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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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166

XXV. To J. RICHARDS, Esq.

Still lasts this odious war; time swiftly flies;
We idly waste our treasure and our blood;
New dangers threaten; foes on foes arise:
While dissipation, like a torrent flood,
Swells o'er it's banks, and covers all the land.
How few the Wise! How small the Patriot Band!
Our boasted constitution is no more;
Corruption reigns with arbitrary sway;
Yet still our footsteps loiter as before,
And murmuring at our slavery, here we stay.
Nor thou for Switzerland preparest thy flight,
Nor have I strove America to gain;
Contented thou, in words with knaves to fight,
And I to frame the soft and tender strain.
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