd their joys, and crown'd their nest
With infant pledges of their faithful loves.

And now what transport glow'd in either's eye?
What equal fondness dealt th'allotted food?
What joy each other's likeness to descry,
And future sonnets in the chirping brood!

But ah! what earthly happiness can last?
How does the fairest purpose often fail?
A truant schoolboy's wantonness cou'd blast
Their flatt'ring hopes, and leave them both to wail.

The most ungentle of his tribe was he,
No gen'rous precept ever touch'd his heart,
With concord false, and hideous prosody
He scrawl'd his task, and blunder'd o'er his part.

On mischief bent, he mark'd, with rav'nous eyes,
Where wrapt in down the callow songsters lay,
Then rushing, rudely seiz'd the glitt'ring prize,
And bore it in his impious hands away!

209

But how shall I describe, in numbers rude,
The pangs for poor Chrysomitris decreed,
When from her secret stand aghast she view'd
The cruel spoiler perpetrate the deed?

O grief of griefs! with shrieking voice she cried,
What sight is this that I have liv'd to see!
O! that I had in Youth's fair season died,
From Love's false joys, and bitter sorrows free.

Was it for this, alas! with weary bill,
Was it for this I pois'd th'unwieldy straw?
For this I bore the moss from yonder hill,
Nor shun'd the pond'rous stick along to draw?

Was it for this I pick'd the wool with care,
Intent with nicer skill our work to crown?
For this, with pain, I bent the stubborn hair,
And lin'd our cradle with the thistle's down?

Was it for this my freedom I resign'd,
And ceas'd to rove at large from plain to plain?
For this I sate at home whole days confin'd,
To bear the scorching heat, and pealing rain?

210

Was it for this my watchful eyes grow dim?
For this the roses on my cheek turn pale?
Pale is my golden plumage, once so trim!
And all my wonted mirth, and spirits fail!

O Plund'rer vile! O more than Adders fell!
More murth'rous than the Cat, with prudish face!
Fiercer than Kites in whom the Furies dwell,
And thievish as the Cuckow's pilf'ring race!

May juicy plumbs for thee forbear to grow,
For thee no flow'r unveil its charming dies;
May birch-trees thrive to work thee sharper woe,
And list'ning starlings mock thy frantic cries.

Thus sang the mournful bird her piteous tale,
The piteous tale her mournful mate return'd,
Then side by side they sought the distant vale,
And there in secret sadness inly mourn'd.

211

The SWALLOWS:

An ELEGY.

PART I.

Ere yellow Autumn from our plains retir'd,
And gave to wintry storms the varied year,
The Swallow-race with prescient gift inspir'd,
To southern climes prepar'd their course to steer.

On Damon's roof a large assembly sate,
His roof a refuge to the feather'd kind!
With serious look he mark'd the grave debate,
And to his Delia thus address'd his mind.

Observe yon' twitt'ring flock, my gentle maid!
Observe, and read the wond'rous ways of Heav'n!
With us thro' Summer's genial reign they stay'd,
And food, and sunshine to their wants were giv'n.

212

But now, by secret instinct taught, they know
The near approach of elemental strife,
Of blust'ring tempests, and of chilling snow,
With ev'ry pang, and scourge of tender life.

Thus warn'd they meditate a speedy flight,
For this ev'n now they prune their vig'rous wing,
For this each other to the toil excite,
And prove their strength in many a sportive ring.

No sorrow loads their breast, or dims their eye,
To quit their wonted haunts, or native home,
Nor fear they launching on the boundless sky,
In search of future settlements to roam.

They feel a pow'r, an impulse all divine,
That warns them hence, they feel it, and obey,
To this direction all their cares resign,
Unknown their destin'd stage, unmark'd their way.

Peace to your flight! ye mild, domestic race!
O! for your wings to travel with the sun!
Health brace your nerves, and zephyrs aid your pace,
Till your long voyage happily be done.

213

See, Delia, on my roof your guests to-day,
To-morrow on my roof your guests no more,
Ere yet 'tis night with haste they wing away,
To-morrow lands them on some happier shore.

How just the moral in this scene convey'd!
And what without a moral? wou'd we read!
Then mark what Damon tells his gentle maid,
And with his lesson register the deed.

So youthful joys fly like the Summer's gale,
So threats the winter of inclement age,
Life's busy plot a short, fantastic tale!
And Nature's changeful scenes the shifting stage!

And does no friendly pow'r to man dispense
The joyful tidings of some happier clime?
Find we no guide in gracious Providence
Beyond the gloomy grave, and short-liv'd time?

214

Yes, yes the sacred oracles we hear,
That point the path to realms of endless joy,
That bid our trembling hearts no danger fear,
Tho' clouds surround, and angry skies annoy.

