Behold the self-tormentor drag his chains,

And weary heaven with many a fruitless groan! By pining fasts, by voluntary pains,

Revenging nature's cause, he pleads his own,

Yet prostrate, suppliant to the throne above,
He calls down heaven in thunders to pursue
Heaven's fancied foes-O God of peace and love
The voice of thunder is no voice from you!

Mistaken mortal! 'tis that God's decree

To spare thy own, nor shed another's blood: Heaven breathes benevolence, to all, to thee; Each being's bliss consummates general good,

VOL. III.

[98]

DANIEL BELLAMY.

London. 1687-1775.

This gentleman was the son of opulent parents, but the unfortunate issue of the south sea scheme obliged him, * to turn those talents, which were intended for the ornament towards the support of life," and he actually devoted more than half a century to writing for the publick.

As an example of that virtuous levity of heart, of which no adverse circumstances can deprive those who early and assiduously cultivate the means of preserving; the following extract is taken from a M. S. preface to his works, written by his son D. Bellamy, Chaplain at Kew, in the possession of Thomas Hill, Esq. of Queenhithe. "The fable of the City Mouse and the Country Mouse;

and of the Dog and the Shadow, in the tenth article of this collection, were written in the mad year 1720; at which time our author was so deeply engaged in the south sea scheme, that he there lost his lands, and sunk his fortune. As somewhat too nearly similar to the infatuation of that year has happened to varicus adventurers in

change-alley in our times, it is presumed there will be the less need of apology for re-printing those poetical sallies on such an interesting event; more especially as they convey the feelings of the author while smarting under the distresses which those projects brought upon him; and which gave the colour to every transaction of a life extended to the age of eighty-eight years. Our author de parted this life the 6th day of February, 1775."

The Old Lyon.

ALL drown'd in tears a lion sat,
With age and cares oppress'd:
Once the dread sovereign of the plains,
But now his subjects jest.

The tenants of the groves and meads
Insult him now by turns:

The bear torments him with his tusks,
The bull with levelled horns.

But above all the coward ass
Of former wrongs complains;

Turns tail, and with uplifted heels,
Still aggravates his pains.

The lion sigh'd, and dying curst

The day that he was born;

Who'd wish to live, that once becomes

A senseless ass's scorn.

The Application.

WHEN fortune frowns and friends disdain us,
Their censure's hard to bear;
But when a fool's reflections pain us

They drive us to despair.

The City Mouse and Country Mouse.

A MODERN Mouse bred up at 'change

An active, airy cit;

Worth twice two plums, tho' more by chance,

Than by the dint of wit.

Took a short tour one leisure day

In all the pomp of pride;

His south-sea coach, six Flanders mares,

And sumpter horse beside.

To pay a visit to a friend,

An honest country yeoman,
A civil, modest, easy clown,
One that wish'd ill to no man.

At his approach Hob look'd aghast;
And stared with all his eyes;
Not thinking of his quondam friend,
In such a gay disguise.

But recollecting soon :-He said,
I hope you'll stay and eat :
My house and fare are mean 'tis true;
Yet decent, Sir, and sweet.

Although Sir Courtly's stomach stood,
To such good country feeding;
He would not make a hearty meal
To shew his city breeding.

So pick'd and piddled at a crust,
And turned it o'er and o'er :
No dainty toothless lady could
Mumble a sweet-meat more.