Percunt et Imputantur.
O-morrow, didft thou fay!
Methought I heard Horatio fay, To-morrow.
I will not hear of it-
'Tis a fharper, who ftakes his
Against thy plenty who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and promifes
The currency of ideots. Injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor!
It is a period no where to be found,
In all the hoary registers of Time,
Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;
Wrought of fuch stuff as dreams are ; and baseless
As the fantastic vifions of the evening.
But foft, my friend-arreft the prefent moments;
For be affured, they all are arrant tell-tales;
And tho' their flight be filent, and their path
Trackless, as the wing'd couriers' of the air,
They poft to heav'n, and there record thy folly.
Because, tho' ftation'd on th' important watch,
Thou, like a fleeping, faithlefs centinel,
Didft let them pafs unnotic'd, unimprov'd.
And know, for that thou flumber'dit on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For ev'ry fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-wink'd Juftice, who shall tell thy audit !
Then stay the present inftant, dear Horatio;
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.
'Tis of more worth than kingdoms ! far more precious Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain.
Oh! let it not elude thy grafp, but like
The good old patriarch upon record,
Hold the fleet angel faft, until he blefs thee."
On Lord COBHAM'S Gardens.
T puzzles much the fages' brains,
Where Eden stood of yore;
Some place it in Arabia's plains,
Some fay, it is no more.
But Cobham can these tales confute,
As all the curious know;
For he has prov'd beyond difpute,
That paradife is STOW.
To a Child of Five Years old.
AIREST flow'r, all flow'rs excelling,
Which in Eden's garden grew;
Flow'rs of Eve's imbower'd dwelling, *
Are, my Fair-one, types of you.
Mark, my Polly, how the rofes
Emulate thy damask cheek ;
How the bud its sweets discloses,
Buds thy opening bloom befpeak.
Lillies are, by plain direction,
Emblems of a double kind;
Emblems of thy fair complexion,
Emblems of thy fairer mind.
But, dear girl, both flow'rs and beauty
Bloffom, fade, and die away;.
Then pursue good fenfe and duty,
Evergreens, that ne'er decay.
*Alluding to Milton's defcription of Eve's bower.
Written in Lord WESTMORLAND'S Hermitage.
gay attire, ne marble hall,
Ne arched roof, ne pictur'd wall;
Ne cook of Fraunce, ne dainty board,
Béftow'd with pyes of perigord;
Ne power, ne fuch like idle fancies
Sweet Agnes grant to father Francis;
Let me ne more myself deceive;
Ne more regret the toys I leave;
The world I quit, the proud, the vain,
Corruption's and Ambition's train;
But not the good, perdie nor fair,
'Gainft them I make ne vow, ne pray'r;
But fuch aye welcome to my cell,
And oft, not always, with me dwell ;
Then caft, fweet Saint, a circle round,
And blefs from fools this holy ground;
From all the foes to worth and truth,
From wanton old, and homely youth;
The gravely dull and pertly gay,
Oh banish thefe; and by my fay,
Right well I ween that in this age,
Mine house shall prove an hermitage.
An Infcription on the Cell.
Beneath these moss-grown roots, this ruftick cell,
Truth, Liberty, Content, fequefter'd dwell;
Say you, who dare our hermitage difdain,
What drawing-room can boast so fair a train?
An Infcription in the Cell.
Sweet bird that fing'ft on yonder spray,
Purfue unharm'd thy fylvan lay;
While I beneath this breezy fhade,
In peace repofe my careless head;
And joining thy enraptur'd fong,
Inftruct the world-enamour'd throng,
That the contented harmless breaft
In folitude itself is bleft.
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