Grave, righteous Sjogs on, till, past belief, He finds himself companion with a thief.

To purge and let thee blood, with fire and sword, Is all the help stern S- would afford.

That those who bind and rob thee, would not kill, Good C- hopes, and candidly sits still.

Of Ch- -s W who speaks at all, No more than of Sir Harry or Sir Paul?

Whose names once up, they thought it was not wrong To lie in bed, but sure they lay too long.

Gr, C- -m, B

-t, pay thee due regards, Unless the ladies bid them mind their cards.

with wit that must

And C -d, who speaks so well, and writes,
Whom (saving W.) every S. harper bites.

Whose wit and

must needs

equally provoke one,

Finds thee, at best, the butt to crack his joke on.
As for the rest, each winter up they run,
And all are clear, that something must be done.
Then urged by C- -t, or by C- -t stopp'd,
Inflamed by P
dropp'd;

and by P

They follow reverently each wondrous wight,
Amazed that one can read, that one can write :
So geese to gander prone obedience keep,
Hiss if he hiss, and if he slumber, sleep.
Till having done whate'er was fit or fine,

Utter'd a speech, and ask'd their friends to dine;
Each hurries back to his paternal ground,
Content but for five shillings in the pound;
Yearly defeated, yearly hopes they give,
And all agree, Sir Robert cannot live.
Rise, rise great W, fated to appear,
Spite of thyself, a glorious minister!
Speak the loud language princes

And treat with half the

At length to B—

-kind, as to thy.

Espouse the nation, you

What can thy H

Dress in Dutch

Though still he travels on no bad pretence,

To shew

Or those foul copies of thy face and tongue,
Veracious W- and frontless Young;

Sagacious Bub, so late a friend, and there
So late a foe, yet more sagacious H- ?
Hervey and Hervey's school, F-

H

Yea, moral Ebor, or religious Winton.
How! what can O-
-w, what can D-

-y, H—,

The wisdom of the one and other chair,
N- laugh, or D's sager

Or thy dread truncheon, M.'s mighty peer?
What help from J's opiates canst thou draw,
Or H-k's quibbles voted into law?

C., that Roman in his nose alone,

Who hears all causes, B-, but thy own,
Or those proud fools whom nature, rank, and fate
Made fit companions for the sword of state.

Can the light packhorse, or the heavy steer,
The sowzing prelate, or the sweating peer,
Drag out with all its dirt and all its weight,
The lumbering carriage of thy broken state?
Alas! the people curse, the carman swears,
The drivers quarrel, and the master stares.

The plague is on thee, Britain, and who tries To save thee in the infectious office dies. The first firm P-y soon resign'd his breath, Brave Sw loved thee, and was lied to death. Good M-m-t's fate tore Pth from thy side, And thy last sigh was heard when W- -m died. Thy nobles sl-s, thy se-s bought with gold, Thy clergy perjured, thy whole people sold. An atheista's ad

Blotch thee all o'er, and sink

Alas! on one alone our all relies,

Let him be honest, and he must be wise;

Let him no trifler from his

school,

Be but a man! unminister'd, alone,

And free at once the senate and the throne:
Esteem the public love his best supply,

A's true glory his integrity;

Rich with his . . . . in his . . . strong,
Affect no conquest, but endure no wrong.
Whatever his religion or his blood,
His public virtue makes his title good.
Europe's just balance and our own may stand,
And one man's honesty redeem the land.

LINES ON RECEIVING FROM THE

RT. HON. THE LADY FRANCES SHIRLEY

A STANDISH AND TWO PENS.

YES, I beheld the Athenian queen
Descend in all her sober charms;
"And take," she said, and smiled serene
"Take at this hand celestial arms:

"Secure the radiant weapons wield;
This golden lance shall guard desert,
And if a vice dares keep the field,

This steel shall stab it to the heart."

Awed, on my bended knees I fell,
Received the weapons of the sky;
And dipt them in the sable well,
The font of fame or infamy.

"What well? what weapon?" Flavia cries;
"A standish, steel, and golden pen!
It came from Bertrand's, not the skies;
gave it you to write again.

"But, friend, take heed whom you attack;
You'll bring a house, (I mean of peers,)
Red, blue, and green, nay, white and black,
L and all about your ears.

"You'd write as smooth again on glass,
And run, on ivory, so glib,

As not to stick at fool or ass,
Nor stop at flattery or fib.

"Athenian queen! and sober charms!
I tell ye, fool, there's nothing in 't :
'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;
In Dryden's Virgil see the print.

"Come, if you'll be a quiet soul,

That dares tell neither truth nor lies,

I'll list you in the harmless roll

Of those that sing of these poor eyes."

то

THE AUTHOR OF A POEM ENTITLED
"SUCCESSIO,"

[ELKANAH SETTLE]

BEGONE, ye critics! and restrain your spite,
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write :
The heaviest muse the swiftest course has gone,
As clocks run fastest when most lead is on.
What though no bees around your cradle flew,
Nor on your lips distill'd their golden dew!
Yet have we oft discover'd in their stead

A swarm of drones that buzz'd about your head.
When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre,
Attentive blocks stand round you and admire.
Wit pass'd through thee no longer is the same,
As meat digested takes a different name;
But sense must sure thy safest plunder be,
Since no reprisals can be made on thee.
Thus thou mayst rise, and in thy daring flight
(Though ne'er so weighty) reach a wondrous height :
So forced from engines, lead itself can fly,

And ponderous slugs move nimbly through the sky.
Sure Bavius copied Mævius to the full,

And Chorilus taught Codrus to be dull;

Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o'er

This needless labour; and contend no more

To prove a dull succession to be true,
Since 'tis enough we find it 30 in you.

THE END.

BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.

In Foolscap 8vo, printed on toned paper, elegantly bound in cloth extra, gilt, gilt edges, price 3s. 6d. each; or in morocco antique, price 6s. 6d. each. Bach Volume contains a fine Portrait of the Author, engraved on Steel, together with Six full-page Illustrations on Wood, and a Vignette Title-Page. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW'S POETICAL WORKS,

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