The Rolliad, in Two Parts / Probationary Odes for the Laureatship & Political Eclogues

by Richard Tickell; George Ellis; French Laurence; Joseph Richardson

NOTES.

Ver. 29 and 32 allude to a pamphlet on the Irish Propositions, commonly called the Treasury Pamphlet, and universally attributed to Mr. Rose. This work of the Honourable Secretary’s was eminently distinguished by a gentleman-like contempt for the pedantry of grammar, and a poetical abhorrence of dull fact.

Ver. 42. For a long account of Sir Richard Hill’s harvest-home, and of the godly hymns and ungodly ballads, sung on the occasion, see the newspapers in Autumn, 1784.

Ver. 49. Justice to the minister obliges us to observe, that he is by no means chargeable with the scandalous illiberality above intimated, of reducing the income of the Secretaries of the Treasury to the miserable pittance of 3000l. a year. This was one of the many infamous acts which to deservedly drew down the hatred of all true friends to their king and country, on those pretended patriots, the Whigs.

Ver. 66. We know not of what forgeries Mr. Rose here boasts.
Perhaps he may mean the paper relative to his interview with
Mr. Gibbon and Mr. Reynolds, so opportunely found in an obscure
drawer of Mr. Pitt’s bureau. See the Parliamentary debates of 1785.

Ver. 71. Alludes to a couplet in the LYARS, which was written before the present Eclogue.

Ver. 78. The Reply to the Treasury Pamphlet was answered, not by
Mr. Rote himself, but by Mr. George Chalmers.

Ver. 88. The following digression on his Majesty’s love of the fine arts, though it be somewhat long, will carry its apology with it in the truth and beauty of the panegyric. The judicious reader will observe that the style is more elevated, like the subject, and for this the poet may plead both the example and precept of his favourite Virgil.

————sylvæ sint Consule dignæ.

Ver. 91 and 92. Since the death of Ramsay, Sir Joshua Reynolds is nominally painter to the king, though his Majesty sits only to Mr. West.

Ver. 93. This line affords a striking instance of our Poet’s dexterity in the use of his classical learning. He here translates a single phrase from Horace.

Judicium subtile videndis artibus illud.

When he could not possibly apply what concludes,

Bœtum in crasso jurares æere natum.

Ver. 95. Our most gracious Sovereign’s comparative estimate of Messrs. Whitehead and Warton, is here happily elucidated, from a circumstance highly honourable to his Majesty’s taste; that, whereas he thought the former worthy of two places, he has given the latter only the worst of the two. Mr. Fauquier is made Secretary and Register to the order of the Bath, in the room of the deceased Laureat.

Ver. 107. We suspect the whole of this passage in praise of his Majesty, has been retouched by Mr. Warton, as this line, or something very like it, occurs in his “Triumphs of Isis,” a spirited poem, which is omitted, we know not why, in his publication of his works.

Ver. 149. Our readers, we trust, have already admired the several additions which our poet has made to the ideas of his great original. He has here given an equal proof of his judgment in a slight omission. When he converted Amyntas into Lord Uxbridge, with what striking propriety did he sink upon us the epithet of stultus, or foolish; for surely we cannot suppose that to be conveyed above in the term of simple peer.

Ver. 156. In the manuscript we find two lines which were struck out; possibly because our poet supposed they touched on a topic of praise, not likely ta be very prevalent with Mr. PITT, notwithstanding what we have lately heard of his “Atlantean shoulders.” They are as follows:

Yet strong beyond the promise of their years,
Each in one night would drain two grenadiers.

Ver. 181. The orders of the Board of Controul, relative to the debts of the Nabob of Arcot, certainly appear diametrically opposite to Mr. Dundas’s Reports, and to an express clause of Mr. Pitt’s bill. Our author, however, like Mr. Pitt and Mr. Dundas, roundly asserts the consistency of the whole.

Ver. 189. This unfortunate slip of the Honourable Secretary’s constitutional logic happened in a debate on the Irish Propositions. Among the many wild chimeras of faction on that memorable occasion, one objection was, that the produce of the French West-Indian Islands might be legally smuggled through Ireland into this country. To which Mr. Rose replied, “That we might repeal all our acts in perfect security, because the French King had lately issued an arrêt which would prevent this smuggling.”

Ver. 216. We flattered ourselves that this line might have enabled us to ascertain the precise time when this eclogue was written. We were, however, disappointed, as on examining the file of Morning Posts for 1784, we could not find a single week in which Mr. FOX is absolutely without some attack or other. We suppose therefore our author here speaks with the allowed latitude of poetry.

* * * * *

THE LYARS.

ARGUMENT.

This Eclogue is principally an Imitation of the third Bucolic of Virgil, which, as is observed by Dr. Joseph Warton, the Brother of our incomparable Laureat, is of that Species called Amœbœa, where the Characters introduced contend in alternate Verse; the second always endeavouring to surpass the first Speaker in an equal number of Lines, As this was in point of Time the first of our Author’s Pastoral Attempts, he has taken rather more Latitude than he afterwards allowed himself in the rest, and has interspersed one or two occasional Imitations from other Eclogues of the Roman Poet.

In Downing-street, the breakfast duly set,
As BANKS and PRETTYMAN one morn were met,
A strife arising who could best supply,
In urgent cases, a convenient lie;
His skill superior each essay’d to prove 5
In verse alternate—which the Muses love!
While BILLY, listening to their tuneful plea,
In silence sipp’d his Commutation Tea,
And heard them boast, how loudly both had ly’d:
The Priest began, the Layman thus reply’d! 10

PRETTYMAN.
Why wilt thou, BANKS, with me dispute the prize?
Who is not cheated when a Parson lies?
Since pious Christians, ev’ry Sabbath-day,
Must needs believe whate’er the Clergy say!
In spite of all you Laity can do, 15
One lie from us is more than ten from you!

BANKS.
O witless lout! in lies that touch the state,
We, Country Gentlemen, have far more weight;
Fiction from us the public still must gull:
They think we’re honest, as they know we’re dull! 20

PRETTYMAN.
In yon Cathedral I a Prebend boast,
The maiden bounty of our gracious host!
Its yearly profits I to thee resign,
If PITT pronounce not that the palm is mine!

BANKS.
A Borough mine, a pledge far dearer sure, 25
Which in St Stephen’s gives a seat secure!
If PITT to PRETTYMAN the prize decree,
Henceforth CORFE-CASTLE shall belong to thee!