Then let us wisely for our flight prepare,
Nor count this stormy world our fixt abode,
Obey the call, and trust our Leader's care,
To smooth the rough, and light the darksome road.

Moses, by grant divine, led Israel's host
Thro' dreary paths to Jordan's fruitful side;
But we a loftier theme than theirs can boast,
A better promise, and a nobler guide.

PART II.

At length the Winter's howling blasts are o'er,
Array'd in smiles the lovely Spring returns,
Now fewel'd hearths attractive blaze no more,
And ev'ry breast with inward fervor burns.

215

Again the daisies peep, the violets blow,
Again the vocal tenants of the grove
Forgot the patt'ring hail, or driving snow,
Renew the lay to melody, and love.

And see, my Delia, see o'er yonder stream,
Where, on the bank, the lambs in gambols play,
Alike attracted by the sunny gleam,
Again the Swallows take their wonted way.

Welcome, ye gentle tribe, your sports pursue,
Welcome again to Delia, and to me,
Your peaceful councils on my roof renew,
And plan new settlements from danger free.

Again I'll listen to your grave debates,
Again I'll hear your twitt'ring songs unfold
What policy directs your wand'ring states,
What bounds are settled, and what tribes enroll'd.

Again I'll hear you tell of distant lands,
What insect-nations rise from Egypt's mud,
What painted swarms subsist on Lybia's sands,
What Ganges yields, and what th'Euphratean flood.

216

Thrice happy race! whom Nature's call invites
To travel o'er her realms with active wing,
To taste her various stores, her best delights,
The Summer's radiance, and the sweets of Spring:

While we are doom'd to bear the restless change
Of varying seasons, vapours dank, and dry,
Forbid like you in milder climes to range,
When wintry storms usurp the low'ring sky.

Yet know the period to your joys assign'd,
Know ruin hovers o'er this earthly ball,
As lofty tow'rs stoop prostrate to the wind,
Its secret props of adamant shall fall.

But when yon' radiant sun shall shine no more,
The spirit, freed from sin's tyrannic sway,
On lighter pinions borne than yours, shall soar
To fairer realms beneath a brighter ray.

To plains ethereal, and celestial bow'rs,
Where wintry storms no rude access obtain,
Where blasts no lightning, and no tempest low'rs,
But ever-smiling Spring, and Pleasure reign.

This little piece, and its companions, particularly the following, are highly honour'd by Mr. Aikin, in his ingenious and entertaining “Essay on the Application of Natural History to Poetry.”

THE END.

217

ADAM:

OR, THE Fatal Disobedience.

AN ORATORIO. COMPILED FROM THE PARADISE LOST OF MILTON. AND ADAPTED TO MUSIC.

By R. J.

224

The Persons here represented are

ADAM, and
EVE; with the
Guardian Angels of Paradise, and others.

The Scene is Paradise.

225

ACT I.

SCENE I.

RECITATIVE.

Under a tuft of shade, that, on a green,
Stood whisp'ring soft, on Eden's blissful plain,
Sate the first human Pair. (Not that fair Field
Of Enna, where Proserpine, gath'ring flow'rs,
Herself, a fairer flow'r, by gloomy Dis
Was gather'd; nor that sweet Elysian Grove
Of Daphne by Orontes, and th'inspir'd

226

Castalian Spring, might with this Paradise
Of Eden strive: nor that Nysean Isle,
Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham,
Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Lybian Jove,
Hid Amalthea, and her florid son,
Young Bacchus from his step-dame Rhea's eye—
Nor where Abassine kings their issue guard,
Mount Amara! enclos'd with shining rock,
A whole day's journey high.) Around them grew
All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste,
And all amid them grew the Tree of Life,
High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit
Of vegetable gold; and, next to Life,
Our Death! the Tree of Knowledge grew fast by.
Here waving boughs wept od'rous gums, and balm:
On others fruit, burnish'd with golden rind,
Hung amiable: betwixt them lawns, and downs,
Or palmy hillock, or the flow'ry lap
Of some irriguous valley spread her store,
Flow'rs of all hues, and without thorn the rose.
Another side umbrageous grots, and caves
Of cool recess! o'er which the mantling vine

227

Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps
Luxuriant. Mean while murm'ring waters fall
Down the slope hills dispers'd, or, in a lake,
That to the fringed bank, with myrtle crown'd,
Her crystal mirrour holds, unite their streams.
The birds their quire apply—airs, vernal airs
Breathing the smell of field, or grove attune
The trembling leaves, and whisper whence they stole
Their balmy spoils. About them frisking play'd
All beasts of th'earth, since wild, and of all chase
In wood, or wilderness, forest, or den.
Sporting the lion ramp'd, and, in his paw,
Dandled the kid. Bears, tygers, ounces, pards
Gambol'd before them. Th'unwieldy elephant,
To make them mirth, us'd all his might, and wreath'd
His lithe proboscis. Close the serpent sly,
Insinuating, wove, with Gordian twine,
His braided train, and, of his fatal guile
Gave proof unheeded. They superior sate
As lords of all, of God-like shape erect!
For valour he, and contemplation form'd,
For softness she, and sweet attractive grace!

