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And thou, great poet, in whofe nervous lines
The native majesty of freedom shines,
Accept this friendly praife; and let me prove
My heart not wholly void of public love;
Though not like thee I ftrike the founding ftring
To notes which Sparta might have deign'd to fing,
But, idly sporting in the fecret fhade,
With tender trifles foothe fome artlefs maid.
TO WILLIAM PITT, ESQUIRE,
ONG had thy virtues mark'd thee out for fame,
Far, far fuperior to a Cornet's name ;
This generous Walpole faw, and griev'd to find
So mean a poft disgrace that noble mind.
The fervile standard from thy freeborn hand
He took, and bade thee lead the patriot band,
COME not here your candour to implore
For fcenes, whofe author is, alas! no more;
He wants no advocate his cause to plead;
You will yourselves be patrons of the dead.
No party his benevolence confin'd,
No fect- alike it flow'd to all mankind.
He lov'd his friends (forgive this gufhing tear:
Alas! I feel, I am no actor here)
He lov'd his friends with fuch a warmth of heart,
So clear of intereft, fo devoid of art,
Such generous friendship, fuch unshaken zeal,
No words can speak it; but our tears may tell.
O candid truth, O faith without a ftain,
O manners gently firm, and nobly plain,
O fympathizing love of others' bliss,
Where will you find another breast like his ?
Such was the man the poet well you know:
Oft has he touch'd your hearts with tender woe :
Oft in this crouded house, with just applaufe,
You heard him teach fair Virtue's pureft laws;
For his chafte Mufe employ'd her heaven-taught lyre
None but the nobleft paffions to infpire,
Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,
One line, which dying he could wish to blot.
Oh! may to-night your favourable doom
Another laurel add, to grace his tomb:
Whilft he, fuperior now to praise or blame,
Hears not the feeble voice of human fame.
Yet, if to those whom most on earth he lov'd,
From whom his pious care is now remov'd,
With whom his liberal hand, and bounteous heart,
Shar'd all his little fortune could impart;
If to those friends your kind regard shall give
What they no longer can from his receive;
That, that, ev'n now, above yon starry pole,
May touch with pleasure his immortal foul.
OU, who, fupreme o'er every work of wit,
In judgment here, unaw'd, unbiafs'd, fit,
The palatines and guardians of the pit;
If to your minds this merely modern play
No ufeful fenfe, no generous warmth convey;
If fufian here, through each unnatural fcene,
In ftrain'd conceits found high, and nothing mean ;
If lofty dullness for your vengeance call:
Like Elmerick judge, and let the guilty fall.
But if fimplicity, with force and fire, ·
Unlabour'd thoughts and artless words inspire;
If, like the action which thefe fcenes relate,
The whole appear irregularly great;
If mafter-strokes the nobler paffions move :
Then, like the king, acquit us, and approve.
EGO LAVDO RVRIS AMOENI,
RIVOS, ET MVSCO CIRVMLITA SAXA NEMVSQVE.
WILLIAM SHENSTONE, ESQUIRE;
IN WHOSE VERSES
WERE ALL THE NATURAL GRACES,
AND IN WHOSE MANNERS
WAS ALL THE AMIABLE SIMPLICITY,
OF PASTORAL POETRY,
WITH THE SWEET TENDERNESS
IV. On the Pedestal of an URN *,
VIRORVM CASTIGATORI ACERRIMO,
SAPIENTIAE DOCTORI SVAVISSIMO,
ABDICVLAM HANC, QVEM VIVVS DILEXIT,
POST MORTEM EIVS CONSTRVCTAM,