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For wealth, be fmiling peace my share !
With friendship's generous love;
And, loft to each ambitious care,
Be mine the flowery grove!

T'here ftudious thought would wear the day,

In each instructive page ;

Or happier speed the hours away,
In converse with the fage.

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I

THE BASTARD,

BY RICHARD SAVAGE, ESQ

N gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,

The Muse exulting, thus her lay began.

Blefs'd be the Bastard's birth! thro' wond'rous ways,

He fhines excentrick, like a comet's blaze!

No fickly fruit of faint compliance He!
He! ftamp'd in Nature's mint of extafy!
He lives to build, not boast a generous race;
No tenth tranfmitter of a foolish face.
His daring hope no fire's example bounds;
His firft-born lights no prejudice confounds,
· He, kindling from within, requires no flame';
He glories in a Baftard's glowing name.

Born to himself, by no poffeffion led,
In freedom fofter'd, and by Fortune fed;

• Nor

Nor guides, nor rules, his fov'reign choice controul,
His body independent as his foul.

• Loos'd to the world's wide range; enjoin'd no aim;
• Prescrib'd no duty, and affign'd no name:
• Nature's unbounded fon, he stands alone,
His heart unbiafs'd, and his mind his own!

O Mother, yet no mother! 'tis to you,
My thanks for fuch distinguish'd claims are due.
• You, unenflav'd to Nature's narrow laws,
• Warm championefs for Freedom's facred caufe,
From all the dry devoirs of blood and line,

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From ties maternal, moral and divine,

Discharg'd my grasping soul, push'd me from shore,
And launch'd me into life without an oar.
• What had I loft, if conjugally kind,

• By nature hating, yet by vows confin'd,
Untaught the matrimonial bounds to flight,
• And coldly conscious of a husband's right,
You had faint-drawn me with a form alone,
• A lawful lump of life by force your own!
Then, while your backward will retrench'd defire,
And unconcurring fpirits lent no fire,

I had been born your dull, domestick heir;
• Load of your life, and motive of your care:
Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great;
The flave of pomp, a cypher in the state;
Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown,

. And flumb'ring in a seat-by chance my own.
• Far nobler bleffings wait the Baftard's lot ;
• Conceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot!
• Strong as Neceffity, he starts away,

• Climbs againft wrongs, and brightens into day!"
Thus, unprophetick, lately mifinspir'd,

I fung; gay flutt'ring Hope my fancy fir'd;
Inly fecure, thro' confcious fcorn of ill,
Nor taught by Wisdom how to balance will,

Rafhly

Rafhly deceiv'd, I faw no pits to fhun;

But thought, to purpose, and to act, were one;
Heedlefs what pointed cares pervert his way,
Whom caution arms not, and whom woes betray :
But now expos'd, and shrinking from diftress,
I fly to fhelter, while the tempefts prefs;
My Mufe to grief refigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers groan!
O Memory! thou foul of joy and pain!.
Thou actor of our paffions o'er again!
Why doft thou aggravate the wretch's woe?
Why add continuous smart to every blow?
Few are my joys; alas! how foon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad'ft me not;
While fharp and numberless my forrows fall,
Yet thou repeat'ft and multiply'st 'em all!

Is chance a guilt; that my difaft'rous heart,
For mischief never meant, must ever smart?
Can felf-defence be fin?-Ah, plead no more!
What tho' no purpos'd malice ftain'd thee o'er;
Had Heav'n befriended thy unhappy fide,

Thou had'ft not been provok'd-or, thou had'ft died.
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all,
On whom, unfought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale dead revives, and lives to me;
To me thro' Pity's eye condemn'd to fee.
Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.
Young, and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day,
What ripening virtues might have made their way!

He might have liv'd, till Folly died in fhame,
Till kindling Wisdom felt a thirst for fame.

He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd ;
Both happy, gen'rous, candid, and belov'd:

He might have fav'd some worth, now doom'd to fall;
And I, perchance, in him, have murder'd all.

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Öfate of late repentance! always vain :
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.

Where shall my hope find reft! No mother's care
Shielded my infant innocence with prayer;
No father's guardian hand my youth maintain❜d,
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice restrain'd.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome pow'rful arm,
First to advance, then fcreen from future harm?
I am return'd from death, to live in pain;
Or would imperial Pity fave in vain?

Diftruft it not: what blame can Mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind ?
Mother, mifcall'd, farewel!of foul fevere,
This fad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by, to you I ow'd;
Alone from ftrangers ev'ry comfort flow'd!

Loft to the life you gavé, your fon no more,
And now adopted, who was doom❜d before;
New-born, I may a nobler mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name :
Supremely lovely, and ferenely great!
Majestick mother of a kneeling state!
Queen of a people's heart, who ne'er before
Agreed-yet now with one confent adore !
One contest yet remains in this defire,
Who moft fhall give applause, where all admire.

ROBIN.

A PASTORAL ELEGY.

BY CAPT. JOHN DOBSON.

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pale,

OWN by the brook which glides thro' yonder vale,
His hair all matted, and his cheeks all
Robin, fad fwain, by love and forrow pain'd,
Of flighted vows, and Sufan, thus complain'd.

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Hear me, ye groves, who faw me blefs'd fo late
Echo, you hills, my fad reverfe of fate;

Ye winds, that bear my fighs, foft murmurs fend;
Come pay me back, ye ftreams, the drops I lend :
And you, fweet Sufan, fource of all my smart,

• Bestow fome pity on a broken heart.

Happy the times, by painful memory blefs'd,
When you poffeffing, Robin all poffefs'd!

Pafs'd by your fide, each day brought new delight,
And one sweet flumber fliorten'd every night.

My play your fervice, for no toil feem'd hard,:
When your kind favour was the hop'd reward.
I rofe to milking, though 'twas ne'er fo cool;
• I call'd the cows up; I kept off the bull:

Home on my head I bore the pail upright;
The pail was heavy, but love made it light;
And when you fpilt the milk, and 'gan to cry,
I took the blame, and fimply faid-" "Twas I."
When by the haycock's fide you fleeping lay,
Sent by good angels, there I chanc'd to stray,

Just as a loathiome adder rear'd his creft,

To dart his poifon in your lily breast,

Straight with a ftone I crush'd the monster's head;

You wak'd, and fainted, though you found him dead!

Then, from the pond, I water brought apace,

My hat brimful, and dafh'd it in your face:
Still, blue as bilberry, your cold lips did quake,
Till my warm kiffes call'd the cherry back.
When, looking thro' his worship's garden-gate,

Ripe peaches tempted, and you long'd to eat;

Tho' the grim maftiff growl'd, and fternly ftalk'd,
Tho' guns were loaded, and old Madam walk'd ;

• Nor dogs nor darkness, guns or ghofts, could fright,
• When Robin ventur'd for his Sue's delight:

Joyful of midnight, quick I poft away,

Leap the high wall, and fearless pluck the prey;

• Down

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