ODE VI.

THE STATESMAN.

By the Same.

Quem virum, aut heroa, lyra, vel acri

Tibia sumes celebrare, Clio?

Quem deum, &c.

HOR.

WHAT

HAT statesman, what hero, what king,
Whose name through the island is spread,
Will you choose, O my Clio! to sing,
Of all the great, living or dead?

Go, my Muse, from this place to Japan,
In search of a topic for rhyme :

The great Earl of Bath is the man,

Who deserves to employ your whole time.

But, howe'er, as the subject is nice,

And perhaps you're unfurnish'd with matter,

May it please you to take my advice,

That you may n't be suspected to flatter.

When you touch on his Lordship's high birth,
Speak Latin as if you were tipsy;
Say, we all are the sons of the earth,
Et genus non fecimus ipsi.

Proclaim him as rich as a Jew;

Yet attempt not to reckon his bounties. You may say he is married; that's true: Yet speak not a word of his Countess.

Leave a blank here and there in each page,
To enroll the fair deeds of his youth!
When you mention the acts of his age,

Leave a blank for his honour and truth!

Say, he made a great monarch change hands: He spake---and the minister fell.

Say, he made a great statesman of Sandys; (Oh! that he had taught him to spell !)

Then enlarge on his cunning and wit:
Say, how he harangu'd at the Fountain;

Say, how the old patriots were bit,

And a mouse was produc'd by a mountain.

Then say, how he mark'd the new year,
By increasing our taxes, and stocks:
Then say, how he chang'd to a peer,
Fit companions for Edgecumbe and Fox.

ÖDE VII.

By the Same.

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa

Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?

HOR.

WHAT (good Lord Bath) prim patriot now
With courtly graces wooes thee?

And from St. Stephen's Chapel to
The House of Lords pursues thee?

How gay and debonnair you're grown!
How pleas'd with what is past!
Your title has your judgment shewn,
And choice of friends your taste.

With sparkling wits to entertain
Yourself and your good Countess,
You've hit on sweet lipp'd Harry Vane,
And high bred Harry Furnese.

But to direct the affairs of state,
What geniuses you've taken!
Their talents, like their virtues, great
Or all the world's mistaken.

The task was something hard, 'tis true,
Which you had on your hands;
So, to please prince and people too,
You wisely pitch'd on Sandys.

O Britain! never any thing

Could so exactly hit you:

His mien and manners charm'd the king,

His parts amaz'd the city.

But to make all things of a piece,

And end as you begun;

To find a genius such as his,

What was there to be done?

O where---where were he to be found?
Such stars but rare appear!
Dart not their rays on ev'ry ground,
Gild ev'ry hemisphere.

But you with astronomic eyes,

Not Tycho Brahe's more true,
From far spy'd some bright orbs arise,
And brought them to our view.

Sir John's clear head and sense profound
Blaz'd out in parliament;
Gibbons, for eloquence renown'd,
To grace the court was sent.

To these congenial souls you join'd
Some more, as choice and proper,
Bright Bootle, darling of mankind!
Good Limerick---and sage Hooper.

Such virtue and such wisdom shone
In ev'ry chosen spirit!

All men at least this truth must own,
Your nice regard to merit!

What prayers and praise to you belong,
For this blest reformation!

Thou joy of ev'ry heart and tongue!
Thou saviour of the nation!

O Walpole, Walpole, blush for shame!
With all your tools around you!
Does not each glorious patriot name
Quite dazzle and confound you.

Had you sought out this patriot race,
Triumphant still you'd been;

By only putting them in place,
You had yourself kept in.