228

AIR.

“They superior sate,
“As lords of all, of God-like shape erect!
“For valour he, and contemplation form'd,
“For softness she, and sweet attractive grace!”

SCENE II.

RECITATIVE.

On the soft downy bank, damaskt with flow'rs,
Reclin'd they sate, when Adam first of men
To first of women Eve thus smiling spake.
ADAM.
Sole partner, and sole part of all these joys,
Dearer thyself than all! needs must the Pow'r,
That made us, and, for us, this ample world,
Be infinitely good, and, of his good
As liberal, and free as infinite;
Who rais'd us from the dust, and plac'd us here,

229

In all this happiness; who yet requires
From us no other service, than to keep
This one, this easy charge—Of all the Trees
In Paradise, that bear delicious fruit
So various, not to taste that only Tree
Of Knowledge, planted by the Tree of Life.

SONG.

“Then let us ever praise Him, and extol
“His bounty, following our delightful task,
“To prune these growing plants, and tend these flow'rs,
“Which, were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet.”

RECITATIVE.

EVE.
O thou! for whom
And from whom I was form'd! Flesh of thy flesh!
And without whom am to no end! My guide,
And head! what thou hast said is just, and right:
For we indeed to Him all praises owe,

230

And daily thanks: I chiefly, who enjoy
So much the happier lot, enjoying thee.

AFFETUOSO.

“That day I oft remember, when from sleep
“I first awak'd, and found myself repos'd
“Under a shade of flow'rs, much wond'ring where,
“And what I was, whence thither brought, and how.
“Not distant far from thence, a murm'ring sound
“Of waters issued from a cave, and spread
“Into a liquid plain, then stood unmov'd
“Pure as th'expanse of Heav'n. I thither went,
“With unexperienc'd thought, and laid me down
“On the green bank to look into the clear,
“Smooth lake, that to me seem'd another sky.
“As I bent down to look, just opposite,
“A shape within the watry gleam appear'd,
“Bending to look on me. I started back,
“It started back. But pleas'd I soon return'd,
“Pleas'd it return'd as soon, with answ'ring looks
“Of sympathy, and love. There I had fix'd
“Mine eyes till now, and pin'd with vain desire,

231

“Had not a voice thus warn'd me. What thou see'st,
“What there thou see'st, fair creature! is thyself.
“With thee it came, and goes. But follow me,
“And I will bring thee where no shadow stays
“Thy coming, and thy soft embraces—He!
“Whose image thou art—him thou shalt enjoy
“Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear
“Multitudes like thyself, and thence be call'd
“Mother of human race. What cou'd I do,
“But follow strait, invisibly thus led?
“Till I espied thee, fair, indeed, and tall,
“Under a platan. Yet methought less fair,
“Less winning soft, less amiably mild,
“Than that smooth watry image. Back I turn'd.
“Thou following cry'dst aloud;

AIR.

“Return, fair Eve!
“Whom fly'st thou? whom thou fly'st, of him thou art,
“His flesh, his bone! To give thee being I lent
“Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart,

232

“Substantial life, to have thee by my side,
“Henceforth an individual solace dear.
“Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim
“My other half.” With that thy gentle hand
“Seiz'd mine; I yielded—and from that time see
“How beauty is excell'd by manly grace,
“And wisdom, which alone is truly fair.”

RECITATIVE.

So spake our gen'ral Mother, and with eyes
Of conjugal affection, unreprov'd,
And meek surrender, half embracing lean'd
On our first Father. Half her swelling breast
Naked met his, under the flowing gold
Of her loose tresses hid. He, in delight
Both of her beauty, and submissive charms,
Smil'd with superior love, and press'd her lip
With kisses pure. Thus they in am'rous sport,
As well beseems fair couple, linkt as they,
In happy nuptial league, their minutes pass'd,
Crown'd with sublime delight. The loveliest pair
That ever yet in Love's embraces met:

233

Adam the goodliest man of men since born
His sons, the fairest of her daughters Eve!

CHORUS.

“Hail! Hymen's first, accomplish'd Pair!
“Goodliest he of all his sons!
“Of her daughters she most fair!
“Goodliest he!
“She most fair!
“Goodliest he of all his sons!
“Of her daughters she most fair.

SCENE III.

RECITATIVE.

Now came still Ev'ning on, and Twilight grey
Had, in her sober liv'ry all things clad.
Silence accompanied: for beast, and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests
Were slunk: all but the wakeful Nightingale!
She all night long her am'rous descant sung.