PITT.
Begin the strain—while in our easy chairs
We loll, forgetful of all public cares! 30
Begin the strain—nor shall I deem my time
Mispent, in hearing a debate in ryhme!

PRETTYMAN.
Father of lies! By whom in EDEN’s shade
Mankind’s first parents were to sin betray’d;
Lo! on this altar, which to thee I raise, 35
Twelve BIBLES, bound in red Morocco, blaze.

BANKS.
Blest powers of falsehood, at whose shrine I bend,
Still may success your votary’s lies attend!
What prouder victims can your altars boast,
Than honours stain’d, and fame for ever lost? 40

PRETTYMAN.
How smooth, persuasive, plausible, and glib,
From holy lips is dropp’d the specious fib!
Which whisper’d slily, in its dark career
Assails with art the unsuspecting ear.

BANKS.
How clear, convincing, eloquent, and bold, 45
The bare-fac’d lie, with manly courage told!
Which, spoke in public, falls with greater force,
And heard by hundreds, is believ’d of course.

PRETTYMAN.
Search through each office for the basest tool
Rear’d in JACK ROBINSONS’s abandon’d school; 50
ROSE, beyond all the sons of dulness, dull,
Whose legs are scarcely thicker than his scull;
Not ROSE, from all restraints of conscience free,
In double-dealing is a match for me.

BANKS.
Step from St. Stephen’s up to Leadenhall, 55
Where Europe’s crimes appear no crimes at all;
Not Major SCOTT, with bright pagodas paid,
That wholesale dealer in the lying trade;
Not he, howe’er important his design,
Can lie with impudence surpassing mine. 60

PRETTYMAN.
Sooner the ass in fields of air shall graze,
Or WARTON’s Odes with justice claims the bays;
Sooner shall mackrel on the plains disport,
Or MULGRAVE’s hearers think his speech too short;
Sooner shall sense escape the prattling lips 65
Of Captain CHARLES, or COL’NEL HENRY PHIPPS;
Sooner shall CAMPBELL mend his phrase uncouth,
Than Doctor PRETTYMAN shall speak the truth!

BANKS.
When FOX and SHERIDAN for fools shall pass,
And JEMMY LUTTRELL not be thought an ass; 70
When all their audience shall enraptur’d sit
With MAWBEY’s eloquence, and MARTIN’s wit;
When fiery KENYON shall with temper speak,
When modest blushes die DUNDAS’s cheek;
Then, only then, in PITT’s behalf will I 75
Refuse to pledge my honour to a lie.

PRETTYMAN.
While in suspence our Irish project hung,
A well-framed fiction from this fruitful tongue
Bade the vain terrors of the City cease,
And lull’d the Manufacturers to peace: 80
The tale was told with so demure an air,
Not weary Commerce could escape the snare.

BANKS.
When Secret Influence expiring lay,
And Whigs triumphant hail’d th’ auspicious day,
I bore that faithless message to the House, 85
By PITT contriv’d the gaping ’squires to chouse;
That deed, I ween, demands superior thanks:
The British Commons were the dupes of BANKS.

PRETTYMAN.
Say, in what regions are those fathers found,
For deep-dissembling policy renown’d; 90
Whose subtle precepts for perverting truth,
To quick perfection train’d our patron’s youth,
And taught him all the mystery of lies?
Resolve me this, and I resign the prize.

BANKS.
Say, what that mineral, brought from distant climes, 95
Which screens delinquents, and absolves their crimes;
Whose dazzling rays confound the space between
A tainted strumpet and a spotless Queen;
Which Asia’s Princes give, which Europe’s take;
Tell this, dear Doctor, and I yield the stake. 100

PITT.
Enough, my friends—break off your tuneful sport,
’Tis levee day, and I must dress for Court;
Which hath more boldly or expertly lied,
Not mine th’ important contest to decide.
Take thou this MITRE, Doctor, which before 105
A greater hypocrite sure never wore;
And if to services rewards be due,
Dear BANKS, this CORONET belongs to you:
Each from that Government deserves a prize,
Which thrives by shuffling, and subsists by lies. 110

IMITATIONS.
Ver. 6. Amant alterna Camenæ.
Ver. 10. Hos Corydon, illos referebat in ordine Thyrsis.
Ver. 29. Dicite—quandoquidem in molli consedimus herbâ
Ver. 61. Ante leves ergo pas entur in æthere cervi
Et freta destituent nudos in littore pisces—
Ver. 89. Die quibus in terris, &c.
Ver. 104. Non nostrum inter vos tantas componere lites.
Ver. 105. Et vitulà tu dignus et hic.

NOTES. Ver. 17. Our poet here seems to deviate from his general rule, by the introduction of a phrase which appears rather adapted to the lower and less elevated strain of pastoral, than to the dialogue of persons of such distinguished rank. It is, however, to be considered, that it is far from exceeding the bounds of possibility to suppose, that, in certain instances, the epithet of “Witless,” and the coarse designation of “Lout,” may be as applicable to a dignitary of the church, as to the most ignorant and illiterate rustic.

Ver. 62. The truth of this line must be felt by all who have read the lyrical effusions of Mr. Warton’s competitors, whose odes were some time since published, by Sir John Hawkins, Knight. The present passage must be understood in reference to these, and not to the Laureat’s general talents.

Ver. 85. The ingenious and sagacious gentleman, who, at the period of the glorious revolution of 1784, held frequent meetings at the Saint Alban’s Tavern, for the purpose of bringing about an union that might have prevented the dissolution of parliament; which meetings afforded time to one of the members of the proposed union to concert means throughout every part of the kingdom, for ensuring the success of that salutary and constitutional measure, which, through his friend Mr. B—ks, he had solemnly pledged himself not to adopt. How truly does this conduct mark “the statesman born!” ———— Dolus an virtus, quis in hoste requirit?

Ver. 98. It must be acknowledged that there is some obscurity in this passage, as well as in the following line,

“Which Asia’s princes give, which Europe’s take:”

and of this, certain seditious, malevolent, disaffected critics have taken advantage, and have endeavoured, by a forced construction, to discover in them an unwarrantable insinuation against the highest and most sacred characters; from which infamous imputation, however, we trust, the well-known and acknowledged loyalty of our author’s principles will sufficiently protect him.

* * * * *

MARGARET NICHOLSON.

ARGUMENT.

Mr. WILKES and Lord HAWKESBURY alternately congratulate each other on his Majesty’s late happy Escape, The one describes the Joy which pervades the Country: the other sings the Dangers from which our Constitution has been preserved. Though in the following Eclogue our Author has not selected any single one of Virgil for a close and exact Parody, he seems to have had his Eye principally upon the Vth, or the Daphnis, which contains the Elegy and APOTHEOSIS of Julius Cæsar.

