ODE.
['Tis giv'n as gospel both in prose and rhimes]
The Poet comforteth again and again and again
the noble Directors with moral Reflections, &c.
'Tis giv'n as gospel both in prose and rhimes,
That people should not be for ever blest;
Misfortune therefore must be good at times,
A salutary, though satiric guest;
That goads to Virtue's works the rump of Sloth;
Like gout, that bites us into health so fair;
Or like the needle, while it wounds the cloth,
It puts the rag into repair.
Sigh now no more, nor let those suns, your eyes,
Be dimly gleaming through perpetual show'rs—
Let pleasure bring the beam of summer skies,
And gild the pinions of your sable hours.
Let not Grief's surge along your bosom roll,
Nor Fancy gather sorrows for the soul.
Ah! sigh no more, sweet lords, pray sigh no more!
Not all, not all your consequence is dead;
In Tot'nam-street you still preserve a pow'r,
And proudly bear an elevated head;
Where, all obedience, and with one accord,
Musicians learn to tremble at the Lord
.