234

Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmament
With living saphires. Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
Apparent queen! unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
When Adam thus to Eve.
ADAM.
Fair Consort! th'hour
Of Night, and all things now retir'd to rest
Mind us of like repose: since God hath set
Labour, and rest as day, and night to men
Successive, and the timely due of sleep,
Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight, inclines
Our eye-lids. Ere fresh Morning streak the east
With first approach of light, we must be ris'n,
And at our pleasant labour, to reform
Yon' flow'ry arbours, yonder alleys green,
Our walk at Noon, with branches overgrown.
Mean while, as Nature wills, Night bids us rest.

235

EVE.
My author, and disposer, what thou bid'st
Unargu'd I obey, so God ordains.
God is thy law, thou mine. To know no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise.

AIR.

“With thee conversing, I forget all time.
“All seasons, and their change, all please alike.
“Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,
“With charm of earliest birds! Pleasant the Sun!
“When first on this delightful land he spreads
“His orient beams on herb, tree, fruit, and flow'r,
“Glist'ring with dew: fragrant the fertile Earth,
“After soft show'rs! and sweet the coming on
“Of grateful Evening mild; the silent Night,
“With this her solemn bird; and this fair Moon,
“And those the gems of Heav'n, her starry train!
“But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends,
“With charm of earliest birds, nor rising Sun
“On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flow'r,

236

“Glist'ring with dew, nor fragrance after show'rs,
“Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night,
“With this her solemn bird, nor walk by Moon,
“Or glitt'ring star-light without thee is sweet.”

RECITATIVE.

Thus talking, hand in hand, alone they pass'd
On to their blissful bow'r. It was a place,
Chos'n by the Sov'reign Planter, when he fram'd
All things to man's delightful use; the roof,
Of thickest covert, was in-woven shade,
Laurel, and myrtle, and what higher grew
Of firm, and fragrant leaf; on either side,
Acanthus, and each od'rous, bushy shrub
Fenc'd up the verdant wall, each beauteous flow'r,
Iris, all hues, roses, and jessamine
Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought
Mosaic; under foot the violet,
Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay,
Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone

237

Of costliest emblem. Other creature here
Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none,
Such was their awe of Man. In shady bow'r,
More sacred, and sequester'd; tho' but feign'd,
Pan, or Sylvanus never slept, nor Nymph,
Or Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess,
With flow'rs, and garlands, and sweet smelling herbs
Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed,
And heav'nly quires the Hymenæan sung.

Thus at their shady lodge arriv'd, both stood,
Both turn'd, and, under open Sky, ador'd
The God that made both Sky, Air, Earth, and Heav'n,
Which they beheld, the Moon's resplendent globe,
And starry pole.

EVENING HYMN.

“Thou also mad'st the night,
“Maker omnipotent! and Thou the day,
“Which we, in our appointed work employ'd,
“Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help,

238

“And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss;
“Ordain'd by Thee, and this delicious place,
“For us too large, where Thy abundance wants
“Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.
“But Thou hast promis'd from us two a race,
“To fill the earth, who shall, with us, extol
“Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
“And when we seek, as now, thy gift of Sleep.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

239

ACT II.

SCENE I.

RECITATIVE.

O! for that warning voice, which he, who saw
Th'Apocalyps, heard cry in Heav'n aloud,
Then when the Dragon, put to second rout,
Came furious down, to be reveng'd on men,
Woe to th'inhabitants of th'earth! that now,
While time was, our first Parents had been warn'd
The coming of their secret foe, and scap'd,
Haply so scap'd his mortal snare; for now
Satan, now first inflam'd with rage, came down,
The tempter, ere th'accuser of mankind.

CHORUS.
He, who sits enthron'd on high,
Above the circle of the sky,

240

Sees his rage, and mocks his toil,
Which on himself shall soon recoil:
In the snare, with malice, wrought
For others, shall his feet be caught.

SCENE II.

RECITATIVE.

Now Morn her rosy steps in th'eastern clime
Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam wak'd, so custom'd, for his sleep
Was airy light, from pure digestion bred,
And temp'rate vapours bland, which th'only sound
Of leaves, and fuming rills, Aurora's fan,
Lightly dispers'd, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on ev'ry bough. Unwaken'd Eve
Close at his side, in naked beauty lay,
Beauty! which, whether waking, or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar charms. He, on his side,
Leaning, half rais'd, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamour'd: then, with voice,

241

Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft-touching, whisper'd thus.

SONG.

“Awake!
“My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found,
“Heav'n's last, best gift, my ever newdelight,
“Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh field
“Calls us; we lose the prime, to mark how spring
“Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove,
“What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed;
“How Nature paints her colours; how the bee
“Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweets.”

RECITATIVE.