The Session up: the INDIA-BENCH appeas’d,
The LANSDOWNES satisfied, the LOWTHERS pleas’d,
Each job dispatch’d:—the Treasury boys depart,
As various fancy prompts each youthful heart;
PITT, in chaste kisses seeking virtuous joy, 5
Begs Lady CHATHAM’s blessing on her boy;
While MORNINGTON, as vicious as he can,
To fair R—L—N in vain affects the man:
With Lordly BUCKINGHAM retir’d at STOWE,
GRENVILLE, whose plodding brains no respite know, 10
To prove next year, how our finances thrive,
Schemes new reports, that two and two make five.
To plans of Eastern justice hies DUNDAS;
And comley VILLARS to his votive glass;
To embryo tax bills ROSE; to dalliance STEELE; 15
And hungry hirelings to their hard-earn’d meal.
A faithful pair, in mutual friendship tied,
Once keen in hate, as now in love allied
(This, o’er admiring mobs in triumph rode,
Libell’d his monarch and blasphem’d his God; 20
That, the mean drudge of tyranny and BUTE,
At once his practis’d pimp and prostitute),
Adscomb’s proud roof receives, whose dark recess
And empty vaults, its owner’s mind express,
While block’d-up windows to the world display 25
How much he loves a tax, how much invites the day.
Here the dire chance that god-like GEORGE befel,
How sick in spirit, yet in health how well;
What Mayors by dozens, at the tale affrighted,
Got drunk, address’d, got laugh’d at, and got knighted; 30
They read, with mingled horror and surprise,
In London’s pure Gazette, that never lies.
Ye Tory bands, who, taught by conscious fears,
Have wisely check’d your tongues, and sav’d your ears,—
Hear, ere hard fate forbids—what heavenly strains 35
Flow’d from the lips of these melodious swains.
Alternate was the song; but first began,
With hands uplifted, the regenerate man.

WILKES.
Bless’d be the beef-fed guard, whose vigorous twist
Wrench’d the rais’d weapon from the murderer’s fist, 40
Him Lords in waiting shall with awe behold
In red tremendous, and hirsute in gold.
On him, great monarch, let thy bounty shine,
What meed can match a life so dear as thine?
Well was that bounty measured, all must own, 45
That gave him half of what he saved—a crown.
Bless’d the dull edge, for treason’s views unfit,
Harmless as SYDNEY’s rage, or BEARCROFT’s wit.
Blush, clumsy patriots, for degenerate zeal,
WILKES had not guided thus the faithless steel! 50
Round your sad mistress flock, ye maids elect,
Whose charms severe your chastity protect;
Scar’d by whose glance, despairing love descries,
That virtue steals no triumph from your eyes.
Round your bold master flock, ye mitred hive, 55
With anathems on Whigs his soul revive!
Saints! whom the sight of human blood appals,
Save when to please the Royal will it falls.
He breathes! he lives! the vestal choir advance,
Each takes a bishop, and leads up the dance, 60
Nor dreads to break her long respected vow,
For chaste—ah strange to tell!—are bishops now:
Saturnian times return!—the age of truth,
And—long foretold—is come the virgin youth.
Now sage professors, for their learning’s curse, 65
Die of their duty in remorseless verse:
Now sentimental Aldermen expire
In prose half flaming with the Muse’s fire;
Their’s—while rich dainties swim on every plate—
Their’s the glad toil to feast for Britain’s fate; 70
Nor mean the gift the Royal grace affords,
All shall be knights—but those that shall be lords.
Fountain of Honour, that art never dry,
Touch’d with whose drops of grace no thief can die,
Still with new titles soak the delug’d land, 75
Still may we all be safe from KETCH’s menac’d hand!

JENKINSON.
Oh wond’rous man, with a more wond’rous Muse!
O’er my lank limbs thy strains a sleep diffuse,
Sweet as when PITT with words, disdaining end,
Toils to explain, yet scorns to comprehend. 80
Ah! whither had we fled, had that foul day
Torn him untimely from our arms away?
What ills had mark’d the age, had that dire thrust
Pierc’ his soft heart, and bow’d his bob to dust?
Gods! to my labouring sight what phantoms rise! 85
Here Juries triumph, and there droops Excise!
Fierce from defeat, and with collected might,
The low-born Commons claim the people’s right:
And mad for freedom, vainly deem their own,
Their eye presumptuous dares to scan the throne. 90
See—in the general wreck that smothers all,
Just ripe for justice—see my HASTINGS fall.
Lo, the dear Major meets a rude repulse,
Though blazing in each hand he bears a BULSE?
Nor Ministers attend, nor Kings relent, 95
Though rich Nabobs so splendidly repent.
See EDEN’s faith expos’d to sale again,
Who takes his plate, and learns his French in vain.
See countless eggs for us obscure the sky,
Each blanket trembles, and each pump is dry. 100
Far from good things DUNDAS is sent to roam,
Ah!—worse than banish’d—doom’d to live at home.
Hence dire illusions! dismal scenes away—
Again he cries, “What, what!” and all is gay.
Come, BRUNSWICK, come, great king of loaves and fishes,
Be bounteous still to grant us all our wishes! 106
Twice every year with BEAUFOY as we dine,
Pour’d to the brim—eternal George—be thine
Two foaming cups of his nectareous juice,
Which—new to gods—no mortal vines produce. 110
To us shall BRUDENELL sing his choicest airs,
And capering MULGRAVE ape the grace of bears;
A grand thanksgiving pious YORK compose,
In all the proud parade of pulpit prose;
For sure Omniscience will delight to hear, 115
Thou ’scapest a danger, that was never near.
While ductile PITT thy whisper’d wish obeys,
While dupes believe whate’er the Doctor says,
While panting to be tax’d, the famish’d poor
Grow to their chains, and only beg for more; 120
While fortunate in ill, thy servants find
No snares too slight to catch the vulgar mind:
Fix’d as the doom, thy power shall still remain,
And thou, wise King, as uncontroul’d shall reign.

