Yet let them only fhare the praises due,
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few;
Since every want, that stimulates the breast,
Becomes a fource of pleasure when redrest.
Hence from fuch lands, each pleasing science flies,
That first excites defire, and then fupplies;
Unknown to them, when fenfual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy;

Unknown thofe powers that raise the foul to flame,
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but a fmould'ring fire,

Nor quench'd by want, nor fann'd by ftrong defire ;
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer,
On fome high feftival of once a year,
In wild excefs the vulgar breast takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow:
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low.
For, as refinement ftops, from fire to fon
Unalter'd, unimprov'd their manners run,
And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart
Fall blunted from each indurated heart.
Some fterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast
May fit, like falcons cow'ring on the nest ;
But all the gentler morals, fuch as play

Thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm our way,
These far difpers'd, on timorous pinions fly,

To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.

A Description of the Ancient Britons. From Churchill.

-TRETCH'D out in length,

ST

Where Nature put forth all her ftrength

In Spring eternal, lay a plain,

Where our brave fathers us'd to train

Their fons to arms, to teach the art

Of war, and steel the infant heart.

Labour, their hardy nurfe when young,

Their joints had knit, their nerves had ftrung;
Abstinence, foe declar'd to death,

Had, from the time they firft drew breath,
The best of doctors, with plain food,
Kept pure the channel of their blood;
Health in their cheeks bade colour rife,
And glory fparkled in their eyes.

The

The inftruments of hufbandry,

As in contempt, were all thrown by,
And flattering a manly pride,

War's keener tools their place fupply'd.
Their arrows to the head they drew ;
Swift to the point their jav'lins flew ;
They grafp'd the fword, they fhook the spear;
Their fathers felt a pleasing fear.
And even Courage, ftanding by,
Scarcely beheld with fteady eye.
Each ftripling, leffon'd by his fire,
Knew when to close, when to retire,
When near at hand, when from afar
To fight, and was himself a war.
Their wives, their mothers all around,
Careless of order, on the ground
Breath'd forth to heaven the pious vow,
And for a fon's or husband's brow,
With eager fingers laurel wove;
Laurel, which in the facred grove
Planted by Liberty they find,
The brows of conquerors to bind,
To give them pride and spirits, fit
To make a world in arms fubmit.

What raptures did the bofom fire
Of the young, rugged, peafant fire,
When, from the toil of mimic fight,
Returning with return of night,
He faw his babe refign the breaft,
And, fmiling, ftroke those arms in jest,
With which hereafter he fhall make

The proudest heart in Gallia quake!

Gods! with what joy, what honeft pride,
Did each fond, wishing, ruftic bride,
Behold her manly fwain return!
How did her love-fick bofom burn!
Tho' on parades he was not bred,
Nor wore the livery of red,

When, pleafure height'ning all her charms,
She ftrain'd her warrior in her arms,

And begg'd, whilft Love and Glory fire,
A fon, a fon just like his fire!

State of the Savages. From Churchill.

H

APPY the Savage of those early times,

Ere Europe's fons were known, and Europe's crimes!

Gold,

Gold, curfed gold! flept in the womb of earth,
Unfelt its mischiefs, as unknown its worth;
In full content he found the truest wealth;
In toil he found diverfion, food, and health;
Strange to the ease and luxury of courts,
His fports were labours, and his labours sports;
His youth was hardy, and his old age green :
Life's morn was vig'rous, and her eve ferene ;
No rules he held, but what were made for use;
No arts he learn'd, nor ills which arts produce;
Falfe lights he follow'd, but believ'd them true;
He knew not much, but liv'd to what he knew.

Happy, thrice happy, now the favage race,
Since Europe took their gold, and gave them grace!
Paftors fhe fends to help them in their need,
Some who can't write, with others who can't read ;
And, on fure ground the gospel pile to rear,
Sends miffionary felons every year;
Our vices, with more zeal than holy pray'rs,
She teaches them, and in return takes theirs ;
Her rank oppreffions gave them cause to rise;
Her want of prudence means and arms fupplies,
Whilft her brave rage, not fatisfied with life,
Rifing in blood, adopts the fcalping-knife:
Knowledge the gives, enough to make them know
How abject is their state, how deep their woe ;
The worth of freedom ftrongly fhe explains,

Whilft fhe bows down, and loads their necks with chains;
Faith too fhe plants, for her own ends impreft,

To make them bear the worft, and hope the best;
And while fhe teaches on vile int'reft's plan,
As laws of God, the wild decrees of man,
Like Pharifees, of whom the Scriptures tell,
She makes them ten times more the fons of hell.
But whither do these grave reflections tend?
Are they defign'd for any or no end?
Briefly but this to prove, that by no act
Which nature made, that by no equal pact

'Twixt man and man, which might, if justice heard,
Stand good, that by no benefits conferr'd,
Or purchase made, Europe in chains can hold
The fons of India, and her mines of gold.

