Or when the Air dead stillness keept,
And Cynthia on the water fleeps ;
Charms the dull ear of fober night,
With love-born Music's sweet delight.

Oft as thy Orb performs its round,
Thou lift neft to the various found
Of thepherds' hopes and Maidens' fears
(Thofe confcious Cynthia filent hears
While Echo which ftill loves to mock,
Bears them about from Rock to Rock)

But shift we now the penfive fcenes
Where Cynthia filvers o'er the green.
Mark yonder Spot, whofe equal rim
Forms the green circle quaint and trim ;
Hither the Fairies blith advance,
And lightly trip in mazy dance;
Beating the panfic-paven ground
In frolic meafures round and round;
Thefe Cynthia's Revels gayly keep,
While lazy mortals fnure afleep;
Whom oft they vifit in the night,
Not vifible to human fight;
And as old prattling Wives relate,
Though now the fashion's out of date,
Drop fixpence in the Housewife's fhoe,
whofe And pinch the Slattern black and blue-
They fill the mind with airy schemes,
And bring the Ladies pleafant dreams.

Who knows not Mab, whofe chariot glides,

And athwart men's nofes rides ?

While OBERON, blith Fairy, trips,

And hovers o'er the Ladies Lips;

en

And when he steals ambrofil blifs,

When Evening dons her mantle grey,

I'll wind my folitary way,

And hie me to fome lonely grove (The haunt of Fancy and of love) Whofe focial branches, far outfpread, Poffefs the mind with pleafing dread. While Cynthia quivers through the trees That wanton with the fummer breeze, And the clear brook, or dimpled stream, Reflects oblique her dancing beam. How often, by thy filver light, Have Lovers' tongues beguil'd the Night? When forth the happy pair have ftray'd, The amorous fwain and tender maid, And as they walk'd the groves along, Cheer'd the ftill Eve with various fong. While ev'ry Artful strain confeft The mutual Paffion in their breaft. The lovers' hours fly fwift away, And Night reluctant yields to Day.

And foft imprints the charming Kifs,
In Dreams the Nymph her fwain pursues,
Nor thinks 'tis OBERON that woes.

Yet fportive Youth, and lovely Fair,
From hence, my Leffon read, beware,
While Innocence and Mirth prefide,
We care not where the Fairies glide;
And OBERON will never mifs
To greet his fav'rites with a Kifs;
Nor ever more Ambrofia fips,
Than when he vifits-

's Lips,

All mournful the midnight bell rung,
When Lucy, fad Lucy, arose;
And forth to the green turf fhe fprung,
Where COLIN's pale afhes repofe.
All wet with the night's chilling dew.
Her bofom embrac'd the cold ground,
While ftormy winds over her blew,

And night-ravens croak'd all-around. "How long, my lov'd COLIN," the cry'd, "How long must thy Lucy complain? How long fhall the grave my love hide? "How long ere it join us again? For thee thy fond fhepherdefs liv'd, "With thee o'er the world would she fly; For thee has the forrow'd and griev'd; "For thee would fhe lie down and die,

Alas! what avails it how dear
"Thy Lucy was once to her fwain!
Her face like the lily fo fair,

"And eyes that gave light to the plain.

D%

:;

O, ftudy more-discard that Siren, Eafe, Whofe fatal charms are murd'rous while "they please.

"Wit's fcanty streams will fret their channel dry,
If Learning's fpring withhold the fresh fupply.
Turn leaf by leaf gigantick volumes o'er,
<<Nor blush to know what ancients wrote before.
Why not, fometimes, regale admiring friends
« With Greek and Latin fprinklings, odds and ends?
Exert your talents; read, and read to write !
"As Horace fays, mix profit with delight."

"Tis rare advice: but I am flow to mend,
Though ever thankful to my partial friend :
Full of ftrange fears-for hopes are banish'd all-
I lift' no more to Phoebus' facred call,

Smit with the Mufe, 'tis true, I fought her charms;
But came no champion, clad in cumb'rous arms,
To pull each rival monarch from his throne,
And fwear no lady Clio like my own.

