The pleader, eloquently kung,
Displays the mufic of his tongue.
Poets, whofe numbers run in rhyme,
Measure their lines by feet and time.
Physicians too, who understand
To take man's fiddle-cafe in hand,
Study to keep our strings in plight,
And make the blood dance round and right.

In both the feats where learning grows,
Scholars a mufic-club compofe.
Lovers, to gain fair ladies hearts,
In fongs and dances play their parts.

The wifeft statesmen call a dance,

Break off, or clofe with SPAIN or FRANCE:

'Tis all a turn of artful play,

To make the world the piper pay.

Next courtiers fine, on gaudy days,
When ftars and garters form a blaze,
Like Satellites to mighty Jove,
Around the throne in circles move,
And deck'd in crimfon, blue and green,
Attendance dance on king and queen.

EPAMINONDAS, Theban lord, .
A famous hero on record,

If PLUTARCH's lives are ftrictly true,
Was dancer and musician too.

Our greater hero danc'd at court
In CHARLES's reign with graceful port ;
His artful fteps, his bold advance,
Led him to fight and conquer France.

Nay SOLOMON, the moral king,
Allows on writ, a time to fing

The Royal Pfalmift's harp and tongue
Melodious hymns divinely fung.
Cathedral priefts, where organs play,
In tenor, base, and treble pray.

The priests of old perform'd a ball
At feafts they faliares call,
Honour'd the day with many a treat,
First finely danc'd, then ftoutly eat.

Whole nations feem contriv'd by birth,
To hold a conftant run of mirth.
This humour mov'd the merry Greek,
And Italy is all a fqueak.

What's ancient Wales and modifh France,

But finging carols with a dance?

Taffies on harps and fiddles play

High o'er the hills and far away.” Dapper Monfieurs by nature skip,

And form a Louvre, as they trip.

Why then, amidst this giddy ring,
Muft British dames nor dance nor fing?
If art and nature run the rig

In one perpetual merry jig,
If grave and gay perform the round,
Why not the petticoat and gown?
Then don't this fport a foible call;
For all the world is but a BALL.

PSALM

PSALM XI. Tranflated.

OD is my hope; in him diftreft

GoM

G My foul fhall find untroubled reft ;

From him true comforts flow;
In vain ye bid me then remove,
Swift as the tim'rous panting dove,
And reach yon mountain brow.

Behold, ye fay, the impious band
Prepare the bow, extend the hand,
And point th' unerring dart;
With restless eagerness they wait,
In murd'rous council meditate,
To fmite the guiltless heart.

Ah, what avails, that thou can't find
An unoffending righteous mind,
When deftitute of aid!

God from his high exalted throne
Shall look with indignation down,
And all their counfels read.

"Then fhall his high almighty arm
Protect the innocent from harm,
Each danger drive away ;
But on his impious foes fhall rain
Destruction, anguish, wrath, and pain,
Affliction, and dismay.

Flames fhall in livid fhow'rs defcend,
Their dwellings horrid tempefts rend,
And all their hosts annoy;

While on the good (far diff'rent scene)
He fmiles with countenance ferene,

That looks eternal joy.

T. E. P.

B

SWEE T

WILLI A M.

A Ballad, by Mr. SMART.

I.

Y a prattling stream, on a midfummer's eve,

Where the woodbine and jefs'mine their boughs interweave,

Fair FLORA, I cry'd, to my arbour repair,

For I must have a chaplet for sweet WILLIAM's hair.

II.

She brought me the vi'let, that grows on the hill,
The vale-dwelling lilly and gilded jonquil,
But fuch languid odours how could I approve,
Juft warm from the lips of the lad that I love?

III.

She brought me, his faith and his truth to display,
The undying myrtle and ever-green bay;

But why these to me, who've his conftancy known,
And BILLY has lawrels enough of his own.

IV.

The next was a gift that I could not contemn,
For fhe brought me two roses that grew on a ftem;
Of the dear nuptial tye they flood emblems confeft,
So I kifs'd them and prefs'd them quite close to my breaft.

V.

She brought me a fun-flow'r-This, fair one, 's your due,
For it once was a maiden, and love-fick, like you:

O give it me quick, to my fhepherd' I'll run,
As true to his flame as this flow'r to her fun.

Numb. VII.

M m

A MORN

A MORNING-PIECE:

Or, An H Y M N for the HAY-MAKERS. *

By the fame Hand.

Quinetiam Gallum noctem explaudentibus alis

Auroram clarâ confuetum voce vocare.

B

RISK Chaunticleer his mattins had begun,
And broke the filence of the night,

And thrice he call'd aloud the tardy fun,

And thrice he hail'd the dawn's ambiguous light; Back to their graves the fear-begotten phantoms run.

Strong Labour got up with his pipe in his mouth,
And ftoutly strode over the dale,

He lent new perfumes to the breath of the south,
On his back hung his wallet and flail.

Behind him came Health from her cottage of thatch,
Where never phyfician had lifted the latch.

First of the village COLIN was awake,
And thus he fung, reclining on his rake.

Now the rural Graces three
Dance beneath yon maple tree;
First the vestal Virtue, known
By her adamantine zone;

* A very imperfect copy of this was inferted in the London Magazine, without the knowledge or confent of the author, for which the proprietors of that exquifite Mifcellany may one day receive his thanks.

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