WILKES.
Thanks, Jenky, thanks, for ever could’st thou sing, 125
For ever could I sit and hear thee praise the King.
Then take this book, which with a Patriot’s pride,
Once to his sacred warrant I deny’d,
Fond though he was of reading all I wrote:
No gift can better suit thy tuneful throat. 130

JENKINSON.
And thou this Scottish pipe, which JAMIE’s breath
Inspir’d when living, and bequeath’d in death,
From lips unhallow’d I’ve prcserv’d it long:
Take the just tribute of thy loyal song. 134

IMITATIONS.
Ver. 59. Ergo alacris sylvas et cetera rura voluptas.
Panaque pastoresque tenet, Dryadasque puellas.
Ver. 61. Nec lupus insidias pecori, &c.
Ver. 63. Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna.
Ver. 78. Tale tuum carmen nobis, divine Poeta,
Quale sopor sessis in gramine.
Ver. 106. Sis bonus; O! felixque tuis—
Ver. 107. Pocula bina novo spumantia lacte quot—annis
Craterasque duo statuam tibi.
Ver. 109. Vina novum fundum calathis Arvisia nectar.
Ver. 114. Cantabunt mihi Damætas et Lictius Ægon.
Saltantes Satyros imitabitur Alphæsibæus.
Ver. 121. Dum juga montis aper, &c.
Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt.
Ver. 130. At tu sume pedurn, quod cum me sæpe rogaret
Non tulit Antigenes, et erat turn dignus amari.
Ver. 134. Est mihi—
Fistula, Damætas dono mini quam dedit olim,
Et dixit moriens, “Te nunc, habet ista secundum.”
ECL. II.

NOTES.
Ver. 46. half—a crown!—Literally so.

Ver. 63, 64. It is rearkable that these are the only lines which our Poet has imitated from the IVth Eclogue (or the Pollio) of Virgil. Perhaps the direct and obvious application of that whole Eclogue appeared to our author to be an undertaking too easy for the exercise of his superior talents; or perhaps he felt himself too well anticipated by a similar imitation of Pope’s Messiah, which was inserted some time since in one of the public papers. If the author will favour us with a corrected copy, adapted rather to the Pollio than the Messiah, we shall be happy to give it a place in our subsequent editions, of which we doubt not the good taste of the town will demand as many as of the rest of our celebrated bard’s immortal compositions.

Ver. 119. The public alarm expressed upon the event which is the subject of this Pastoral, was certainly a very proper token of affection to a Monarch, every action of whose reign denotes him to be the father of his people. Whether it has sufficiently subsided to admit of a calm enquiry into facts, is a matter of some doubt, as the addresses were not finished in some late Gazettes. If ever that time should arrive, the world will be very well pleased to hear that the miserable woman whom the Privy Council have judiciously confined in Bedlam for her life, never even aimed a blow at his August Person.

Ver. 127. This Book, &c. Essay on Woman.

Ver. 130. No gift can better suit thy——throat. The ungrateful people of England, we have too much reason to fear, may be of a different opinion.

* * * * *

CHARLES JENKINSON.

ARGUMENT.

The following is a very close Translation of VIRGIL’s SILENUS; so close indeed that many Readers may be surprised at such a Deviation from our Authur’s usual Mode of imitating the Ancients. But we are to consider that VIRGIL is revered by his Countrymen, not only as a Poet, but likewise as a Prophet and Magician; and our incomparable Translator, who was not ignorant of this Circumstance, was convinced, that VIRGIL in his SILENUS had really and bonâ fide meant to allude to the Wonders of the present Reign, and consequently that it became his Duty to adhere most strictly to his Original, and to convey the true Meaning of this hitherto inexplicable Eclogue.

