A LATIN INSCRIPTION

ON A MEDAL FOR LEWIS XIV. OF FRANCE.

PROXIMUS et fimilis regnas, Ludovice, tonanti,
Vim fummam, fumma cum pietate, geris;
Magnus es expanfis alis, fed maximus armis,
Protegis hinc Anglos, Teutones inde feris.
Quin cöeant toto Titania fœdera Rheno,
Illa Aquilam tantùm, Gallia fulmen habet.

ENGLISHED,

AND APPLIED TO QUEEN ANNE.

NEXT to the Thunderer let Anna ftand,

In piety fupreme as in command;

Fam'd for victorious arms and generous aid,

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Young Auftria's refuge and fierce Bourbon's dread.. Titanian leagues in vain shall brave the Rhine, When to the Eagle you the thunder join.

A MORNING HYMN.

TO THE DUCHESS OF HAMILTON.

AWAKE, bright Hamilton! arife,
Goddess of Love and of the Day;
Awake, disclose thy radiant eyes,
And fhew the fun a brighter ray:

Phoebus in vain calls forth the blushing morn;
He but creates the day which you adorn.

G

The lark, that wont with warbling throat

Early to falute the skies.

Or fleeps, or elfe füfpends his note,

Disclaiming day till you arife.

Goddefs! awake, thy beams difplay,

Reftore, the universe to light:

When Hamilton appears then dawns the day,
And when the disappears begins the night.

Lovers, who watchful vigils keep,
(For lovers never, never fleep!)
Wait for the rifing of the fair,

To offer fongs and hymns of pray'r,
Like Perfians to the fun:

Ev'n life, and death, and fate, are there;
For in the rolls of ancient deftiny,

Thinevitable book,

was

noted down

The dying thould revive, the living die,

As Hamilton fhall fmile, as Hamilton shall frown.

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"Goddess of Love and of the day;

"Awake, disclose thy radiant eyes,

"And fhew the fun a brighter ray:
"Phoebus in vain calls forth the blushing morn;
He but creates the day which you adǝrn.?.

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OF f kings dethron's, and blood of brethren fpilt,

In vain, O Britain! you'd avert the guilt,

If crimes which your forefathers bluth' to own, Repeated, call for heavier vengeance down, Tremble, ye People! who your kings diftrefs Tremble, ye Kings! for people you opprefs: el A Th' Eternal fees, arm'd with his forky rods.edor I The rife and fall of empire 's from the gods,

FOR A FIGURE REPRESENTING THE GOD OF LOVE.”

WHOE'ER thou art, thy lord and mafter fee;
Thou waft my flave, thou art, or thou shalt be.

HER NAME.

GUESS, and I'll frankly own her name,
Whofe eyes have kindled fuch a flame;
The Spartan or the Cyprian queen
Had ne'er been fung had the been feen:
Who fet the very gods at war

Were but faint images of her.
Believe me, for by Heav'ns 't is true!
The fun in all his ample view

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Sees nothing half fo fair or bright,
Not ev❜n his own reflected light.
So fweet a face! fuch graceful mien!

Who can this be?-'Tis Howard-or Ballenden.

CUPID DISARMED.

TO THE PRINCESS D'AUVERGNE.

CUPID, delighting to be near her,

Charm'd to behold her, charm'd to hear her,
As he food gazing on her face,

Enchanted with each matchlefs grace,
Loft in the trance, he drops the dart,
Which never fails to reach the heart:
She feizes it, and arms her hand,
"Tis thus I Love himself command:
"Now tremble, cruel Boy!" the faid,
"For all the mischief you have made."
The god, recov'ring his furprise,
Trufts to his wings, away he flies;
Swift as an arrow cuts the wind,
And leaves his whole artillery behind.
Princess restore the boy his useless darts,
With furer charms you captivate our hearts.
Love's captives oft their liberty regain,
Death only can release us from your chain.

ΤΟ

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EXPLICATION IN FRENCH.

CUPIDON DESARMÉ.

Fable pour Madame la Princeffe d' Auvergne." CUPIDON prenant plaifir de fe trouver toûjours aupres d'elle; charmé de la voir, charmé de l'entendre: comme il admiroit un jour fes graces inimitables, dans cette distraction de fon ame et de fes fens, il laiffa tomber ce dard fatal qui ne manque jamais de percer les cœurs. Elle le ramaffe foudain, et s'armant la belle main,

"C'eftainfi," dit elle, "que je me rend maitreffe de "l'Amour: tremblez, Enfant malin, je veux vanger "tous les maux que tu as fait."

Le dieu étonné, revenant de fa furprize, fe fiant a fes ailes, s'echappe, et s'envole vite comme une fleche qui rend l'air, et lui laiffe la poffeffion de toute fon artillerie.

Princeffe,rendez lui fes armes, qui vous font inutiles: la Nature vous a donnée des charmes plus puiffants: les captives de l'Amour fouvent recouvrent la liberté; il n'y a que la mort feule qui puiffe affranchir les vôtres.