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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 reftrain'd.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome pow'rful arm,
First to advance, then screen 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 most shall give applause, where all admire.


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OWN by the brook which glides thro' yonder vale,
His hair all matted, and his cheeks all pale,

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 reverse 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,
Beftow fome pity on a broken heart.

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

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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 so 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 ftray,

Juft as a loathfome adder rear'd his creft,

To dart his poifon in your lily breaft,

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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

Down in your lap a plenteous fhower they fall;
Glad you receiv'd them, and you eat them all.
When fair-day came, I donn'd my Sunday fuit,
Brush'd the best pillion clean, and faddled Cutt.
Then up we got; you clung about my waist;
Pleas'd to be hugg'd, I charg'd you clip me faft;
And when you loos'd your hold, and backwards flipp'd,
I held your petticoats, and never peep'd.

The pofied garters, and the top-knot fine,
The golden gingerbread, and all was mine:

I paid the puppet-fhow, the cakes, the fack;
And, fraught with fairings, brought you laughing back.
Sufan but spoke, and each gay flower was there,,

To dress her bough-pot, or adorn her hair;

For her the choiceft of the woods I cull,

Sloes, hips, and ftrawberries, her bellyful:
My hoard of apples I to her confefs'd;

My heart was her's, well might she have the reft,
And Sufan well approv'd her Robin's care :

Yes, you was pleas'd; at least you faid you were,
In love's foft fire you feem'd like me to burn,
And footh'd my fondness with a kind return.
At our long table, when we fat to dine,

• You ftretch'd your knees, and mingled feet with mine;
With fatteft bacon you my trencher ply'd,

And flic'd my pudding from the plummy fide:
And well I wot, when our small-beer was stale,
You ftole into the barn, and brought me ale.
But, oh! the foldier, blafter of my hopes !
(Curfe on pretending kings, and Papish popes!)
He came from Flanders with the red-coat crew,
To fight with rebels, and he conquer'd you.

• His dowlas ruffles, and his copper lace,

His brickduft ftockings, and his brazen face;
These are the charms for which you flight my youth,
Charms much too potent for a maiden's truth!

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• Soon on the feather'd fool you turn'd your eyes;
Eager you liften'd to the braggart's lyes;

And, fcorning me, your heart to him refign,
• Your faithless heart, by vows and service mine.
True, he is gone, by our brave duke's command,
To humble Britain's foes in foreign land:

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Ah, what is that! the fpoiler bears away

The only thing for which 'twas worth to stay,

But forrow's dry; I'll flake it in the brook-
O well-a-day! how frightful pale I look!

"Care's a confumer," (fo the saying speaks ;)

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The faying's true, I read it in my cheeks.

Fye! I'll be chearful, 'tis a fancied pain;
A flame fo conftant cannot meet disdain ;
I'll wash my face, and shake off foul despair;
My love is kind!-alas, I would fhe were!
• Well fays our parfon; and our parfon said,
"True love, and tithes, should ever well be paid,”
Sufan, from you my heart shall never roam,
If your's be wandering, quickly call it home,'




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HE greedy merchant plows the fea for gain,
And rides exulting o'er the watery plain;

While howling tempefts, from their rocky bed,
Indignant break around his careful head.

The royal fleet the liquid waste explores,

And fpeaks in thunder to the trembling fhores;


The voice of wrath awak'd, the nations hear,
The vanquish'd hope, and the proud victors fear;
Those quit their chain, and thefe refign their palm,
While Britain's awful flag commands a calm.

The curious fage, nor gain nor fame pursues,
With other eyes the boiling deep he views;
Hangs o'er the cliff inquifitive to know

The fecret causes of it's ebb and flow;
Whence breathe the winds that ruffle it's smooth face,
Or ranks in claffes all the fishy race,

From those enormous monsters of the main,
Who in their world, like other tyrants, reign,
To the poor cockle-tribe, that humble band,
Who cleave to rocks, or loiter on the ftrand.
Yet even their shells the Forming Hand divine
Has, with distinguish'd luftre, taught to fhine.
What bright enamel! and what various dyes!
What lively tints delight our wondering eyes!
Th' Almighty Painter glows in every line :
How mean, alas! is Raphael's bold defign,
And Titian's colouring, if compar'd to thine!
Juftly Supreme! let us thy power revere,
Thou fill'st all space! all-beauteous every where!
Thy rifing fun with blushes paints the morn;
Thy fhining lamps the face of night adorn;

Thy flowers the meads, thy nodding trees the hills;
The vales thy paftures green, and bubbling rills :
Thy coral groves, thy rocks that amber weep,
Deck all the gloomy manfions of the deep;
Thy yellow fands, diftinct with golden ore,
And these thy variegated fhells, the shore!
To all thy works fuch grandeur haft thou lent,
And fuch extravagance of ornament.

For the false traitor, man, this pomp and show ?
A scene fo
for us poor worms below?


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