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ON THE SAME.

SIR Gusman turn'd his brain, why then,
Cries Ned, e'n let him turn't again.
His coat he turn'd; ay, from my heart,
Cries honest Dick, I'm sorry for't.

Of Irish Ram, thus have I seen,
For twice two shillings sold the skin;
And on the stall neglected laid,

An useless heap his blundering head.

TO DELIA SINGING,

YES, my fair, to thee belong,
All the noblest powers of song;
Trust me, for I scorn deceit,
Nought on earth is half so sweet,
As the melting, dying note
Warbling through thy liquid throat,
Save the breath in which it flows,
Save the lip on which it grows.

WILLIAM WHITEHEAD.

Cambridge.-1741.-1785.

Cibber's successor as Laureat.

TO MR. MASON.

BELIEVE me Mason, 'tis in vain

Thy fortitude the torrent braves;
Thou too must bear the inglorious chain;
The world will have its slaves.
The chosen friend for converse sweet,
The small, yet elegant retreat,
Are peaceful unambitious views

Which early fancy loves to form,
When aided by the ingenuous muse,
She turns the philosophick page,
And sees the wise of every age,
With nature's dictates warm,

But ah, to few has fortune given
The choice to take, or to refuse ;
To fewer still indulgent Heaven
Allots the very will to choose,

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And why are varying schemes preferr'd?
Man mixes with the common herd:
By custom guided to pursue,

Or wealth, or honours, fame, or ease.
What others wish, he wishes too,
Nor forms his own peculiar choice,

'Till strengthen'd by the public voice,
His very pleasures please.

How oft, beneath some hoary shade
Where Cam glides indolently slow
Hast thou, as indolently laid,

Preferr'd to Heaven thy favourite vow, "Here, here for ever let me stay,

"Here calmly loiter life away,

"Nor all those vain connections know

"Which fetter down the free-born mind,

"The slave of interest, or show;

"While yon gay tenant of the

grove,

"The happier heir of Nature's love,

"Can warble unconfined."

Yet sure my friend, the eternal plan
By truth unerring was design d;
Interior parts were made for man,
But man himself for all mankind.

Then by the apparent judge the unseen;
Behold how rolls this vast machine

To one great end, howe'er withstood,
Directing its impartial course.

All labour for the general good;
Some stem the wave, some till the soil,
By choice the bold, the ambitious toil,
The indolent by force.

That bird, thy fancy frees from care,
With many a fear unknown to thee,
Must rove to glean his scanty fare

From field to field, from tree to tree,

His lot united with his kind,
Has all his little joys confined;
The lover's and the parents' ties

Alarm by turns his anxious breast,
Yet, bound by fate, by instinct wise,
He hails with songs the rising morn,
And, pleased at evening's cool return,
He sings himself to rest.

And tell me, has not nature made
Some stated void for thee to fill,

Some spring, some wheel, which asks thy aid To move regardless of thy will?

Go then, go feel with glad surprise
New bliss from new attentions rise;
Till, happier in thy wider shpere,

Thou quit thy darling schemes of ease;

Nay, glowing in the full career,
Even wish thy virtuous labours more;
Nor 'till the toilsome day is o'er
Expect the night of peace.

INSCRIPTION FOR A TREE.

*

On the Terrace at Nuneham, Oxfordshire.
THIS tree was planted by a female hand,
In the gay dawn of rustick beauty's glow:
And fast beside it did her cottage stand,
When age

snow.

had cloathed the matron's head with

* This tree is well known to the country people, by the name of Bab's Tree. It was planted by one Barbara Wyat, who was so much attached to it, that, on the removal of the village of Nuneham, to where it is now built, she earnestly entreated that she might still remain in her old habitation. Her request was complied with, and her cottage not pulled down till after her death.

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