PEASANT and KING contrasted. From Churchill.

THE villager born humbly, and bred hard,

THE

Content his wealth, and poverty his guard,

In

In action fimply juft, in confcience clear,
By guilt untainted, undisturb'd by fear,
His means but fcanty, and his wants but few,
Labour his bus'nefs and his pleasure too,
Enjoys more comforts in a fingle hour,
Than ages give the wretch condemn'd to pow'r :
Call'd up by health, he rifes with the day,
And goes to work, as if he went to play;
Whistling off toils, one half of which might make
The ftouteft Atlas of a palace quake;

;

'Gainst heat and cold, which make us cowards faint,
Harden'd by conftant ufe, without complaint
He bears, what we should think it death to bear
Short are his meals, and homely is his fare;
His thirst he flakes at fome pure neighb'ring brook,
Nor afks for fauce, where appetite ftands cook.
When the dews fall, and when the fun retires
Behind the mountains, when the village fires,
Which wakened all at once, fpeak fupper nigh,
At distance catch, and fix his longing eye,
Homeward he hies, and with his manly brood
Of raw-bon'd cubs, enjoys that clean coarse food,
Which feafon'd with good-humour, his fond bride,
'Gainft his return is happy to provide.

Then free from care, and free from thought, he creeps
Into his ftraw, and till the morning fleeps.

Not fo the king; with anxious cares oppreft,
His bofom labours, and admits not rest.

A glorious wretch, he fweats beneath the weight
Of majefty, and gives up ease for state;

Ev'n when his fmiles, which by the fools of pride,
Are treafur'd and preferv'd, from fide to fide
Fly round the court; ev'n when compell'd by form,
He seems moft calm, his court is in a storm.
Care, like a fpectre seen by him alone,
With all her neft of vipers round his throne,
By day crawls full in view; when night bids fleep,
Sweet nurse of nature, o'er the fenfes creep;
When mifery herself no more complains,
And flaves, if poffible, forget their chains;
Tho' his fenfe weakens, tho' his eye grows dim,
That reft, which comes to all, comes not to him.
Ev'n at that hour, Care, tyrant Care forbids
The dew of fleep to fall upon his lids;
From night to night fhe watches at his bed;
Now, as one mop'd, fits brooding o'er his head;
Anon fhe ftarts, and borne on raven's wings,
Croaks forth aloud-Sleep was not made for kings.
A CHARACTER.

ROM his youth upwards to the present day,

FR

When vices more than years have mark'd him grey,

When riotous excefs with wafteful hand

Shakes life's frail glass, and haftes each ebbing fand,
Unmindful from what stock he drew his birth,
Untainted with one deed of real worth,
Lothario, holding honour at no price,
Folly to folly added, vice to vice,

Wrought fin with greedinefs, and fought for fhame
With greater zeal than good men feek for fame.
Where (reafon left without the least defence)
Laughter was mirth, obfcenity was sense,
Where impudence made decency fubmit,

Where noife was humour, and where whim was wit,
Where rude untemper'd licence had the merit
Of liberty, and lunacy was fpirit,

Where the best things were ever held the worst,
Lothario was, with juftice, always first.

To whip a top, to knuckle down at taw,
To fwing upon a gate, to ride a ftraw,
To play at push-pin with dull brother peers,
To belch out catches in a porter's ears,
To reign the monarch of a midnight cell,
To be the gaping chairman's oracle,

Whilft, in moft bleffed union, rogue and whore
Clap hands, huzza, and hiccup out, Encore,
Whilft grey authority, who flumbers there
In robes of watchman's fur, gives up
his chair,
With midnight howl to bay the affrighted moon,
To walk with torches thro' the ftreets at noon,
To force plain nature from her ufual way,
Each night a vigil, and a blank each day,
To match for speed one feather 'gainst another,
To make one leg run races with his brother,
'Gainft all the reft to take the northern wind,
to ride first, and he to ride behind,
To coin new-fangled wagers, and to lay 'em,
Laying to lofe, and lofing not to pay 'em ;
Lothario, on that stock which nature gives,"
Without a rival stands, tho'
yet lives.

When Folly (at that name, in duty bound,
Let fubject myriads kneel, and kifs the ground,
Whilft they, who in the prefence upright ftand,
Are held as rebels thro' the loyal land)

!

Queen