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FLAVIA, at lovers false, untouch'd and hard,
Turns pale, and trembles at a eruel card.
Nor ARRIA s bible can seçure her age;
Her threescore years are shuffling with her page.
While death stands by, but till the game is done,
To sweep that ftake, in justice, long his own;
Like old cards ting'd with sulphur, fe takes fire 3
Or, like snuffs sunk in sockets, blazes higher.
Ye gods! with new delights inspire the Fair ;
Or give us fons, and save us from despair.
Sons, brothers, fathers, husbands, tradesmen, close
In my complaint, and brand your fins in prose :
Yet I believe, as firmly as my Creed,.
In spite of all our wisdom, you'll proceed:
Our pride so great, our paffion is fo strong,
Advice to right confirms us in the wrong.
I hear you cry, “ This fellow's
When you chastise, who would not kiss the rod ?
But I've a charm your anger shall controul,
And turn your eyes with coldness on the Yole.
The charm begins ! To yonder flood of light,
That bursts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your fight.
What guardian pow'r o'erwhelms your souls with awe?
Her deeds are precepts, her example law;
'Midft empire's charms, how CAROLINA's heart
Glows with the love of virtue, and of art!
Her favour is diffus'd to that degree,
Excess of goodness! it has dawn’d on me :
When in my page, to balance numerous faults,
Or godlike deeds were shown, or gen'rous thoughts,
She smild, industrious to be pleas'd, nor knew
From whom my pen the borrow'd lustre drew. .
* Thus the majestic mother of mankind, To her own charms moft amiably blind, * MILTON.
On the green margin innocently stood,
And gaz’d indulgent on the chrystal flood;
Sarvey'd the stranger in the painted wave,
And, smiling, prais'd the beauties which she gave.
Carmina tum melius, cum venerit Ipse, canemus.
N this last labour, this my clofing strain,
To thee, 'tis due ; that verse how justly thine,
Where BRUNSWICK's glory crowns the whole design !
That glory, which thy counsels make so bright;
That glory, which on thee reflects a light.
Illustrious commerce, and but rarely known !
To give, and take, a lustre from the throne.
Nor think that thou art foreign to my theme;
The fountain is not foreign to the stream.
How all mankind will be surpriz'd, to see
This flood of British folly charg'd on thee!
Say, Britain! whence this caprice of thy fons,
Which thro' their various ranks with fury runs ?
The caule is plain, a cause which we must bless;
For caprice is the daughter of success,
(A bad'effect, but from a pleasing cause !)
And gives our rulers undefign'd applause;
Tells how their conduct bids our wealth increase,
And lulls us in the downy lap of peace.
While I survey the blessings of our isle,
Her arts triumphant in the royal smile,
Her public wounds bound up, her credit high,
Her commerce spreading fails in every sky,
The pleasing scene recalls my theme again,
And thews the madness of ambitious men,
Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murd'ring sword,
And burn to give mankind a fingle lord.
The follies paft are of a private kind;
Their sphere is small; their mischief is confin'd:
But daring men there are (Awake, my muse,
And raise thy verse!) who bolder frenzy chuse;
Who'stung by glory, rave, and bound away;
The world their field, and humankind their
The Grecian chief, th' enthusiast of his pride,
With rage and terror stalking by his fide,
Raves round the globe; he foars into a god!
Stand faft, Olympus.! and sustain his nod.
The pest divine in horrid grandeur reigns,
And thrives on mankind's miseries and pains.
What slaughter'd hofts! what cities in a blaze !
What wasted countries ! and what crimson seas !
With orphans tears his impious bowl o'erflows,
And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose.
And cannot thrice ten hundre
The boift'rous boy, and blaft his guilty bays?
Why want we then encomiums on the form,
Or famine, or volcano ? They perform
Their mighty deeds: they, hero-like, can slay,
And spread their ample desarts in a day.
Ogreat alliance ! O divine renown!
With dearth, and peftilence, to fhare the crown.
When men extol a wild destroyer's name,
Earth's Builder and Preserver they blafpheme.
One to destroy, is murder by the law;
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;
To murder thousands, takes a specious name,
War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.
When, after battle, I the field have seen
Spread o'er with ghastly shapes, which once were men 3
A nation crush’d, a nation of the brave !
A realm of death! and on this fide the grave !
Are there, said I, who from this sad survey,
This human chaos, carry smiles away?
How did my heart with indignation rise !
How honeft nature swell'd into my eyes !
How was I shock'd to think the hero's trade
Of such materials, fame and triumph made !
How guilty these! Yet not less guilty they,
Who reach false glory by a smoother way:
Who wrap destruction up in gentle words,
And bows, and smiles, more fatal than their fwords;
Who stifle nature, and subsist on art;
Who coin the face, and petrify the heart;
All real kindness for the shew discard,
As marble polish'd, and as marble hard;
Who do for gold what Christians do thro' Grace,
“ With open arms their enemies embrace :"
Who give a nod when broken hearts repine ;
« The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine :"
Or, if they serve you, serve you disinclin'd,
And, in their height of kindness, are unkind.