All unambitious of fuperior praise,

My fond amufement ask'd a sprig of bays,
Some little fame for ftringing harmless verse,
And e'en that little fame has prov'd a curfe';
Hitch'd into rhime, and dragg'd through muddy
profe,

By butcher criticks, worth's confed'rate foes.

If then the Mufe no more fhall strive to please,
Lull'd in the happy lethargy of cafe;
If, unadvent rous, the forbear to fing,
Nor take one thought to plume her ruffled wing;
'Tis that he hates, howe'er by nature vain,
The fcurril nonfenfe of a venal train.
When defp'rate robbers, iffuing from the waste,
Make fuch rude inroads on the land of taste,
Genius grows fick beneath the Gothic rage,
Or feeks her laurels from fome worthier age.

As for Myself, I own the prefent charge;
Lazy and lounging, I confefs at large :
Yet Eafe, perhaps, may lofe her filken chains,
And the next hour become an hour of pains.
We write, we read, we act, we think, by fits,
And follow all thing`s as the humour hits;
For of all pleafures, which the world can bring,
Variety-O! dear variety's the thing!

Our learned Coke, from whom we fcribblers draw
All the wife Dictums of poetic law,

Lays down this truth, from whence my maxim lows,

(See Horace, Ode Dec. Sext.—the cafe Apollo's) The God of Verse disclaims a plodding wretch, "Nor keeps his bow for ever on the stretch."

However great my thirst of honest fame, I bow with rev'rence to each letter'd name; To worth, where'er it be, with joy fubmit, But own no curft monopolies of wit. Nor think, my friend, if I but rarely quote, And little reading fhines through what I've wrote, That I bid peace to ev'ry learned shelf; Because I dare form judgments for myself. -Oh! were it mine, with happy skill to look Up to the ONE, the UNIVERSAL BOOK! Open to all-to him, to me, to you, -For NATURE's open to the general viewThen would I fcorn the ancients' vaunted ftore, And boaft my thefts, where they but robb'd before.

Mean while with them, while Græcian found impart

Th' eternal paffions of the human heart,
Bursting the bonds of eafe and lazy rest,

I feel the flame mount active in my breast;
Or when, with joy, I turn the Roman page,
I live, in fancy, in th' AUGUSTAN age!
Till fome dull Bavius' or a Mævius' name,
Damn'd by the Muse to everlasting fame,
Forbids the mind in foreign climes to roam,
And brings me back to our old fools at home.

SONG S

IN

THE CAPRICIOUS LOVERS.

AIR I.

HILE the cool and gentle breeze

W Whilpers fragrance through the trees,

Nature walking o'er the scene
Clad in robes of lively green,
From the fweetness of the place
Labour wears a chearful face.

Sure I tafte of joys fincere,
Faithful COLIN ever near;
When with ceafelefs toil opprefs'd,
Wearied nature finks to rett.
All my labours to beguile,
Love fhall wake me with a smile.

AIR II.

THOUGH my features i'm told
Are grown wrinkled and old,

Dull wisdom I hate and deteft,

Not a wrinkle is there Which is furrow'd by care, And my heart is as light as the best.

W HEN the head of poor Tummas was broke
By Roger, who play'd at the wake.
And Kate was alarm'd at the stroke,
And wept for poor Tummas's fake;
When his worship gave noggins of ale,
And the liquor was charming and stout,
O those were the times to regale,
And we footed it rarely about.
Then our partners were buxom as does,
And we all were as happy as kings,
Each lad in his holyday cloaths,

And the laffes in all their best things.
What merriment all the day long!
May the feast of our Collin prove fuch,
dzooks, but I'll join in the song,
And I'll hobble about with my crutch.

AIR V.

Wand morning ftreaks the purple sky,

HEN vapours o'er the meadow die,

I wake to love with jocund glee
To think on him, who doats on me.

VOL. VIII.