To Mr. Pratt, now Lord Bayham, on his marriage
Marriage, a warning piece
On the Duchefs of Devon's refufing a diamond collar
Mr. L's addrefs to the freemen of Lancaster
The Minifter, in imitation of the Meffiah
British Beauties
On the death of Dr. Burton
Union of Folly and goed Senfe
On the younger branches of the Royal Family
Advertisement extraordinary
Paraphrafe of a Greek Ode
On Mr. Fox and Mr. Haftings at Cheltenham
Characters of Mr. Fox and Mr. Burke
BY THE RIGHT HON. HENRY FOX, LATE LORD HOLLAND.
O! Where are all the winds? O! who will feize
And bear me gafping to fome northern breeze?
Or weftward to yon Pyrenæans go
Lay me where lies the yet unmelted fnow.
O! my foul's panting wifh in mid-day dreams!
O! native foil! O! verdure, woods, and ftreams,
Where are ye? And thou! lovely Redlynch! where
Thy graffy prospects, and thy vernal air?
O! fend thy fpacious waters to my aid,
Lend me thy lofty elm's protecting shade;
Henceforth within thy limits let me live
O! England! injured climate! I forgive
Thy fpleen-inflicting mists, thy gloomy days,
I'll think thy clouds but intercept such rays
As now rage here, before whofe hostile blaze
The waters fhrink, withers herb, fruit, and grain,
And the blood throbs in the distemper'd vein.
So fhall I pleafed behold thy low'ring skies,
Contented fee thy thickest fogs arise,
For e'en to thy November's arms, to shun
This painful heat, with transport would I run.
ON TWELVTH NIGHT, AT COURT.
IN all we fay, or write, or do
We still have beauty in our view.
Before a Knight the lifts will enter
Some Dulcinea bids him venture,
To whom, if haply he fucceed,
He ftrait imputes the glorious deed;
'Twas not his ftrength or skill in arms,
But his bright Dame's fuperior charms.
Thus when we read in modern wars
By Pandours, Croats, and Huffars,
How towns are storm'd, how squadrons fäll,
'Tis their Queen's beauty does it all.
This truth does in Religion hold,
How languid here! how faint! how cold!
But mark the Catholic's devotion,
And who can paint his strong emotion.
Adoring, while his prayer he's urging,
A Raphael's, or a Guido's virgin?
This truth's in Poetry fo known
That, left no Mistress of his own
Should deign to guide the Poet's quill,
The Muses ply on Pindus' hill
With face, and form, and voice divine,
And he may have his choice of nine.
Thus, knowing well this maxim, Fox
Could not be brought to touch the box,
Till lovely Pembroke lent her aid,
And fmiled upon him as he played.
To fhew she was fincere too, went
I think they say, 'twas two per cent.
'Twas then infpired the dice he threw,
'Twas then, as if her mind they knew,
The dice in quick obedience flew.
But as all joys are mix'd with care,
He fancies now it fcarce was fair
(Hard fate! if spite of follies paft
He for a fharper pass at laft :)
Yet if he knew in Fortune's fcale
Superior beauty would prevail,
What chance had Harrington or Wade,
Unless they found fome lovely maid
Whose charms might Pembroke's charms excell ?
And where fuch prodigy should dwell,
Nor Heav'n, nor Earth, nor Muse can tell.
TO THE COUNTESS OF HILLSBOROUGH.
Too proud, too delicate to tell her wants
Her lover gueffes them, and gladly grants;
The with that he still trembles to explain
She long has known, but bids him with in vain ;
With tears inceffant he laments his case,
And carave fmall occafion for this vafe.
Go then beneath her bed or toilet stand,
But chiefly after tea be near at hand;
Sure of her notice then, then take your fill,
Nor fear one drop her tidy hand should spill,
Thoa Cyder or Champagne fupply the fource,
And laughter hurry forth the rapid course.
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