Mine was the Muse, that from a Norman scroll
First rais’d to Fame the barbarous worth of ROLLE,
And dar’d on DEVON’s hero to dispense
The gifts of Language, Poetry, and Sense.
In proud Pindarics next my skill I try’d, 5
But SALISB’RY wav’d his wand and check’d my pride:
“Write English, friend (he cry’d), be plain and flatter,
Nor thus confound your compliment and satire.
Even I, a critic by the King’s command,
Find these here odes damn’d hard to understand.” 10
Now then, O deathless theme of WARTON’s Muse,
Oh great in War! oh glorious at Reviews!
While many a rival anxious for the bays;
Pursues thy virtues with relentless praise;
While at thy levee smiling crowds appear, 15
Blest that thy birth-day happens once a year:
Like good SIR CECIL, I to woods retire,
And write plain eclogues o’er my parlour fire.
Yet still for thee my loyal verse shall flow,
Still, shou’d it please, to thee its charms shall owe; 20
And well I ween, to each succeeding age,
Thy name shall guard and consecrate my page.
Begin, my Muse!—As WILBERFORCE and BANKS
Late in the Lobby play’d their usual pranks,
Within a water-closet’s niche immur’d 25
(Oh that the treacherous door was unsecur’d),
His wig awry, his papers on the ground,
Drunk, and asleep, CHARLES JENKINSON they found.
Transported at the sight (for oft of late
At PITT’s assembled on affairs of state, 30
They both had press’d him, but could ne’er prevail,
To sing a merry song or tell a tale)
In rush’d th’ advent’rous youths:—they seize, they bind,
Make fast his legs, and tie his hands behind,
Then scream for help; and instant to their aid 35
POMONA flies, POMONA, lovely maid;
Or maid, or goddess, sent us from above,
To bless young Senators with fruit and love.
Then thus the sage—“Why these unseemly bands?
“Untie my legs, dear boys, and loose my hands; 40
The promis’d tale be yours: a tale to you;
To fair POMONA different gifts are due.”
Now all things haste to hear the master talk:
Here Fawns and Satyrs from the Bird-cage-walk,
Here Centaur KENYON, and the Sylvan sage, 45
Whom BOWOOD guards to rule a purer age,
Here T———W, B———T, H———N appear,
With many a minor savage in their rear,
Panting for treasons, riots, gibbets, blocks,
To strangle NORTH, to scalp and eat CHARLES FOX. 50
There H———’s sober band in silence wait,
Inur’d to sleep, and patient of debate;
Firm in their ranks, each rooted to his chair
They sit, and wave their wooden heads in air.
Less mute the rocks while tuneful Phœbus sung, 55
Less sage the critic brutes round Orpheus hung;
For true and pleasant were the tales he told,
His theme great GEORGE’s age, the age of gold.
Ere GEORGE appear’d a Briton bora and bred,
One general Chaos all the land o’erspread 60
There lurking seeds of adverse factions lay,
Which warm’d and nurtur’d by his dawning ray,
Sprang into life. Then first began to thrive
The tender shoots of young Prerogative;
Then spread luxuriant, when unclouded shone 65
The full meridian splendour of the throne.
Yet was the Court a solitary waste;
Twelve lords alone the Royal chamber grac’d!
When BUTE, the good DEUCALION of the reign,
To gracious BRUNSWICK pray’d, nor pray’d in vain. 70
For straight (oh goodness of the royal mind!)
Eight blocks, to dust and rubbish long confin’d,
Now wak’d by mandate from their trance of years,
Grew living creatures—just like other Peers.
Nor here his kindness ends—From wild debate 75
And factious rage he guards his infant state.
Resolv’d alone his empire’s toils to bear,
“Be all men dull!” he cry’d, and dull they were.
Then sense was treason:—then with bloody claw
Exulting soar’d the vultures of the law: 80
Then ruffians robb’d by ministerial writ,
And GRENVILLE plunder’d reams of useless wit,
While mobs got drunk ’till learning should revive,
And loudly bawl’d for WILKES and forty-five.
Next to WILL PITT he past, so sage, so young, 85
So cas’d with wisdom, and so arm’d with tongue
His breast with every royal virtue full,
Yet, strange to tell, the minion of JOHN BULL.
Prepost’rous passion! say, what fiend possest,
Misguided youth, what phrenzy fir’d thy breast? 90
’Tis true, in senates, many a hopeful lad
Has rav’d in metaphor, and run stark mad;
His friend, the heir-apparent of MONTROSE,
Feels for his beak, and starts to find a nose;
Yet at these times preserve the little share 95
Of sense and thought intrusted to their care;
While thou with ceaseless folly, endless labour,
Now coaxing JOHN, now flirting with his neighbour,
Hast seen thy lover from his bonds set free,
Damning the shop-tax, and himself, and thee. 100
Now good MACPHERSON, whose prolific muse
Begets false tongues, false heroes, and false news,
Now frame new lies, now scrutinize thy brain,
And bring th’ inconstant to these arms again!
Next of the Yankeys’ fraud the master told, 105
And GRENVILLE’s fondness for Hesperian gold;
And GRENVILLE’s friends, conspicuous from afar,
In mossy down incas’d, and bitter tar.
SIR CECIL next adorn’d the pompous song,
Led by his CÆLIA through th’ admiring throng, 110
All CÆLIA’s sisters hail’d the prince of bards,
Reforming sailors bow’d, and patriot guards:
While thus SIR JOSEPH (his stupendious head
Crown’d with green-groc’ry, and with flow’rs o’erspread)
From the high hustings spoke—“This pipe be thine, 115
This pipe, the fav’rite present of the Nine,
On which WILL WHITEHEAD play’d those powerful airs,
Which to ST. JAMES’s drew reluctant May’rs,
And forc’d stiff-jointed Aldermen to bend;
Sing thou on this thy SAL’SBURY, sing thy friend; 120
Long may he live in thy protecting strains,
And HATFIELD vie with TEMPE’s fabled plains!”
Why should I tell th’ election’s horrid tale,
That scene of libels, riots, blood, and ale?
There of SAM HOUSE the horrid form appeared; 125
Round his white apron howling monsters reared
Their angry clubs; mid broken heads they polled;
And HOOD’s best sailors in the kennel rolled;
Ah! why MAHON’s disastrous fate record?
Alas! how fear can change the fiercest lord! 130
See the sad sequel of the grocers’ treat—
Behold him darting up St. James’s-street,
Pelted, and scar’d by BROOKE’s hellish sprites,
And vainly fluttering round the door of WHITE’s!
All this, and more he told, and every word 135
With silent awe th’ attentive striplings heard,
When, bursting on their ear, stern PEARSON’s note
Proclaim’d the question put, and called them forth to vote.

IMITATIONS.
Ver. 1. Prima Syracosio dignita est ludere versu,
Nostra nee erubuit sylvas habitare Thalia.
Cum canerem regis et prælia, Cynthius aurem
Vellit, et admonuit, &c. &c.
Ver. 11. Nunc ego (namque super tibi, erunt, qui dicere laudes
Vare, tuus cupiant, et tristia condere bella)
Sylvestrem tenui meditabor arundine musam.
Ver. 18. ————-Si quis tamen hæc quoque, siquis
Captus amore leget, te nostræ, Vare, myricæ
Te nemus omne canet, &c.
Ver. 23. ————-Chromis et Mnasylus in autro
Silenum pueri somno videre jacentem.
Ver. 29. Aggressi, nam sæpe senex spe carminis ambo
Luserat, injiciunt ex ipsis vincula sertis.
Ver. 35. Addit se sociam timidisque supervenit Ægle,
Ægle Naiadum pulcherrima.
Ver. 39. —————Quid vincula nectitis? inquit,
Solvite me pueri——
Carmina quæ vultis cognoscite, carmina vobis;
Huic aliud mercedis erit.
Ver. 43. Tum vero in numerurn faunosque ferasque videres,
Ludere, tum rigidas motare cacumina quercus.
Ver. 55. Nec tantum Phœbo gaudet Parnassia rupes,
Nec tantum Rhodope miratur et Ismarus Orphea.
Ver. 57. Namque canebat, uti magnum per inane coacta,
Semina terrarumque animæque marisque fuissent,
Et liquidi simul ignis: Ut his exordia primis
Omnia, et ipse tener mundi concreverit orbis.
Ver. 62. Incipiant sylvæ cum primum surgere———
Jamque novum ut terræ stupeant lucescere solem.
Ver. 68. —————————————————————————-Cumque
Rara per ignotos errant animalia montes.
Ver. 69. Hinc lapides Pyrrhæ jactos—————
Ver. 78. ——————Saturnia regna.
Ver. 81. Caucaseasque refert volucres:
Ver. 82. ——————Furtumque Promethei.
Ver. 84 ——————Hylan nautæ quo fonte relictum,
Clamassent ut littus Hyla, Hyla, omne sonaret.
Ver. 88. Pasaphaen nivei solatur amore juvenci.
Ver. 89. Ah virgo infelix quæ te dementia cepit?
Ver. 93. Prætides implerunt falsis mugitibus agros.
Ver. 96. Et sæpe in lævi quæsissent cornua fronte,
At non, &c.
Ver. 99. Ille latus niveum, &c.
Ver. 101. ———Claudite nymphæ
Dictææ nymphæ, nemorum jam claudite saltus,
Si quâ forte ferant oculis sese obvia nostris,
Errabunda bovis vestigia.
Ver. 106. Tum canit Hesperidurn miratam mala puellant.
Ver. 108. Tum Phaetontiadas musco circumdat amaræ
Corticis, atque solo proceras erigit.
Ver. 109. Tum canit errantem———Gallum,
Aonas in montes ut duxerit una sororum,
Utque viro Phœbi chorus assurrexerit omnis;
Ut Linus hæc illi divino carmine pastor
Floribus, atque apio crines ornatus amaro,
Dixerit; hos tibi dant calamos, en accipe, musæ,
Ascræo quos ante seni, quibus ille solebat
Cantando rigidas deducere montibus ornos, &c. &c. &c.
Ver. 127. Quid loquar—Scyllum quam fama secuta est
Candida succinctam latrantibus inguina monstris
————————————gurgite in alto
Ah timidos nautas canibus lacerasse marinis.
Ver. 132. Aut ut mutatos Terei norraverit artus:
Quas illi Philomela dapes; quæ dona paravit,
Quo corsû deserta petiverit, & quibus ante
Infelix sua tecta supervolitæ erit alis.

