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Aul. Did. The morn doth hasten our departure, Prepare thee, king, to go: a fav’ring gale Now swells our sails. Car.

Inhuman, that thou art ! Dost thou deny a moment for a father To shed a few warm tears o'er his dead son? I tell thee, chief, this act might claim a life, To do it duly; even a longer life, Than sorrow ever suffer'd. Cruel man! And thou deniest me moments. Be it so. I know you Romans weep not for your children; Ye triuniph o'er your tears, and think it valour; I triumph in my tears. Yes, best-lov'd boy, Yes, I can weep, can fall upon thy corse, And I can tear my hairs, these few grey hairs, The only honours war and age hath left mé. Ah son! thou might'st have rul'd o'er many nations, As did thy royal ancestry: but I, Rash that I was, ne’er knew the golden curb Discretion hangs on brav'ry: else perchance These men, that fasten fetters on thy father, Had sued to him for peace, and claim'd his friend

ship. Aul. Did. But thou wast still implacable to Rome, And scorn'd her friendship. Car. (starting up from the body.) Soldier, I had

arms, Had neighing steeds to whirl my iron cars, Had wealth, dominion. Dost thou wonder, Roman, I fought to save them? What if Cæsar aims,

Car.

To lord it universal o'er the world,
Shall the world tamely crouch at Cæsar's footstool?
Aul. Did. Read in thy fate our answer. Yet if

sooner
Thy pride had yielded

Thank thy gods, I did not. Had it been so, the glory of thy master, Like my misfortunes, had been short and trivial, Oblivion's ready prey: now, after struggling Nine years, and that right bravely 'gainst a tyrant, I am his slave to treat as seems him good; If cruelly, 'twill be an easy task To bow a wretch, alas ! how bow'd already! Down to the dust: if well, his clemency, When trick'd and varnish'd by your glossing penmen, Will shine in honour's annals, and adorn Himself; it boots not me. Look there, look there ! The slave that shot that dart kill'd ev'ry hope Of lost Caractacus! Arise, my daughter; Alas! poor prince, art thou too in vile fetters ?

[T, ELIDURUS. Come hither, youth: be thou to me a son, To her a brother. Thus with trembling arms I lead you forth; children, we go to Rome. Weep'st thou, my girl? I prithee hoard thy tears For the sad meeting of thy captive mother: For we have much to tell her, much to say Of these good men, who nurtur'd us in Mona; Much of the fraud and malice, that pursu'd us ; Much of her son, who pour'd his precious blood

To save his sire and sister: think'st thou, maid,
Her gentleness can hear the tale, and live?
And yet she must. Oh gods, I grow a talker!
Grief and old age are ever full of words : '
But I'll be mute. Adieu ! ye holy men;
Yet one look more-Now lead us hence for ever.

EPITAPH ON MRS. MASON,

IN THE CATHEDRAL OF BRISTOL.

TAKE, bohat best sii bore with a to tas

Take, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear:

Take that best gift which Heav'n so lately gave : To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care

Her faded form; she bow'd to taste the wave, And died. Does youth, does beauty, read the line?

Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm? Speak, dead Maria ! breathe a strain divine:

Ev'n from the grave thou shalt have power to : : charm. Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee;

Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move; And if so fair, from vanity as free;

As firm in friendship, and as fond in love. Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die,

('Twas ev'n to thee) yet the dread path once trod, Heav'n lifts its everlasting portals high,

And bids “the pure in heart behold their God."

AN HEROIC EPISTLE'

TO

SIR WILLIAM CHAMBERS, KNIGHT,

COMPTROLLER GENERAL OF HIS MAJESTY'S WORKS, AND

AUTHOR OF A LATE DISSERTATION ON ORIENTAL GARDENING.-ENRICHED WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES, CHIEFLY EXTRACTED FROM THAT ELABORATE PERFORMANCE.'

Knight of the polar star! by fortune plac'd
To shine the Cynosure of British taste %;
Whose orb collects in one refulgent view
The scatter'd glories of Chinese virtù;
And spread their lustre in so broad a blaze,
That kings themselves are dazzled while they gaze.
O let the Muse attend thy march sublime,
And, with thy prose, caparison her rhyme;
Teach her, like thee, to gild her splendid song, .
With scenes of Yven-Ming, and sayings of Li-Tsongo;

1 This poem was first published in May 1773.

* Cynosure, an affected phrase. “Cynosura is the constellation of Ursa Minor, or the Lesser Bear, the next star to the pole.” Dr. Newton, on the word in Milton.

3 « Many trees, shrubs and flowers,” sayeth Li-Tsong, a Chinese author of great antiquity, " thrive best in low, moist situations ; many on hills and mountains; some require a rich soil; but others will grow on clay, in sand, or even upon rocks, and in the water : to some a sunny exposition is necessary; but for others the shade is preferable. There are plants which thrive best in exposed situations, but in general, shelter is requisite. The skilful gardener, to whom study and experience have taught these qualities, carefully attends to them in his operations; knowing that thereun

Like thee to scorn dame Nature's simple fence;
Leap each ha-ha of truth and common sense;
And proudly rising in her bold career,
Demand attention from the gracious ear .
Of him, whom we and all the world admit,
Patron supreme of science, taste, and wit.
Does envy doubt? Witness ye chosen train,
Who breathe the sweets of his Saturnian reign;
Witness ye Hills, ye Johnsons, Scots, Sheabbeares,
Hark to my call, for some of you have ears.
Let David Hume, from the remotest north,
In see-saw sceptic scruples hint his worth;
David, who there supinely deigns to lye
The fattest hog of Epicurus' sty;
Though drunk with Gallic wine, and Gallic praise,
David shall bless Old England's halcyon days;
The mighty Home, bemir'd in prose so long,
Again shall stalk upon the stilts of song:
While bold Mac-Ossian, wont in ghosts to deal,
Bids candid Smollett from his coffin steal;
Bids Mallock quit his sweet Elysian rest,
Sunk in his St. John's philosophic breast,
And, like old Orpheus, make some strong effort
To come from Hell, and warble Truth at Court'.

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depend the health and growth of his plants; and consequently the beauty of his plantations.” Vide Diss. p. 77. The reader, 1 presume, will readily allow, that he never met with so much recondite truth, as this ancient Chinese here exhibits.

1 Vide (if it be extant) a poem under this title, for which (or for the publication of lord Bolingbroke's philosophical writings)

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