EVE.
Adam! well may we labour still to dress
This garden, still to tend, herb, plant, and flow'r,
Our pleasant task enjoin'd! but till more hands
Aid us, the work under our labour grows
Luxurious by restraint. Let us divide
Our labours then, for while together thus
Our task we choose, what wonder if so near

242

Looks intervene, and smiles, or object new
Casual discourse draw on, which intermits
Our day's work, brought to little, though begun
Early, and th'hour of supper comes unearn'd.

ADAM.
These paths, and bow'rs doubt not but our joint hands
Will keep from wilderness with ease as wide
As we need walk, till younger hands ere long
Assist us. But if much converse perhaps
Thee satiate, to short absence I cou'd yield,
For solitude sometimes is best society,
And short retirement urges sweet return.
But other doubt possesses me, lest harm
Befal thee sever'd from me; for thou know'st
What hath been warn'd us, what malicious foe,
Envying our happiness, and of his own
Despairing, seeks to work us woe, and shame,
By sly assault; and somewhere, nigh at hand,
Watches no doubt, with greedy hope, to find
His wish, and best advantage! us asunder;

243

Hopeless to circumvent us join'd, where each
To other speedy aid might lend at need.
Then leave not, I advise, the faithful side
Which gave thee being, shades thee, and protects.

AIR.

“The wife, where danger, or dishonour lurks,
“Safest, and seemliest near her husband stays,
“Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.”

RECITATIVE.

EVE.
Offspring of Heav'n, and Earth, and all Earth's Lord!
That such an enemy we have, who seeks
Our ruin, oft inform'd by thee, I learn.
But that thou shou'dst my firmness therefore doubt,
To God, or thee, because we have a foe
May tempt it, I expected not to hear.

ADAM.
Daughter of God, and man, immortal Eve!
For such thou art, from sin, and blame entire:

244

Not diffident of thee, do I dissuade
Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid
Th'attempt, which thou thyself with virtuous scorn
And anger wou'd'st resent. Misdeem not then,
If such affront I labour to avert
From thee alone, which on us both at once
The enemy, tho' bold, will hardly dare,
Or daring, first on me th'assault shall light.
Nor thou his malice, and false guile contemn.
Subtle he needs must be, who cou'd seduce
Angels; nor think superfluous others aid.
“I, from the influence of thy looks, receive
“Access in ev'ry virtue; in thy sight,
“More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were,
“Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on,
“Shame to be overcome, or over-reach'd!
“Wou'd utmost vigour raise, and rais'd unite.”
Why shou'd'st not thou like sense within thee feel,
When I am present, and thy trial chuse
With me, best witness of thy virtue tried?

245

EVE.
If this be our condition, thus to dwell
In narrow circuit, straiten'd by a foe,
Subtle, or violent, we not endued,
Single, with like defence, wherever met,
How are we happy, still in fear of harm?

AIR.

“Frail is our happiness, if this be so,
“And Eden were no Eden thus expos'd.”

RECITATIVE.

ADAM.
O woman! best are all things, as the will
Of God ordain'd them. His creating hand
Nothing imperfect, or deficient left
Of all that he created, much less Man,
Or aught that might his happy state secure:
Secure from outward force. Within himself
The danger lies, yet lies within his pow'r.

246

Against his will he can receive no harm;
But God left free the will, for what obeys
Reason is free, and reason he made right,
And bid her still beware, and still erect,
Lest by some fair, appearing good surpriz'd,
She dictate false, and misinform the will
To do what God expressly hath forbid.
Not then mistrust, but tender love enjoins
That I shou'd mind thee oft, and mind thou me,
Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve.

AIR.

“But if thou think'st trial unsought may find
“Us both securer, than thus warn'd thou seem'st,
“Go! for thy stay, not free, absents thee more.
“Go in thy native innocence. Rely
“On what thou hast of virtue: summon all,
“For God towards thee hath done his part, do thine.”

247

SCENE III.

RECITATIVE.

So haste they to the field, their pleasing task!
But first, from under shady, arb'rous roof,
Soon as they forth were come to open sight
Of day-spring, and the Sun, who scarce upris'n,
With wheels yet hov'ring o'er the ocean brim,
Shot parallel to th'earth his dewy ray,
Discov'ring, in wide circuit, all the bounds
Of Paradise, and Eden's happy plains,
Lowly they bow'd adoring, and began
Their orisons, each morning duly paid,
In various style: for neither various style
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise
Their Maker in fit strains, pronounc'd, or sung,
Unmeditated; such prompt eloquence
Flow'd from their lips, in prose, or num'rous verse,
More tuneable than needed lute, or harp
To add more sweetness: and they thus began.

248

MORNING HYMN.

“These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good,
“Almighty! Thine this universal frame!
“Thus wond'rous fair! Thyself how wond'rous then!
“Unspeakable! who sit'st above these heav'ns,
“To us invisible; or dimly seen
“In these Thy lowest works: yet these declare
“Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.

