Against their murthering haste; to deprecate His doom, and urge the guilt of their misdeed, Vain is the rhetorick of his eyes, and tongue, His death the life of others must prolong..

So nice the painter's art, it all supplies
But words, to breathe his agonizing pain;
For words, he drew such passion in his eyes
As far above weak language does complain;
Calls 'em inhuman and ungentle knaves,
Barbarians, murthering carls, and savage slaves.

What can my blood, the shadow seems to say, To your relief contribute, when 'tis spilt ? Will staving off grim death a little day, Before just heaven compensate for your guilt? Oh think as hunger will again invade you, Your turns will come, and let that thought disswade you.

Address to Poverty.

THRO' thee the half-starved soldier sheathes in

arms

His rugged limbs and in the casque his head;

Thro' thee sustains the foeman's rude alarms, The toils of watching, and the battle s dread :

Now scorching with the sun that scales his brain,

Now stiff with ice, and drenched with chilling rain.

Thro' thee the sea-boy climbs the giddy mast And hears the furious winds around him roar;

Beholds the whitened surge, nor stands aghast, Whilst curling billows lash the sounding shore;

Whilst black faced clouds ride o'er the troubled sky

And murmuring deeps proclaim the tempest nigh.

To Gold, from the same.

OH mighty Gold! thou second cause of fate, Thou blood-sought blessing, honour-purchased prize,

Thou precious nourisher of fierce debate,
Thou idol of our souls, and joy of eyes,

Great mistress of our passions, price of vows!
The gladden'd world thy rightful sway allows.

Blind Goddess of desires, thou bane of woe, Balm of affliction, monarch of content,

Nurse of repose, night-waking sorrow's foe Seasoning of health, and pleasure's instrument Possessing thee, the tear distained eye Forgets to weep and puts on gaiety.

Possessing thee, uncouth events are check'd Time's spite o'er-ruled and Envy's edge rebuted; The death of parents made of slight respect; Distress exiled, and dolour subjugated :

Possessing thee, heart-easing comfort reigns,
Age feels not its decays, nor sickness pains.

For thee the robber's sacrilegious hand
Plunders the shrine; for thee, the murtherer stains
His arm and soul with blood; at thy command
Sudden rebellion frights the peaceful plains:

Traitors, for thee in horrid council sit,

And sconced in night on kingdom's downfalls

meet.

For thee cold Modesty throws off her veil,
Disdains the rosie blush, and down-cast eye,
Wishful she listens to the lover's tale
And fans his ardour with an amorous sigh.

Pernicious Gold! Thou poisoner of the mind,
How dost thou cherish guilt of every kind.

JAMES MILLER.

1703-1744.

When Miller was in embarrassed circumstances, the Ministry tempted him by very liberal offers to forsake his own highchurch principles, and write in their defence. It staggered him, for he was a married man, with a family, and tenderly attached to a wife, who indeed, deserved the tenderest attachment. He hinted to her on what terms preferment might be purchased, and she rejected them with an indignation which almost abashed him. He would have bargained for silence, but that did not satisfy the Ministry.

This good man died just when his affairs were becoming prosperous. His admirable wife devoted the whole profit of a benefit play, which was given her, and of a large subscription for a volume of his Sermons to the payment of his debts, though by so doing she left herself and her children, almost destitute of the common necessaries of life.

He was author of several dramatick Pieces.

The Humours

of Oxford, his first play, surmounted the opposition that was made to it; his second attempt was the Mother-inLaw, which from fear of ill success, came out under the name of his friend Henry Baker, and ran between twenty and thirty nights. For his third play, he justly feared;

for the best Pieces in our language, were at the time of its appearance, performed to empty benches, while the taste of the town was led captive, by the quaverings of Farinelli, and nonsense reigned in full glory at the Opera. The play however, which was called, The Man of Taste, was represented for thirty nights successively to crowded houses, and was looked on as a seasonable satire. He was also successful, notwithstanding the attempts of his personal enemies in a fourth play, called The Universal Passion. The Harlequin Horace, and the Poem " Of Politeness," are ingenious and spirited satires, the first written on the model of the Ars Poetica.

From Harlequin Horace; or, the Art of Modern Poetry.

THE way to write of heroes, and of kings,

And sing, in wonderous numbers, wonderous things;

Of mighty matters done in bloody battle,

How arms meet arms, swords clash, and cannons

rattle,

How such strange toils and turmoils to rehearse,
Is learnt from Blackmore's everlasting verse.
To sing of shepherds, and of shepherdesses,
Their aukward humours, dialogues, and dresses: