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V E glittring Train! whom Lace and Velvet Suspend the soft Sollicitudes of Dress ; From grov’ling Business and superfluous Care, Ye Sons of Avarice! a Moment spare : Vot'ries of Fame and Worshippers of Pow'r! Dismiss the pleasing Phantoms for an Hour. Our daring Bard, with Spirit unconfin'd, Spreads wide the mighty Moral for Mankind. Learn here how Heav'n supports the virtuous Mind, Daring, tho' calm ; and vigorous, tho' resign'd. Learn here what Anguish racks the guilty Breast, In Pow'r dependent, in Success deprest. Learn here that Peace from Innocence must flow; All else is empty Sound, and idle Show.
If Truths like these with pleasing Language join;
Be this at least his Praise ; be this his Pride ;
No Snares to captivate the Judgment spreads;
SPOKEN BY :
Thursday, April 5, 1950,
For the Benefit of Mrs. ELIZABETH FOSTER, MILTON's Grand-daughter, and only surviving
V E patriot Crouds, who burn for England's Fame,
Ye Nymphs, whose Bosom's beat at Milton's
Name, Whose gen'rous Zeal, unbought by flatt'ring Rhimes, Shames the mean Pensions of Augustan Times; Immortal Patrons of succeeding Days, Attend this Prelude of perpetual Praise ! Let Wit, condemn’d the feeble War to wage With close Malevolence, or public Rage; Let Study, worn with Virtue's fruitless Lore, Behold this Theatre, and grieve no more. This Night, distinguish'd by your Smile, shall tell That never Briton can in vain excel ; The flighted Arts Futurity shall trust, And rising Ages hasten to be just.
At length our mighty Bard's victorious Lays Till the loud Voice of universal Praise, And bafiled Spite, with hopeless Anguish dumb, Yields to Renown the Centuries to come.
Halte each tow'ring health bestow
With ardent Haste each Candidate of Fame
TO T ME
GOOD-NA TUR’D MAN
DREST by the Load of Life, the weary Mind
I Surveys the general Toil of Human-kind ; With cool Submission joins the labouring Train, And social Sorrow, losés half its Pain : Our anxious Bard, without Complaint, may share This bustling Season's epidemic Care. Like Cæsar's Pilot, dignify'd by Fate, Tost in one common Storm with all the Great ; Distrest alike, the Statesman and the Wit, When one a Borough courts, and one the Pit. The bufy Candidates for Power and Fame, Have Hopes and Fears, and Wishes, just the same ; Disabled both to combat, or to fly, Must hear all Taunts, and hear without Reply, Uncheck'd on both, loud Rabbles vent their Rage, As Mongrels bay the Lion in a Cage. Th' offended Burgess hoards his angry Tale For that blest Year when all that vote may rail ;
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