“Speak ye, who best can tell, ye sons of light!
“Angels, for ye behold Him, and, with songs,
“And choral symphonies day without night,
“Circle His throne rejoicing; ye in heav'n,
“On earth join all ye creatures to extol
“Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.

“Fairest of Stars, last in the train of night,
“If better thou belong not to the dawn,
“Sure pledge of day! that crown'st the smiling morn
“With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere,
“While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

“Thou Sun, both eye, and soul of this great world!
“Acknowledge Him thy greater, sound His praise

249

“In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
“And when high noon hast gain'd, and when hast fall'n.

“Moon! that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fly'st
“With the fixt stars, fixt in their orb that flies,
“And ye five other wand'ring fires, that move
“In mystic dance, not without song, resound
“His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.

“Air! and ye Elements, the eldest birth
“Of Nature's womb, that, in quaternion, run
“Perpetual circle multiform, and mix,
“And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change
“Vary to your great Maker still new praise.

“Ye Mists, and Exhalations that now rise,
“From hill, or steaming lake, dusky, or grey,
“Till the Sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
“In honour to the world's great Maker rise,
“Whether to deck with clouds th'uncolour'd sky,
“Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
“Rising, or falling still advance His praise.

250

“His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
“Breathe soft, or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
“With ev'ry plant, in sign of honour wave.

“Fountains! and ye that warble, as ye flow,
“Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise.

“Join voices, all ye living souls! ye birds!
“That singing, up to Heav'n's bright gates ascend,
“Bear on your wings, and in your notes His praise.

“Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
“The earth; and stately tread, or lowly creep,
“Witness if I be silent morn, or ev'n,
“To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade
“Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise.

“Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still
“To give us only good; and, if the night
“Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
“Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.”

RECITATIVE.

So pray'd they innocent; then to their task
They diff'rent ways repair—he, where his choice

251

Leads him, or where most needs, whether to wind
The woodbine round his arbour, or direct
The clasping ivy where to twine; while she
In yonder spring of roses, intermixt
With myrtle, seeks what to redress till noon.
Her long, with ardent look, his eye pursu'd
Delighted, but desiring more her stay.
She, like a wood-nymph light of Delia's train,
Betook her to the groves, but Delia's self
In gait surpass'd, and goddess-like deport.
Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in her eye;
In ev'ry gesture dignity, and love.

AIR.

“Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in her eye;
“In ev'ry gesture dignity, and love.”

END OF ACT THE SECOND.

252

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The GUARDIAN ANGELS.

RECITATIVE.

Our charge, tho' unsuccessful, is fulfill'd.
The Tempter hath prevail'd, and Man is fall'n.
Earth felt the wound, and Nature, from her seat
Sighing thro' all her works, gave signs of woe,
That all was lost. The fatal omens reach'd
Our glitt'ring files, and thro' th'angelic guard
Spread sadness, mixt with pity, not with guilt,
Or conscious negligence. After short pause,
Earth trembled from her entrails, as again
In pangs, and Nature gave a second groan;
Sky lower'd, and, mutt'ring thunder, some sad drops
Wept at compleating of the mortal sin.
Now up to Heav'n we haste, before the throne
Supreme, t'approve our faithful vigilance.

253

CHORUS.

“Righteous art thou, O Lord! and just are thy judgments.
“HALLELUJAH!”

RECITATIVE.

But see! with visage discompos'd, and dim'd
With passions foul, like this late azure clime
With clouds, and storms o'ercast, the human pair
Bend hitherward their steps disconsolate.

SCENE II.

ADAM, and EVE.

RECITATIVE.

ADAM.
O Eve! in evil hour thou didst give ear
To that false worm, of whomsoever taught
To counterfeit man's voice, true in our fall,

254

False in our promis'd rising, since our eyes
Open'd we find indeed, and find we know
Both good and evil, good lost, and evil got,
Bad fruit of knowledge!

AIR.

“How shall I behold
“Henceforth or God, or angel, erst with joy,
“And rapture oft beheld? O! might I here
“In solitude live savage, in some glade
“Obscur'd, where highest woods, impenetrable
“To star, or sun-light, spread their umbrage broad,
“And brown as evening. Cover me, ye pines,
“Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs
“Hide me, where I may never see them more.”

RECITATIVE.

Wou'd thou had'st hearken'd to my words, and stay'd
With me, as I besought thee, when that strange
Desire of wand'ring, this unhappy morn,
I know not whence possess'd thee! we had then

255

Remain'd still happy; not as now despoil'd
Of all our good, shamed, naked, mis'rable!

AIR.

