XV.

As on high Algidus the sturdy oak,

"Whofe spreading boughs the axe's sharpness feel, Improves by lofs, and, thriving with the ftroke, "Draws health and vigour from the wounding steel,

XVI.

"Not Hydra fprouting from her mangled head So tir'd the baffled force of Hercules;

Nor Thebes, nor Colchis, fuch a monster bred, "Pregnant of ills, and fam'd for prodigies.

XVII.

Plunge her in ocean, like the morning fun,
"Brighter the rifes from the depths below:
To earth with unavailing ruin thrown,
Recruits her strength, and foils the wondering foe.

XVIII.

"No more of victory the joyful fame

"Shall from my camp to haughty Carthage fly; Loft, loft, are all the glories of her name! "With Afdrubal her hopes and fortune die!

XIX.

What shall the Claudian valour not perform, “Which Power Divine guards with propitious care, "Which Wisdom steers through all the dangerous storm, "Through all the rocks and shoals of doubtful war?"

VIRTUE

VIRTUE

AND FAME.

TO THE COUNTESS OF EGREMONT.

VIR

IRTUE and Fame, the other day, Happen'd to cross each other's way; Said Virtue, “Hark ye! madam Fame, "Your ladyship is much to blame; "Jove bids you always wait on me, "And yet your face I feldom fee:

"The Paphian queen employs your trumpet, "And bids it praise fome handsome strumpet; "Or, thundering through the ranks of war, "Ambition ties you to her car.

Saith Fame, "Dear madam, I protest, "I never find myself so bleft

"As when I humbly wait behind you ! ." But 'tis fo mighty hard to find you ! In fuch obfcure retreats you lurk! "To feek you, is an endless work.” "Well," anfwer'd Virtue, "I allow "Your plea. But hear, and mark me now. "I know (without offence to others) "I know the beft of wives and mothers; "Who never pafs'd an useless day "In fcandal, goffiping, or play:

< Whose modeft wit, chaftis'd by sense,

Is lively chearful innocence;

wWhofe

Whofe heart nor envy knows, nor spite, "Whofe duty is her fole delight;

"Nor rul'd by whim, nor flave to fashion, "Her parents' joy, her husband's paffion.” Fame smil'd, and and answer'd, “On my life, "This is fome country parfon's wife,

Who never faw the court nor town, "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 ifle can boaft; " 'Tis princely Petworth's noble dame ; 'Tis Egrement-Go, tell it, Fame."

ADDITION, EXTEMPORE, BY EARL HARDWICKE.

AME heard with pleasure-ftrait replied, "First 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,”

LET

LETTER

то

EARL HARD WICKE:

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 vision I had the night before.

Methought I faw before my feet,
With countenance ferene and sweet,
The Mufe, who, in my youthful days,
Had oft infpir'd my carelefs 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 historic Muse you courted;

66

Or, rais'd from earth, with straining eyes;
Purfued Urania through the skies;

"But now, to my forfaken track,
"Fair Egremont has brought you back :
"Nor blush, by her and Virtue led,
"That soft, 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 goddef's 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 praise.
"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 ELI Z 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 houfhold cares,
And neceffary dull affairs;

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

And