And make each puny rogue a prey,
While they, the greater, flink away.
This fimile perhaps would strike,
If match'd with something more alike;
Then take it dress'd a fecond time
In Prior's Fafe, and my Sublime.
Say, did you never chance to meet
A mob of people in the street.
Ready to give the robb'd relief.
And all in hafste to catch a thief;
While the fly rogue, who filch'd the prey,
Too close beset to run away,
Stop thief! flop thief! exclaims aloud,
And fo escapes among the crowd ?
So Minifters, &c.
O England, how I mourn thy fate!
For fure thy losses now are great;
Two such what Briton can endure,
Minorca, or the Connoiffeur !
To-day*, or e'er the fun goes down, Will die the Cenfor, Mr. Town!
* September 30th, 1756, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoiffeur, a periodical Effay (fince published in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London), took leave of his readers, with an humorons account of himself...
He dies, whoe'er takes pains to con him,
With blushing honours thick upon him;
O may his name these verses save,
Be these infcrib'd upon his grave!
"Know, Reader, that on Thursday died, "The Connoiffeur, a Suicide! "Yet think not that his foul is fled,
"Nor rank him 'mongst the vulgar dead,
"Howe'er defunct you fet him down,
"He's only going out of Town."
ON CONTENT.
T is not youth can give content,
Nor is it wealth's decree;
It is a gift from Heaven fent,
Tho' not to thee or me.
It is not in the Monarch's crown,
Tho' he'd give millions for't :
It dwells not in his Lordship's frown,
Or waits on him to court.
It is not in a coach aud fix,
It is not in a garter ;
*Tis not in love or politics,
But 'tis in Hodge the carter.
Veni Creator Spiritus, paraphrafed.
CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come vifit ev'ry pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind;
From fin and forrow fet us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee,
O fource of uncreated light,
The father's promis'd Paraclete!
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy facred unction bring-
To fanctify us, while we fing..
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy !
Thou strength of his Almighty hand,
Whofe pow'r does heaven and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence.
Who doft the gift of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence!
Refine and purge your earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!.
Our frailties help, our vice controul,
Submit the senses to the foul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.
Chase from our minds th' infernal foe,
And peace the fruit of love, bestow;
And left our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practice all that we believe:
Give us thyself, that we may fee
The Father and the Son, by thee,
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name::
The Saviour Son, be glorified,
Who for loft man's redemption died;;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee!
ARD by the gates of hell her dwelling is, There whereas all plagues and harmes abound Which punish wicked men, that walk amiss: It is a darksome delve farre under ground, With thornes and barren brakes environd round, That none the fame way may out-win; Yet many ways to enter may be found,
But none to issue forth when one is in;
For difcord harder is to end than to begin.
And all within the riven walles were hung
With rugged monuments of times fore-paft,
Of which, the fad effect of discord fung:
There were rent robes, and broken scepters plac't;
Altars defil'd, and holy things defac't
Dishevered spears, and shields ytorne in twaine,
Great cittys ransackt, and strong castles ras't,
Nations captived, and huge armies slaine :
Of all which ruines there some reliques did remaine.
There was the figne of antique Babylon,
Of fatal Thebes, of Rome that raigned long,
Of facred Salem, and fad Ilion,
For memory of which, on high there hong
The golden apple (cause of all their wrong)
For which the three faire goddesses did strive:
There alfo was the name of Nimrod strong,
Of Alexander, and the princes five,
Which shar'd to them the spoiles which he had got alive
And there the reliques of the drunken fray,
The which amongst the Lapithees befell,
And of the bloody feast, which fent away
So many centaurs drunken fouls to hell,
That under great Alcides' furie fell:
And of the dreadful difcord, which did drive
The noble Argonauts to out-rage fell,
|