"That shot thy foretop might have made it's prey, "Or sing'd one dear devoted curl away;

“Or lopp'd that hand, the pride of love and lace; "Or scarr'd, with bolder sacrilege, thy face."

Soon as to Brooks's thence thy footsteps bend, What gratulations thy approach attend! See Gibbon rap his box; auspicious sign, That classic compliment and wit combine ; See Beauclerk's cheek a tinge of red surprise, And Friendship give what cruel Health denies. Important Townshend! what can thee withstand? The ling'ring black-ball lags in Boothby's hand; Ev'n Draper checks the sentimental sigh, And Smith, without an oath, suspends the dye.

That night, to festive wit and friendship due. That night thy Charles's board shall welcome you. Sallads, that shame ragouts, shall woo thy taste; Deep shalt thou delve in Weltjie's motley paste; Derby shall lend, if not his plate, his cooks,

And, know, I've bought the best Champaigne from
Brooks;

From liberal Brooks, whose speculative skill,
Is hasty credit, and a distant bill;

Who, nurs'd in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade,
Exults to trust, and blushes to be paid!

On that auspicious night, supremely grac'd With chosen guests, the pride of liberal taste,

Not in contentious heat, nor madʼning strife,
Not with the busy ills, nor cares of life,

We'll waste the fleeting hours; far happier themes
Shall claim each thought, and chase ambition's dreams,
Each beauty that sublimity can boast

He best shall tell, who still unites them most.
Of wit, of taste, of fancy, we'll debate ;
If Sheridan for once be not too late :

But scarce a thought to Ministers we'll spare,
Unless on Polish Politics, with Hare:
Good-natur'd Devon! oft shall then appear
The cool complacence of thy friendly sneer:
Oft shall Fitzpatrick's wit, and Stanhope's ease,
And Burgoyne's manly sense unite to please.
And while each guest attends our varied feats
Of scatter'd covies and retreating fleets,
Me shall they wish some better sport to gain,
And Thee more glory from the next campaign,

EPISTLE XI.

THE PROJECT.

TO THE

REV. DEAN TUCKER,

By the Same.

Verum, ubi, tempestas, et coeli mobilis humor

Mutavere vias, et Jupiter uvidus Austris

Densat erant quae rara modo, et quae densa, relaxat,
Vertuntur, species animorum.-----

Virg.

That climate forms the character;

And prove each nation, tame, or bold,
Just as its air is hot or cold;

What schemes might crafty statesmen lay,

If such a system they'd obey?

Suppose the Turks, who now agree

It wou'd fatigue them to be free,
Should build an ice house, to debate

More cooly on affairs of state,

Might not some Mussulmen be brought,

To brace their minds, not shrink at thought?

Epist. Xi.

EPISTLES DESCRIPTIVE, &c.

93

How, as their blood began to cool,
Would nature scorn despotic rule ?
The silken sons of slavish ease,

Wou'd glow for freedom, while they freeze;
And, in proportion to the coldness,
Discover latent fire and boldness.

For thus 'tis Montesquieu explains
The power of air upon the veins;
The short'ning fibres brac'd by cold,
The blood flies back, the heart grows bold;
Relax'd by heat, their force declines,

The spirits droop, the being pines:
'Till, quite o'erpow'r'd, the sick'ning soul,
Yields to the atmosphere's control.
Thus air each impulse can impart,

To that thermometer, the heart.

Thanks, mighty Jove, thy sovereign care,
Environs us with Northern air!

Our atmosphere to honor leads,

Inspires the breast to hardy deeds ;

The heart beats quick ;—the spirits rise;
All which our latitude supplies.
Yet, (for extremes ev'n virtue mar)
We sometimes carry ours too far:
When winter winds too chilly pierce,
We grow impatient, wild and fierce;
While every softer virtue flies,
To gentler climes, and milder skies.

To moderate this bold extreme,
Is oft the philosophic theme;
Sense, wit, and policy combine;
But still too learnedly refine.
The system's plain if well pursued ;
We must correct our latitude.

How many Questions have been lost,
By the house meeting in a frost?
The opposition flock together,

Like strings of wild geese, in hard weather;
Keen, as the blast that chills their blood,
They nip each ministerial bud :

The tender bloom of ways and means,

That North with wit and wisdom screens, Too oft their adverse influence feels, Shrinks from the storm, and half congeals; That, ev'n in all his blushing grace, Bamber scarce thaws them, with-his face.

Whence then, in spite of sense and reason, Do statesmen choose this adverse season? Why not the parliament adjourn, 'Till summer's genial suns return? But ah, what honest squire would stay To make his speech, instead of hay? The Beaux wou'd scarcely think of law, To give up Scarborough or Spa: