WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M DCCXLVII.
you, my Lord, these lines I write, Lest you forget poor Coley quite, (Who still is drudging in the College, In slow pursuit of further knowledge; With many a cruel lash his
To make him some time hence a parson;
A judge, perhaps, or a physician,
Strolling on Ratcliffe's exhibition.)
While You with foreign monarchs dine, Or sup with princes cross the Rhine, Idle your hours in lazy state,
Just as forgetful as you're great;
Ramble to ev'ry court your rounds,
Draw when you please an hundred pounds;
Despise expence, and dress out tawdry,
In cloaths of lace, and gay embroid❜ry;
Shine at the ball, and briskly dance,
As though you had been bred in France.
I hear too that your constant trade is
To ogle and ensnare the ladies,
Whose hearts, unwary, fire like tinder,
And waste away by love t'a cinder,
Whilst you are glad to see your pride
On all occasions gratified,
And disregard your friends at London,
Not caring tho' they're hang'd or undone.
"But hold (you cry) why this abuse ?
"Pray hearken, Sir, to my excuse;
"Nor hurry with impetuous thought,
"To blame your friend, ere he's in fault.
"At th' Hague we had not time to rest us,
"Disturbances did so molest us;
"For you must know, these scoundrel Dutch "Rebel, for being tax'd too much.
"Loyal and passive we obey on,
"And bear all taxes they can lay on. "The British Lion now is couchant, "Grumbling, perhaps, but won't make much
"Taking with patient resignation,
"Whate'er's impos'd upon the nation.
"In camp too, I'd but little leisure,
"My time was so fill'd up with pleasure. "With all old school-fellows so dear,
"And Albemarle and Ligonier,
"That I had scarce an hour to spare.
"The duke too shew'd me a review,
"All that at that time, he could do ;
"For you must know, at present writing,
"Our armies have all done with fighting.
"From hence to Hanover we went,
"Liv'd in a round of merriment.
"I had no time to scribble letters,
"To you, dear Coley, or your betters."
My Lord, you're right, and we from hence
Will quite o'erlook your negligence,
But, sans offence, may I enquire,
In what the present hours expire?
What pleasure or what study best
Your temper suits, may I request?
I hear in law you're a proficient;
And other learning have sufficient;
Can solve a problem mathematic,
And read with ease a Greek dramatic;
You're skill'd in history enough;
Of algebra have quantum suff.
And are, by learned mens' tuition,
The quintessence of erudition ;
So vers'd in all that can be nam'd,
Isis and Cam are quite asham'd,
And all their scholars are downright sick,
To see themselves outdone at Leipsick.
Tho' I have long with study mental
Labor'd at language Oriental,
Yet, in my soil, the Hebrew root
Has scarcely made one single shoot.
I've now broke up, but have a task tho' Harder than your's with Mr. Mascow ; For mine's as knotty as the devil, Your law and master both are civil; With milder means to learning lead, By diff'rent roads, with diff'rent speed, Douglas and you keep gently jogging, But I must run the race with flogging.
MASTER HENRY ARCHER,
A Young Gentleman at Eton School.
BY EDWARD Littleton, L. L.D.
THOUGH plagu'd with algebraic lectures,
And astronomical conjectures,
Wean'd from the sweets of poetry
To scraps of dry philosophy,
You see, dear HAL, I've found a time
T'express my thoughts to you in rhyme.
For why, my friend, should distant parts,
Or time, disjoin united hearts;
Since, though by intervening space
Depriv'd of speaking face to face,
By faithful emissary letter
We may converse as well, or better?
And, not to stretch a narrow fancy,
To shew what pretty things I can say,
(As some will strain at simile,
First work it fine, and then apply;
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