"Whofe heart nor envy knows, nor spite, "Whofe duty is her fole delight; "Nor rul'd by whim, nor ftave to fashion, "Her parents' joy, her husband's paffion." Fame fmild, and and answer'd, "This is fome country parfon's wife, -"Who never faw the court nor town,

On my life,

Whofe face is homely as her gown; "Who banquets upon eggs and bacon"No, madam, no-you're much mistaken"I beg you'll let me fet you right"'Tis one with every beauty bright; "Adorn'd with every polish'd art "That rank or fortune can impart; "Tis the moft celebrated toaft "That Britain's fpacious ifte can boast; 'Tis princely Petworth's noble dame; "'Tis Egrement-Go, tell it, Fame."

ADDITION, EXTEMPORE,

BY EARL HARDWICKE.

FAME heard with pleafure-ftrait replied,
on my roll ftands Wyndham's bride;

"My trumpet oft I've rais'd, to found
"Her modeft praise the world around!
"But notes were wanting-Canft thou find
A Mufe to fing her face, her mind?
Believe me, I can name but one,
A friend of yours—'tis Lyttelton.”

LE T

LETTER

то

EARL HARDWICKE:

OCCASIONED BY

THE FOREGOING VERSES.

MY LORD,

A Thousand thanks to your Lordship for your ad

dition to my verfes. If you can write fuch extempore, it is well for other poets, that you chofe to be Lord Chancellor, rather than a Laureat. They explain to me a vifion I had the night before.

Methought I faw before my feet,
With countenance ferene and fweet,
The Mufe, who, in my youthful days,
Had oft infpir'd my careless lays.

She finil'd, and faid, "Once more I fee
"My fugitive returns to me;

"Long had I loft you from my bower,
"You fcorn'd to own my gentle power;
"With me no more your genius fported,
"The grave hiftoric Muse you courted;
"Or, rais'd from earth, with ftraining eyes ;
"Purfued Urania through the skies;

"But now, to my forfaken track,
"Fair Egremont has brought you back:
"Nor bluth, by her and Virtue led,
"That foft, that pleafing path, to tread;
"For there, beneath to-morrow's ray,
"Ev'n Wisdom's felf fhall deign to play.
"Lo to my flowery groves and fprings
Her favourite fon the goddefs brings,
"The council's and the fenate's guide,
"Law's oracle, the nation's pride:
"He comes, he joys with thee to join,

In finging Wyndham's charms divine: "To thine he adds his nobler lays;

Ev'n thee, my friend, he deigns to praife.
"Enjoy that praife, nor envy Pitt
"His fame with burgefs or with cit;

"For fure one line from fuch a Bard,
"Virtue would, think her beft reward."

HYMN TO ELIZ A.

MADAM, before your feet I lay

This ode upon your wedding-day,

The firft indeed I ever made,
For writing Odes is not my trade:
My head is full of houshold carcs,

And neceffary dull affairs;

Befides that fometimes jealous frumps
Will put me into doleful dumps.

And

And then no clown beneath the sky
Was e'er more ungallant than I;
For you alone I now think fit

To turn a poet and a wit

For you whofe charms, I know not how,
Have power to fmooth my wrinkled brow,
And make me, though by nature stupid,
As brifk, and as alert, as Cupid.
Thefe obligations to repay,
Whene'er your happy nuptial day
Shall with the circling years return,
For you my torch fhall brighter burn
Than when you firft my power ador'd,
Nor will I call myself your lord,
But am (as witnefs this my hand)
Your humble fervant at command.

HYMEN.

Dear child let Hymen not beguile
You, who are fuch a judge of ftyle,
To think that he thefe verfes made,
Without an abler penman's aid;
Obferve them well, you'll plainly fee,
That every line was writ by me.

ON READING

MISS CARTER's POEMS

IN MANUSCRIPT.

SUCH

OUCH were the notes that ftruck the wondering ear Of filent Night, when, on the verdant banks Of Siloë's hallow'd brook, celeftial harps, According to feraphic voices, fung

Glory to God on high, and on the earth

Peace and good-will to men !-Resume the lyre,
Chauntress divine, and every Briton call
Its melody to hear-so shall thy strains,
More powerful than the song of Orpheus, tame
The favage heart of brutal Vice, and bend
At pure Religion's fhrine the ftubborn knees
Of bold Impiety.-Greece fhall no more
Of Lesbian Sappho boast, whose wanton Mufe,
Like a falfe Syren, while fhe charm'd, feduc'd
To guilt and ruin. For the facred head
Of Britain's poetess, the Virtues twine
A nobler wreath, by them from Eden's grove
Unfading gather'd, and direct the hand

Of

-to fix it on her brows.

MOUNT