NOTES. Ver. 42. To fair Pomana, &c.] We are sorry to inform our readers, that the promise which Mr. Jenkinson here intimates in favour of the lady was, we fear, but the promise of a courtier. Truth obliges us to declare, that having taken some pains to enquire into the facts, we were assured by the lady herself, that she never received any other gift, present, or compliment what-ever from Mr. Jenkinson.

Ver. 68. Our Poet, for so careful a student of the Court Calendar, as he must certainly be, is a little inaccurate here. The Lords of the Bed-chamber were in truth thirteen, and seven only were added. The numbers in the text were probably preserved as more euphonius.

Ver. 101. Good Macpherson, &c.] This Ingenious gentleman, who first signalized himself by a bombast translation of poems which never existed, is now said occasionally to indulge his native genius for fiction in paragraphs of poetical prose for some of our daily papers.

Ver. 106. Hesperian gold.] The American revenue, which the late Mr. Grenville was to have raised by his celebrated Stamp Act. Mr. Jankinson, who was himself the author of that act, here delicately touches an the true origin of the American war; a measure in which, however unseccussful, we doubt not, he will ever be ready to glory.

Ver. 110. SIR. CECIL’s poems to Cælia are well known; and we are persuaded will live to preserve the fame of his talents, when his admirable letter to the Scottish reformers, and his pamphlet on the Westminster Election, shall be forgotten.

* * * * *

JEKYLL.

——————————————miserabile Carmen
Integrat, & mæstis latè loca questibus implet.—VIRGIL.