“Let none henceforth seek needless cause t'approve
“The faith they owe; when earnestly they seek
“Such proof, conclude they then begin to fail.”
EVE.
Imput'st thou that to my desire, or will
Of wand'ring, as thou call'st it, which who knows
But might as ill have happen'd thou being by,
Or to thyself perhaps, had'st thou been there?
“Was I t'have never parted from thy side,
“As good have grown there still a lifeless rib.
“Being as I am, why did'st not thou, the head,
“Command me absolutely not to go,
“Going into such danger as thou said'st.”
Too facil then, thou did'st not much gainsay,
Nay, did'st permit, approve, and fair dismiss.
Had'st thou been firm, and fix'd in thy dissent,
Neither had I transgress'd, nor thou with me.

256

ADAM.

AIR.

“Thus it shall befall
“Him, who to worth in woman overtrusting,
“Lets her will rule; restraint she will not brook,
“And left t'herself, if evil thence ensue,
“She first his weak indulgence will accuse.”

SCENE III.

RECITATIVE.

ADAM.
O mis'rable of happy! Is this the end
Of this new glorious world, and me so late
The glory of that glory? who now become
Accurst of blessed! Hide me from the face
Of God, whom to behold was then my height
Of happiness. Yet well, if here wou'd end
The mis'ry; I deserv'd it, and wou'd bear

257

My own deservings; but this will not serve.
All that I eat, or drink, or shall beget,
Is propagated curse. O voice once heard
Delightfully, “Increase, and multiply.”
Now death to hear! For what can I increase,
Or multiply but curses on my head,
Heavy! though in their place? O fleeting joys
Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woe!
“Did I request thee, Maker! from my clay,
“To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
“From darkness to promote me, or to place
“In this delicious garden? As my will
“Concurr'd not to my being, 'twere but right
“And equal to reduce me to my dust,
“Desirous to resign, and render back
“All I receiv'd.”

EVE.
O Adam! can I thus behold thee wretched,
Thus mis'rable thro' my default, nor strive
To sooth thy grief, and soften thy distress?

258

ADAM.

Out of my sight, thou serpent! that name best
Befits thee, with him leagu'd, thyself as false,
And hateful!—

—But for thee,
I had continued happy, had not thy pride,
And wand'ring vanity, when least was safe,
Rejected my forewarning, and disdain'd
Not to be trusted; longing to be seen,
Tho' by the Devil himself.

AIR.

“O! why did God,
“Creator wise! that peopled highest Heav'n
“With spirits masculine, create at last
“This novelty on earth, this fair defect
“Of Nature! and not fill the world at once
“With men, as angels without feminine?”

259

EVE.
Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness Heav'n!
What love sincere, and rev'rence in my heart
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,
Unhappily deceiv'd! Thy supplicant
I beg, and clasp thy knees; “Bereave me not,
“Whereon I live, thy gentle looks—thy aid—
“Thy counsel in this uttermost distress:
“My only strength, and stay! Forlorn of thee,
“Whither shall I betake me, where subsist?”
While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,
Between us two let there be peace, both joining,
As join'd in injuries, one enmity
Against a foe, by doom express assign'd us,
That cruel serpent. On me exercise not
Thy hatred for this misery befall'n,
On me already lost, me than thyself
More miserable: both have sinn'd, but thou
Against God only, I against God, and thee:
And to the place of judgment will return,

260

There with my cries importune Heav'n, that all
The sentence, from thy head remov'd, may light
On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe,
Me! me! just object only of his ire.

ADAM.
Alas! ill able art thou to sustain
His full wrath, whose thou feel'st as yet least part,
And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If pray'rs
Cou'd alter high decrees, I to that place
Wou'd speed before thee, and be louder heard,
That on my head all might be visited,
Thy frailty, and infirmer sex forgiv'n,
To me committed, and by me expos'd.
But rise—Let us no more contend, and blame
Each other, blam'd enough elsewhere, but strive
In offices of love, how we may lighten
Each other's burthen in our share of woe.
Then to the place repairing, where our Judge
Pronounc'd our doom, there let us both confess

261

Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears
Wat'ring the ground, and with our sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek.

RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.

So spake our Father penitent, nor Eve
Felt less remorse. They forthwith to the place
Repairing, where He judg'd them, prostrate fell
Before Him reverent, and both confess'd
Humbly their faults, and pardon beg'd, with tears
Wat'ring the ground, and with their sighs the air
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign
Of sorrow unfeign'd, and humiliation meek.

262

SCENE IV.

RECITATIVE.

EVE.
What tidings bring'st thou, Adam! from this new guest
Angelical, so late arriv'd? Alas!
My trembling heart forebodes some further ill;
For far less mild methought his aspect seem'd,
Than Raphael's, social spirit! who wont so oft
To sit indulgent with us, and partake
Rural repast, permitting us the while
Venial discourse unblam'd. What tidings? say.

