Without her, Virtue is a powerless Will;
She, without Virtue, is a powerful ill;
Does the then join with Virtue, or oppose,
She proves the beft of Friends, or worst of Foes.
O! be they once in happiest union join'd,

And be that union in ATHENIA's mind.

On SHAKESPEAR'S Monument at Stratford

upon Avon.

By the Same.

REAT HOMER's birth fev❜n rival cities claim,

GR

Too mighty fuch monopoly of Fame;

Yet not to birth alone did HOMER Owe

His wond'rous worth; what EGYPT could bestow,
With all the schools of GREECE and ASIA join'd,
Enlarg'd th' immenfe expansion of his mind.

Nor yet unrival'd the MAONIAN ftrain,

a

The British Eagle, and the Mantuan Swan

• Milton.

Tow'r

Tow'r equal heights. But happier STRATFORD, thou
With incontested laurels deck thy brow:

Thy Bard was thine unfchool'd, and from thee rought
More than all EGYPT, GREECE, or ASIA taught.
Not HOMER'S felf fuch matchlefs honours won;
The Greek has Rivals, but thy SHAKESPEAR none.

W

ASON G.

By the Same.

1.

HEN fair SERENA firft I knew,

By friendship's happy union charm'd;

Inceffant joys around her flew,

And gentle smiles my bofom warm'd.

II.

But when with fond officious care

I prefs'd to breathe my amorous pain,
Her lips fpoke nought but cold despair,

Her eyes fhot ice through every

vein.

III. Thus

H

III.

Thus in ITALIA's lovely vales

The fun his genial vigour yields,
Reviving heat each sense regales,

And plenty crowns the smiling fields.
IV.

When nearer we approach his ray,

High on the Alps' ftupendous brow,
Surpriz'd we fee pale fun-beams play
On everlasting hills of fnow.

TH

By the Same.

HE potent Lord, that this bright villa plann'd,
Exhibits here a Paradife regain'd;

Whate'er of Verdure have Hills, Lawns, or Woods,
Whate'er of Splendor, Buildings, Flow'rs, or Floods,

Whate'er

Whate'er of Fruits the Trees, of Birds the Air,
In blissful union are collected here:

All with fuch harmony difpos'd, as fhews,
That in the midft the Tree of Knowledge grows.

Τ

From the Italian of Metaftafio.

By the Same.

HANKS, CLOE, thy coquetting art

At length hath heal'd my love-fick heart,

At length thy flave is free;

I feel no tyrant's proud controul,
I feel no inmate in my foul,
But peace and liberty.

In dreams I every trifle fee,
Yet very rarely dream of thee:

I wake, nor think about thee:
When abfent I ne'er wish thee near:
And when thou'rt prefent I nor fear
Nor pray to be without thee.

I think, hear, talk about thy charms,
Nor stoop the head, nor fold the arms;
Nay ev'n my wrongs fit easy.

And when my favour'd rival's near,
And eyes me with insulting leer,

His triumphs never teaze me.

:

Put on thy looks of cold difdain,
Or fpeak respectful, 'tis in vain,

Nor frowns nor fmiles can move.
Thofe lips no more have words that bind,
Those eyes no more have light to find
The path that leads to love.