Jekyll, the wag of law, the scribblers pride,
Calne to the senate sent—when TOWNSHEND died.
So LANSDOWNE will’d:—the old hoarse rook at rest,
A jackdaw phœnix chatters from his nest.
Statesman and lawyer now, with clashing cares, 5
Th’ important youth roams thro’ the Temple squares;
Yet stays his step, where, with congenial play,
The well-known fountain babbles day by day:
The little fountain:—whose restricted course,
In low faint Essays owns its shallow sourse. 10
There, to the tinkling jet he tun’d his tongue,
While LANSDOWNE’s fame, and LANSDOWNE’s fall, he sung.
“Where were our friends, when the remorseless crew
Of felon whigs—great LANSDOWNE’s pow’r o’erthrew?
For neither then, within St. Stephen’s wall 15
Obedient WESTCOTE hail’d the Treasury-call;
Nor treachery then had branded EDEN’s fame,
Or taught mankind the miscreant MINCHIN’s name,
Joyful no more (tho’ TOMMY spoke so long)
Was high-born HOWARD’s cry, or POWNEY’s prattling tongue. 20
Vain was thy roar, MAHON!—tho’ loud and deep;
Not our own GILBERT could be rous’d from sleep.
No bargain yet the tribe of PHIPPS had made:
LANSDOWNE! you sought in vain ev’n MULGRAVE’s aid;
MULGRAVE—at whose harsh scream in wild surprise, 25
The speechless Speaker lifts his drowsy eyes.
Ah! hapless day! still as thy hours return,
Let Jesuits, Jews, and sad Dissenters mourn!
Each quack and sympathizing juggler groan,
While bankrupt brokers echo moan for moan. 30
Oh! much-lov’d peer!—my patron!—model!—friend!
How does thy alter’d state my bosom rend.
Alas! the ways of courts are strange and dark!
PITT scarce would make thee now-a Treasury-clerk!”
Stung with the maddening thought, his griefs, his fears 35
Dissolve the plaintiff councellor in tears.
“How oft,” he cries, “has wretched LANSDOWNE said;
Curs’d be the toilsome hours by statesmen led!
Oh! had kind heaven ordain’d my humbler fate
A country gentleman’s—of small estate— 40
With Price and Priestly in some distant grove,
Blest I had led the lowly life I love.
Thou, Price, had deign’d to calculate my flocks!
Thou, Priestley! sav’d them from the lightning shocks!
Unknown the storms and tempests of the state—— 45
Unfelt the mean ambition to be great;
In Bowood’s shade had passed my peaceful days,
Far from the town and its delusive ways;
The crystal brook my beverage—and my food
Hips, carnels, haws, and berries of the wood.” 50
“Blest peer! eternal wreaths adorn thy brow!
Thou CINCINNATU’s of the British plough!
But rouse again thy talents and thy zeal!
Thy Sovereign, sure, must wish thee Privy-seal.
Or, what if from the seals thou art debarr’d? 55
CHANDOS, at least, he might for thee discard.
Come, LANSDOWNE! come—thy life no more thy own,
Oh! brave again the smoke and noise of town:
For Britain’s sake, the weight of greatness bear,
And suffer honours thou art doom’d to wear.” 60
To thee her Princes, lo! where India sends!
All BENFIELD’s here—and there all HASTINGS’ friends;
MACPHERSON—WRAXALL—SULLIVAN—behold!
CALL—BARWELL—MIDDLETON—with heaps of gold!
Rajahs—Nabobs—from Oude—Tanjore—Arcot— 65
And see!—(nor oh! disdain him!)—MAJOR SCOTT.
Ah! give the Major but one gracious nod:
Ev’n PITT himself once deign’d to court the squad.
“Oh! be it theirs, with more than patriot heat,
To snatch their virtues from their lov’d retreat: 70
Drag thee reluctant to the haunts of men,
And make the minister—Oh! God!—but when!”
Thus mourn’d the youth—’till, sunk in pensive grief,
He woo’d his handkerchief for soft relief.
In either pocket either hand he threw; 75
When, lo!—from each, a precious tablet flew.
This—his sage patron’s wond’rous speech on trade:
This—his own book of sarcasms ready made.
Tremendous book!—thou motley magazine
Of stale severities, and pilfer’d spleen! 80
O! rich in ill!—within thy leaves entwin’d,
What glittering adders lurk to sting the mind.
Satire’s Museum!—with SIR ASHTON’s lore,
The naturalist of malice eyes thy store:
Ranging, with fell Virtû, his poisonous tribes 85
Of embryo sneers, and anamalcule gibes.
Here insect puns their feeble wings expand
To speed, in little flights, their lord’s command:
There, in their paper chrysalis, he sees
Specks of bon mots, and eggs of repartees. 90
In modern spirits ancient wit he steeps;
If not its gloss, the reptile’s venom keeps:
Thy quaintness’ DUNNING! but without thy sense:
And just enough of B———t, for offence.
On these lov’d leaves a transient glance he threw: 95
But weighter themes his anxious thoughts pursue.
Deep senatorial pomp intent to reach,
With ardent eyes he hangs o’er LANSDOWNE’s speech.
Then, loud the youth proclaims the enchanting words
That charm’d the “noble natures” of the lords, 100
“Lost and obscured in Bowood’s humble bow’r,
No party tool—no candidate for pow’r—
I come, my lords! an hermit from my cell,
A few blunt truths in my plain style to tell.
Highly I praise your late commercial plan; 105
Kingdoms should all unite—like man and man.
The French love peace—ambition they detest;
But Cherburg’s frightful works deny me rest.
With joy I see new wealth for Britain shipp’d,
Lisbon’s a froward child and should be whipp’d. 110
Yet Portugal’_s our old and best ally,
And Gallic faith is but a slender tie,
My lords! the_ manufacturer’s a fool;
The clothier, too, knows nothing about wool;
Their interests still demand syr constant care; 115
Their griefs are mine—their fears are my despair.
My lords! my soul is big with dire alarms;
Turks, Germans, Russians, Prussians, all in arms!
A noble Pole (I’m proud to call him friend!)
Tells me of things I cannot comprehend. 120
Your lordship’s hairs would stand on end to hear
My last dispatches from the Grand Vizier.
The fears of Dantzick-merchants can’t be told;
Accounts from Cracow make my blood run cold.
The state of Portsmouth_, and of_ Plymouth Docks, 125
Your Trade—your Taxes—Army—Navy—Stocks—
All haunt me in my dreams; and, when I rise,
The bank of England scares my open eyes.
I see—I know some dreadful storm is brewing;
Arm all your coasts—your navy is your ruin. 130
I say it still; but (let me be believed)
In this your lordships have been much deceiv’d.
A noble Duke affirms, I like his plan:
I never did, my lords!—I never can—
Shame on the slanderous breath! which dares instill 135
That I, who now condemn, advis’d the ill.
Plain words, thank Heav’n! are always understood:
I could approve, I said—but not I wou’d.
Anxious to make the noble Duke content, }
My view was just to seem to give consent, 140 }
While all the world might see that nothing less was meant.” }
While JEKYLL thus, the rich exhaustless store
Of LANSDOWNE’s rhetoric ponders o’er and o’er;
And, wrapt in happier dreams of future days,
His patron’s triumphs in his own surveys; 145
Admiring barristers in crouds resort
From Figtree—Brick—Hare—Pump—and Garden court.
Anxious they gaze—and watch with silent awe
The motley son of politics and law.
Meanwhile, with softest smiles and courteous bows, 150
He, graceful bending, greets their ardent vows.
“Thanks, generous friends,” he cries, “kind Templers, thanks!
Tho’ now, with LANSDOWNE’s band your JEKYLL ranks,
Think not, he wholly quits black-letter cares;
Still—still the lawyer with the statesman shares.” 155
But, see! the shades of night o’erspread the skies!
Thick fogs and vapours from the Thames arise.
Far different hopes our separate toils inspire:
To parchment you, and precedent retire.
With deeper bronze your darkest looks imbrown, 160
Adjust your brows for the demurring frown:
Brood o’er the fierce rebutters of the bar,
And brave the issue of the gowned war.
Me, all unpractis’d in the bashful mood,
Strange, novice thoughts, and alien cares delude. 165
Yes, modest Eloquence! ev’n I must court
For once, with mimic vows, thy coy support;
Oh! would’st thou lend the semblance of my charms!
Feign’d agitations, and assum’d alarms!
’Twere all I’d ask:—but for one day alone 170
To ape thy downcast look—my suppliant tone:
To pause—and bow with hesitating grace—
Here try to faulter—there a word misplace:
Long-banish’d blushes this pale cheek to teach,
And act the miseries of a maiden speech. 175

PROBATIONARY ODES FOR THE LAUREATSHIP: WITH A PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE, BY SIR JOHN HAWKINS, KNT.

PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE, BY THE EDITOR.

Having, in the year seventeen hundred and seventy-six, put forth A HISTORY OF MUSIC, in five volumes quarto (which buy), notwithstanding my then avocations as Justice of the Peace for the county of Middlesex and city and liberty of Westminster; I, Sir John Hawkins, of Queen-square, Westminster, Knight, do now, being still of sound health and understanding, esteem it my bounden duty to step forward as Editor and Revisor of THE PROBATIONARY ODES. My grand reason for undertaking so arduous a task is this: I do from my soul believe that Lyric Poetry is the own, if not twin sister of Music; wherefore, as I had before gathered together every thing that any way relates to the one, with what consistency could I forbear to collate the best effusions of the other?—I should premise, that in volume the first of my quarto history, chap. i. page 7, I lay it down as a principle never to be departed from, that, “The Lyre is the prototype of the fidicinal species.” And accordingly I have therein discussed at large, both the origin, and various improvements of the Lyre, from the Tortoise-shell scooped and strung by Mercury on the banks of the Nile, to the Testudo, exquisitely polished by Terpander, and exhibited to the Ægyptian Priests. I have added also many choice engravings of the various antique Lyres, viz. the Lyre of Goats-horns, the Lyre of Bullshorns, the Lyre of Shells, and the Lyre of both Shells and Horns compounded; from all which, I flatter myself, I have indubitably proved the Lyre to be very far superior to the shank bone of a crane, or any other Pike, Fistula, or Calamus, either of Orpheus’s or Linus’s invention; ay, or even the best of those pulsatile instruments, commonly known by the denomination of the drum.