ADAM.
Our pray'rs are heard in Heav'n, and Death our due
By sentence then, when first we did transgress,
Is of his prey defeated many days

263

Giv'n us of grace, wherein we may repent.
So God appeas'd, from his rapacious claim
Will quite redeem us, and to life restore.
But longer in this Paradise to dwell,
As not befitting creatures stain'd with sin,
He suffers not, but sends us forth to till
The ground from whence he took us, fitter soil!

EVE.

AIR. AFFETUOSO.

“O! unexpected stroke, worse than of death!
“Must I then leave thee, Paradise, thus leave
“Thee, native soil! These happy walks, and shades,
“Fit haunt of Gods! where I had hope to spend
“Quiet, tho' sad the respite of that day,
“That must be mortal to us both. O flow'rs!
“That never will in other climate grow,
“My early visitation, and my last
“At ev'n, which I bred up with tender hand,
“From the first op'ning bud, and gave you names,
“Who now shall rear you to the sun, and rank

264

“Your tribes, and water from th'ambrosial fount?
“Thee lastly, nuptial bow'r! by me adorn'd
“With what to sight, or smell was sweet; from thee
“How shall I part, and whither wander down
“Into a lower world, to this obscure,
“And wild; how shall we breathe in other air
“Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits?”

ADAM.
Lament not, Eve! but patiently resign
What justly we have lost, nor set thine heart
Thus overfond on that which is not ours.
Thy going is not lonely—I will guard
Thy steps from harm, and all thy wants supply.

EVE.

Adam! I feel within new life, new hopes
By Heav'n, and thee inspir'd. Then now lead on,
In me is no delay. “With thee to go,
“Is to stay here. Without thee here to stay,
“Is to go hence unwilling. Thou to me

265

“Art all things under Heav'n, all places thou!
“Who for my wilful crime art banish'd hence.”
This further consolation yet secure
I carry hence—tho' all by me is lost,
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsaf'd,
By me the promis'd Seed shall all restore.

So spake our mother Eve. And Adam heard
Well pleas'd, but answer'd not. For now too nigh
The Cherubim advanc'd; and, in their front,
The brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd,
Fierce as a comet, which, with torrid-heat,
Smote on that clime, so late their blest abode!
Some nat'ral tears they drop'd, but wip'd them soon:
The world was all before them, where to chuse
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.

CHORUS. ALLEGRO.

“The world was all before them, where to chuse
“Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.”

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

EDGE-HILL:

A POEM. In FOUR BOOKS.

THE SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND ENLARGED.

BOOK I. MORNING.

Argument to Book the First.

BOOK II. NOON.

Argument to Book the Second:

BOOK III. AFTERNOON.

Argument to Book the Third.

BOOK IV. EVENING.

Argument to Book the Fourth.

LABOUR, AND GENIUS:

OR, THE Mill-Stream, and the Cascade.

A FABLE. INSCRIBED TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Esq.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

ARDENNA.

A PASTORAL-ECLOGUE. To A LADY.

The SCAVENGERS.

A TOWN-ECLOGUE.

ABSENCE.

To a LADY.

To a LADY working a Pair of RUFFLES.

FEMALE EMPIRE.

A TRUE HISTORY.

On Mr. Samuel Cooke's POEMS.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1749.

The MISTAKE.

ON CAPTAIN BLUFF. 1750.

To a LADY, with a basket of fruit.

PEYTOE's GHOST.

To a LADY, Furnishing her LIBRARY, at ---, in Warwickshire.

To WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Esq. on receiving a gilt pocket-book. 1751.

An ELEGY on MAN.

WRITTEN JANUARY 1752.

On receiving a little IVORY BOX from a lady, curiously wrought by her own hands.

VALENTINE's DAY.

HAMLET's SOLILOQUY, IMITATED.

ROUNDELAY, WRITTEN FOR THE JUBILEE AT STRATFORD UPON AVON,

CELEBRATED BY MR. GARRICK IN HONOUR OF SHAKESPEARE, SEPTEMBER 1769.[_] Set to Music by Mr. Dibdin.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

The BLACKBIRDS.

An ELEGY.

The GOLDFINCHES.

An ELEGY. TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQ.

The SWALLOWS:

An ELEGY.

PART I.

PART II.

ADAM:

OR, THE Fatal Disobedience.

AN ORATORIO. COMPILED FROM THE PARADISE LOST OF MILTON. AND ADAPTED TO MUSIC.

The Persons here represented are

ACT I.

SCENE I.

RECITATIVE.

AIR.

SCENE II.

RECITATIVE.

SONG.

RECITATIVE.

AFFETUOSO.

AIR.

RECITATIVE.

CHORUS.

SCENE III.

RECITATIVE.

AIR.

RECITATIVE.

EVENING HYMN.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

CELEBRATED BY MR. GARRICK IN HONOUR OF SHAKESPEARE, SEPTEMBER 1769.
[_]

Set to Music by Mr. Dibdin.