The nightly scene of joy the Park was made,
And Love in couples peopel'd every shade;
But since at court the rural taste is lost,
What mighty sums have velvet couches cost!
Sometimes the Tuillerie's gawdy walk I love,
Where I thro' crowds of rustling manteaus rove.
As here from side to side my eyes I cast,
And gaz'd on all the glitt'ring train that past,
Sudden a fop steps forth before the rest,
I knew the bold embroid'ry of his vest.
He thus acosts me with familiar air,
Parbleu! on a fait cet habit en Angleterre!
Quelle manche! ce galon est grossierement range;
Voila quelque chose de fort beau et degage!

This said, on his red heel he turns, and then
Hums a soft minuet, and proceeds agen.

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"Well, now you've Paris seen, you'll frankly own "Your boasted London seems a country town:

"Has Christianity yet reach'd your nation?

"Are churches built? are masquerades in fashion? "Do daily soups your dinners introduce?

"Are music, snuff, and coaches, yet in use ?” 150
Pardon me, Sir; we know the Paris mode,
And gather politesse from courts abroad.

Like you, our courtiers keep a num'rous train
To load their coach, and tradesmen dun in vain.
Nor has religion left us in the lurch,

And, as in France, our vulgar crowd the church:

Our ladies, too, support the masquerade; The sex, by nature, love th' intriguing trade. Straight the vain fop in ign'rant rapture cries, "Paris the barb'rous world will civilize!" Pray, Sir, point out among the passing band The present beauties who the Town command. "See yonder dame; strict virtue chills her breast, "Mark in her eye demure the prude profest; "That frozen bosom native fire must want "Which boasts of constancy to one gallant! "This next the spoils of fifty lovers wears, "Rich Dandin's brilliant favours grace her ears; "The necklace Florio's gen'rous flame bestow'd, "Clitander's sparkling gems her finger load;

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"But how her charms grown cheap by constant use, "She sins for scarfs, clock'd stockings, knots, and "This next, with sober gait and serious leer, [shoes. "Wearies her knees with morn and ev'ning pray'r; "She scorns th' ignoble love of feeble pages, "But with three abbots in one night engages. "This with the cardinal her nights employs, "Where holy sinews consecrate her joys. "Why have I promis'd things beyond my pow'n? "Five assignations wait me at this hour: "The sprightly countess first my visit claim, "To-morrow shall indulge inferior dames. "Pardon me, Sir, that thus I take my leave, "Gay Florimella slily twitch'd my sleeve."'

Adieu, Monsieur---The op'ra hour draws near. Not see the op'ra! all the world is there; Where on the stage th' embroider'd youth of France In bright array attract the female glance: This languishes, this struts, to show his mien, And not a gold-clock'd stocking moves unseen. But, hark! the full orchestra strike the strings; The hero struts, and the whole audience sings.

190

My jarring ear harsh grating murmurs wound,
Hoarse and confus'd, like Babel's mingled sound.
Hard chance had plac'd me near a noisy throat,
That in rough quavers bellow'd ev'ry note. Se
Pray, Sir, says I, suspend a while your song,
The op'ra's drown'd; your lungs are wondrous strong:"
I wish to hear your Roland's ranting strain, c
While he with rooted forests strows the plain, 200.
Sudden he shruggs surprise, and answers quick,
Monsieur apparement n'aime pas la musique.

Then turning round, he join'd th' ungrateful noise,
And the loud chorus thunder'd with his voice.
O sooth me with some soft Italian air,
Let harmony compose my tortur'd ear! 877
When Anastasia's voice commands the strain,
The melting warble thrills thro' ev'ry vein;
Thought stands suspense, and Silence pleas'd attends,
While in her notes the heav'nly choir descends.
But you'll imagine I'm a Frenchman grown,
Pleas'd and content with nothing but my own,

210

!

So strongly with this prejudice possest,

He thinks French music and French painting best.
Mention the force of learn'd Corelli's notes,
Some scraping fidler of their ball he quotes:
Talk of the spirit Raphael's pencil gives,

Yet warm with life whose speaking picture lives;
Yes, Sir, says he, in colour and design,
Rigaut and Raphael are extremely fine!

'Tis true, his country's love transports his breast With warmer zeal than your old Greeks profest. Ulysses lov'd his Ithaca of yore,

Yet that sage trav'ller left his native shore.
What stronger virtue in the Frenchman shines?
He to dear Paris all his life confines."

I'm not so fond. There are, I must confess,
Things which might make me love my country less.
I should not think my Britain had such charms,
If lost to learning, if enslav'd by arms.
France has her Richlieus and her Colberts known,
And then, I grant it, France in science shone.
We, too, I own, without such aids may chance
In ignorance and pride to rival France.

But let me not forget Corneille, Racine,

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Boileau's strong sense, and Moliere's num'rous scene.
Let Cambray's name be sung above the rest,
Whose maxims, Pult'ney warm thy patriot breast:
In Mentor's precepts wisdom strong and clear
Dictates sublime, and distant nations hear.

240

Hear, all ye Princes! who the world control,

What cares, what terrors, haunt the tyrant's soul;
His constant train are anger, fear, distrust.
To be a king is to be good and just;

His people he protects, their rights he saves,
And scorns to rule a wretched race of slaves.
Happy, thrice happy, shall the monarch reign,
Where guardian laws despotic pow'r restrain!
There shall the ploughshare break the stubborn land,
And bending harvest tire the peasant's hand:
There Liberty her settl'd mansion boasts,
There commerce plenty brings from foreign coasts.
O Britain! guard thy laws, thy rights defend,
So shall these blessings to thy sons descend!

250

You'll think 'tis time some other theme to chuse, And not with beaus and fops fatigue the Muse. Should I let satire loose on English ground, There fools of various character abound; But here my verse is to one race confin'd, All Frenchmen are of petit-maitre kind.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

PAUL METHUEN, ESQ.

THAT 'tis encouragement males science spread,
Is rarely practis'd, tho' 'tis often said.

When learning droops and sickens in the land,
What patron's found to lend a saving hand?

Volume 1.

C

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