Forasmuch, therefore, as all this was finally proved and established by my History of Music, I say, I hold it now no alien task to somewhat turn my thoughts to the late divines specimens of Lyric Minstrelsy. For although I may be deemed the legal guardian of MUSIC alone, and consequently not in strictness bound to any farther duty than that of her immediate Wardship (see Burn’s Justice, article Guardian), yet surely, in equity and liberal feeling, I cannot but think myself very forcibly incited to extend this tutelage to her next of kin; in which degree I hold every individual follower of THE LYRIC MUSE, but more especially all such part of them, as have devoted, or do devote their strains to the celebration of those best of themes, the reigning King and the current year; or in other words, of all Citharistæ Regis, Versificators Coronæ, Court Poets, or as we now term them, Poets Laureats.—Pausanias tells us, that it pleased the God of Poets himself, by an express oracle, to order the inhabitants of Delphi to set apart for Pindar one half of the first fruit offerings brought by the religious to his shrine, and to allow him a place in his temple, where, in an iron chair, he was used to sit and sing his hymns in honour of that God. Would to heaven that the Bench of Bishops would, in some degree, adopt this excellent idea!—or at least that the Dean and Chapter of Westminster, and the other Managers of the Abbey Music Meetings, would in future allot the occasional vacancies of Madame Mara’s seat in the Cathedral Orchestra, for the reception of the reigning Laureat, during the performance of that favourite constitutional ballad, “May the King live for ever!” It must be owned, however, that the Laureatship is already a very kingly settlement; one hundred a year, together with a tierce of Canary, or a butt of sack, are surely most princely endowments, for the honour of literature and the advancement of poetical genius. And hence (thank God and the King for it!) there scarcely ever has been wanting some great and good man both willing and able to supply so important a charge.—At one time we find that great immortal genius, Mr. Thomas Shadwell (better known by the names of Og and Mac Flecknoe), chanting the prerogative praises of that blessed æra.—At a nearer period, we observe the whole force of Colley Cibber’s genius devoted to the labours of the same reputable employment.—And finally, in the example of a Whitehead’s Muse, expatiating on the virtues of our gracious Sovereign, have we not beheld the best of Poets, in the best of Verses, doing ample justice to the best of Kings!—The fire of Lyric Poesy, the rapid lightening of modern Pindarics, were equally required to record the Virtues of the Stuarts, or to immortalize the Talents of a Brunswick.—On either theme there was ample subject for the boldest flights of inventive genius, the full scope for the most daring powers of poetical creation; from the free, unfettered strain of liberty in honour of Charles the First, to the kindred Genius and congenial Talents that immortalize the Wisdom and the Worth of George the Third.—But on no occasion has the ardour for prerogative panegyrics so conspicuously flamed forth, as on the late election for succeeding to Mr. Whitehead’s honours. To account for this unparalleled struggle, let us recollect, that the ridiculous reforms of the late Parliament having cut off many gentlemanly offices, it was a necessary consequence that the few which were spared, became objects of rather more emulation than usual. Besides, there is a decency and regularity in producing at fixed and certain periods of the year, the same settled quantity of metre on the same unalterable subjects, which cannot fail to give a particular attraction to the Office of the Laureatship, at a crisis like the present.—It is admitted, that we are now in possession of much sounder judgment, and more regulated taste, than our ancestors had any idea of; and hence, does it not immediately follow, that the occupancy of a poetical office, which, from its uniformity of subject and limitation of duty, precludes all hasty extravagance of style, as well as any plurality of efforts, is sure to be a more pleasing object than ever to gentlemen of regular habits and a becoming degree of literary indolence? Is it not evident too, that in compositions of this kind, all fermentation of thought is certain in a very short time to subside and settle into mild and gentle composition—till at length the possessors of this grave and orderly office prepare their stipulated return of metre, by as proportionate and gradual exertions, as many other classes of industrious tenants provide for the due payment of their particular rents? Surely it is not too much to say, that the business of Laureat to his Majesty is, under such provision, to the full as ingenious, reputable, and regular a trade, as that of Almanack Maker to the Stationer’s Company. The contest therefore for so excellent an office, having been warmer in the late instance than at any preceding period, is perfectly to be accounted for; especially too at a time, when, from nobler causes, the Soul of Genius may reasonably be supposed to kindle into uncommon enthusiasm, at a train of new and unexampled prodigies. In an age of Reform; beneath the mild sway of a British Augustus; under the Ministry of a pure immaculate youth; the Temple of Janus shut; the Trade of Otaheite open; not an angry American to be heard of, except the Lottery Loyalists; the fine Arts in full Glory; Sir William Chambers the Royal Architect; Lord Sydney a Cabinet Minister!—What a golden æra!—From this auspicious moment, Peers, Bishops, Baronets, Methodists, Members of Parliament, Chaplains, all genuine Beaux Esprits, all legitimate heirs of Parnassus, rush forward, with unfeigned ardour, to delight the world by the united efforts of liberal genius and constitutional loyalty.—The illustrious candidates assemble—the wisest of Earls sits as Judge—the archest of Buffos becomes his assessor—the Odes are read—the election is determined—how justly is not for us to decide. To the great Tribunal of the public the whole of this important contest is now submitted.—Every document that can illustrate, every testimony that tends to support the respective merits of the Probationers, is impartially communicated to the world of letters.—Even the Editor of such a collection may hope for some reversionary fame from the humble, but not inglorious task, of collecting the scattered rays of Genius.—At the eve of a long laborious life, devoted to a sister Muse (vide my History, printed for T. Payne and Son, at the Mews-Gate), possibly it may not wholly appear an irregular vanity, if I sometimes have entertained a hope, that my tomb may not want the sympathetic record of Poetry—I avow my motive.—

It is with this expectation I appear as an Editor on the present occasion.—The Authors whose compositions I collect for public notice are twenty-three. The odds of survivorship, according to Doctor Price are, that thirteen of these will outlive me, myself being in class III. of his ingenious tables.—Surely, therefore, it is no mark of that sanguine disposition which my enemies have been pleased to ascribe to me, if I deem it possible that some one of the same thirteen will requite my protection of their harmonious effusions with a strain of elegiac gratitude, saying, possibly (pardon me, ye Survivors that may be, for presuming to hint the thought to minds so richly fraught as yours are) saying, I say,

Here lies Sir John Hawkins,
Without his shoes or stockings![1]

[1] Said Survivors are not bound to said Rhime, if not agreeable.

[The Following excellent observations on the LYRIC STYLE, have been kindly communicated to the EDITOR by the REV. THOMAS WARTON.—They appear to have been taken almost verbatim from several of the former works of that ingenious author; but chiefly from his late edition of Milten’s Minora. We sincerely hope, therefore, that they may serve the double purpose of enriching the present collection, and of attracting the public attention to that very critical work from which they are principally extracted.]