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Poems to Thespia

To Which are Added, Sonnets, &c. [by Hugh Downman]
Downman, Hugh (1740-1809)
  
[epigraph]

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[section]
  
INTRODUCTION.
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POEMS to THESPIA.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV.
 XV. 
XV.
 XVI. 
XVI.
 XVII. 
XVII.
 XVIII. 
XVIII.
 XIX. 
XIX.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI.
 XXII. 
XXII.
 XXIII. 
XXIII.
 XXIV. 
XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV.
 XXVI. 
XXVI.
 XXVII. 
XXVII.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII.
 XXIX. 
XXIX.
 XXX. 
XXX.
 XXXI. 
XXXI.
 XXXII. 
XXXII.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
XXXV.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX.
 XL. 
XL.
 XLI. 
XLI.
 XLII. 
XLII.
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SONNETS, PRESENTED WITH THE FIRST IMPRESSION OF POEMS TO THESPIA.
 I. 
I. To Dr. GLASS.
 II. 
II. To Mr. PITFIELD.
 III. 
III. To Mr. PATCH.
 IV. 
IV. To Mr. GIBBS.
 V. 
V. To Mr. CODRINGTON.
 VI. 
VI. To Lord Viscount COURTENAY.
 VII. 
VII. To the DEAN of EXETER.
 VIII. 
VIII. To Chancellor QUICKE.
 IX. 
IX. To Archdeacon SLEECH.
 X. 
X. To JAMES WHITE, Esq.
 XI. 
XI. To Mr. JACKSON.
 XII. 
XII. To J. B. CHOLWICH, Esq.
 XIII. 
XIII. To Mr. J. SPURWAY.
 XIV. 
XIV. To Mr. J. CHURCHILL.
 XV. 
XV. To Mrs. DOWNMAN.
 XVI. 
XVI. To Archdeacon MOORE.
 XVII. 
XVII. To Lieutenant-Colonel SIMCOE.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. To Mr. BENT.
 XIX. 
XIX. To Mrs. ANDREW.
 XX. 
XX. To Mr. HOLE.
 XXI. 
XXI. To Mr. WOOD.
 XXII. 
XXII. To E. DREWE, Esq.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. To Mrs. ILBERT.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. To Mr. ANDREW.
 XXV. 
XXV. To J. RICHARDS, Esq.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. To Miss E. WALKER.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. To Mr. STACEY.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. To Mr. D. WILLIAMS.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. To Mr. SYMONDS.
 XXX. 
XXX. To Mr. S. CODRINGTON.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. To J. P. TAYLOR, Esq.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. To Mr. BLACKALL.
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COMPLIMENTARY VERSES TO THE AUTHOR.
  
SONNET.
  
To the AUTHOR,
  
AN EPISTLE
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME,
  
To the SAME,
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME.
  
To the SAME,
  
To the SAME.

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147

VI. To Lord Viscount COURTENAY.

Courtenay! whom e'en in these degenerate days
The Country charms; viewing with fixt delight
The varied landscape stretcht before thy sight,
And fond of rural pleasures merit'st praise!
To build, to plant, to feed the numerous race
Of poor be thine! Or in thy castled dome
Survey each filial, and maternal grace,
While courts might envy thy more tranquil home.
Let not this ruin'd nation cast a cloud
O'er the serene ideas of thy mind.
Such is the will of Heaven, when great and proud
In wild excess, all empires have declined.
The joys still thine, let not thy soul refuse.
And lo! the tribute of the grateful muse!
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