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IX.

Tell phifick of her bouldness;
Tell skill it is pretenfion;
Tell charity of couldness;
Tell law it is contention.

And if they yield replye,
Then give them still the lye.

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Tell nature of decay;

Tell friendship of unkindness;

Tell juftice of delay.

And if they do replye,

Then give them all the lye.

XI.

Tell artes they have no foundness,

But vary by esteeminge;

Tell fkollers lack profoundness,
And ftand too much on feeminge.
If artes and fkooles replye,
Give artes and fkooles the lye.

Tell faith it's fled the cittye;

XII.

Tell how the country errethe;
Tell manhood shakes off pyttie;
Tell virtue leaft preferreth.
And if they doe replye,
Spare not to give the lye.

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So,

XIII.

So, when thou haft, as I

Commanded the, done blabbing;

Althoughe to give the lye

Deferves no leffe than stabbing;

Yet ftabb at the whofe will,

No ftabb the foul can kill.

An EPISTLE to Lord CO BHA M.

S

In allufion to HORACE, Book I. Epift. 4.

By Mr. CONGREVE.

Incerest critick of my profe or rhyme,

Tell how thy pleafing Stow employs thy time:
Say, COBHAM, what amuses thy retreat?
Or schemes of war, or ftratagems of state?
Doft thou recall to mind, with joy or grief,
Great MARLBRO's actions, that immortal chief,
Whose flightest trophies, rais'd in each campaign,
More than fuffic'd to fignalize a reign?
Doth thy remembrance rifing warm thy heart
With glories paft, where thou thyself hadft part?
Or doft thou grieve indignant now to fee
The fruitless end of all thy victory;

To see th' audacious foe, so late fubdued,
Difpute those terms, for which fo long they fued?
As if Britannia now were funk fo low,

To beg that peace fhe wonted to bestow.
Be far that guilt, be never known such shame,
That England fhould retract her rightful claim,
Or, ceafing to be dreaded and ador'd,
Stain with the pen the luftre of the fword!
Or doft thou fix thy mind on rural fcenes,
To turn the levell'd lawns to liquid plains ;

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To raise the creeping rills from humble beds ;
And force the latent fprings to lift their heads;
On wat❜ry columns capitals to rear,

That mix their flowing curls with upper air?
Or doft thou weary grown these works neglect,
No temples, ftatues, obelisks erect;

But feek the morning breeze from fragrant meads,
Or fhun the noontide fun in wholesome fhades;
Or flowly walk along the mazy wood,

To meditate on all that's great and good?
For nature bountiful in thee hath join'd
A pleasing person with a worthy mind;
Nor giv'n thee form alone, but means and art
To draw the eye, and to allure the heart.
Poor were the praise in fortune to excel,

Yet want the means to use that fortune well.
While thus adorn'd, while thus with virtue crown'd,
At home in peace, abroad in arms renown'd,

Graceful in form, and winning in address,
While well you think what aptly you exprefs,
While health, with honour, with a fair eftate,
A table free and elegantly neat,

What can be added more of mortal bliss?

What can he want who stands poffeft of this?
What can the fondest wishing mother more
Of heaven attentive for her fon implore?
And yet an happiness remains unknown,
Or to philofophy reveal'd alone;

A precept, which unpractis'd renders vain
Thy glowing hopes, and pleasure turns to pain,
Should hope or fear thy breaft alternate tear,
Or love, or hate, or rage, or anxious care;
Whatever paffions may thy mind infest,

(And where's the mind that paffions ne'er moleft ?) Amid the pangs of fuch inteftine ftrife:

Still think the prefent day the laft of life.

Defer not 'till to-morrow to be wife :
To-morrows fun to thee may never rife.
Or fhould to-morrow chance to chear thy fight
With her enliv'ning and unlook'd for light,
How grateful will appear her dawning rays,
As favours unexpected doubly please!

Who thus can think, and who fuch thoughts pursues,
Content may keep his life, or calmly lose.

Of this a proof thou mayft thyself receive;
When leisure from affairs will give thee leave.
Come fee thy friend, retir'd without regret,
Forgetting cares, or trying to forget;

In eafy contemplation foothing time

With morals much, and now and then with rhyme;
Not fo robuft in body as in mind,

And always undejected, tho' declin'd;

Not wond'ring at the world's new wicked ways,
Compar'd with those of our forefather's days:
For virtue now is neither more nor less,

And vice is only varied in the dress.
Believe it, men have ever been the fame,
And all the golden age is but a dream.

Spoken to Queen CAROLINE in her BED-CHAMBER,

By Mr. FREIND, Son to the late Dr. JOHN FREIND.

OULD all that paffes in my breast be seen,
Whilft thus I bow before a gracious queen,
What gratitude would here, what joy appear,
What fenfe of honour mixt with awful fear!
'Tis from your grace defire of merit flows,
And as my years encreafe, the ardour grows.

So

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So the young plant on which your honour'd name
My father grav'd, and bid me mark that tree,
Extends its branches, and aspires to fame,

And year by year advancing calls on me :
For well he knew what duty, love, and fire
Your facred name, your prefence can inspire.

The WIDOW's Refolution. A CANTATA.

By Mr. L U N.

RECITATIVE.

YLVIA, the most contented of her kind,
Remain'd in joylefs widowhood refign'd:

In vain to gain her ev'ry fhepherd ftrove,
Each paffion ebb'd, but grief, which drowned love.

AIR.

Away, the cry'd, ye swains, be mute,
Nor with your odious fruitless fuit

My loyal thoughts controul;
My grief on Refolution's rock
Is built, nor can Temptation fhock
The purpose of my foul.

Tho' blithe Content with jocund air
May ballance comfort against care,
And make me life sustain ;
Yet ev'ry joy has wing'd its flight,
Except that penfive dear delight,

That takes its rife from pain.

RECITATIVE.

She faid:A youth approach'd of manly grace,
A fon of MARS and of th' Hibernian race:-

In flow'ry rhetorick he no time employ'd,

He came,he woo'd,he wedded and enjoy'd.

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