With many a well-dissembled wile

The kind, convenient husband's care beguile;
More deeply versed in Venus' mystick lore,
Yet for such meaner arts too lofty and sublime,
The proud, high-born, patrician whore,
Bears unabash'd her front, and glories in her
crime.

Hither from city and from court

The votaries of love resort;

The rich, the great, the gay, and the severe ; The pension'd architect of laws;

The patriot, loud in virtue's cause; Proud of imputed worth, the Peer; Regardless of his faith, his country, or his name, He pawns his honour and estate;

Nor reckons at how dear a rate

He purchases disease, and servitude, and shame.

Not from such dastard sires, to every virtue lost, Sprung the brave youth, which Britain once could boast:

Who curb'd the Gaul's usurping sway,

Who swept the unnumber'd hosts away,

In Agincourt, and Cressy's glorious plain;
Who dyed the seas with Spanish blood,
Their vainly-vaunted fleets subdued,

And spread the mighty wreck o'er all the vanquish'd main.

No-'twas a generous race, by worth transmissive

known:

In their bold breast their father's spirit glow'd: In their pure veins their mother's virtue flow'd: They made hereditary praise their own.

The sire his emulous offspring led

The rougher paths of fame to tread;
The matron train'd their spotless youth
In honour, sanctity and truth;

Framed by the united parents' care,

The sons, though bold, were wise; the daughters chaste though fair.

How time, all-wasting, even the worst impairs, And each foul age to dregs still fouler runs! Our sires, more vicious even then theirs, Left us, still more degenerate heirs,

To spawn a baser brood of monster-breeding

sons,

NATHANIEL COTTON.

1788.

This authour was a Physician at St. Alban's, where he acquired considerable reputation. Dr. Anderson, in the life prefixed to Cotton's Works, laments that of the family, birth-place, and education of Nathaniel Cotton, there are no written memorials.'

THE FIRESIDE.

DEAR Cloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance ;
Though singularity and pride

Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,
To spoil our heartfelt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam;
The world hath nothing to bestow,
From our ownselves our bliss must flow,
And that dear hut our home.

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark;

Giving her vain excursions o'er,

The disappointed bird once more

Explored the sacred bark.

Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,

We, who improve his golden hours,

By sweet experience know,

That marriage rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good,

A paradise below.

Our babes shall richer comfort bring;
If tutor'd right they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise;

We'll form their minds with studious care
To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies.

While they our wisest hours engage,
They'll joy our youth, support our age,

And crown our hoary hairs;
They'll grow in virtue every day,
And they our fondest loves repay,
And recompence our cares.

No borrow'd joys! they 're all our own,
While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot :

Monarchs, we envy not your state,
We look with pity on the great,
And bless our humble lot.

Our portion is not large, indeed,
But then how litttle do we need!

For nature's calls are few.

In this the art of living lies,

To want no more than may suffice,
And make that little do.