ODES FOR THE NEW YEAR.
Whene'er employ'd to celebrate a King, Let fancy lend thy muse her loftiest wing— Stun with thy minstrelsy th' affrighted sphere; Bid thy voice thunder like a hundred batteries; For common sounds, conveying common flatteries. Are zephyrs whisp'ring to the royal ear.
Know, glutton-like, on praise each monarch crams; Hot spices suit alone their pamper'd nature: Alas! the stomach, parch'd by burning drams, With mad-dog terror starts at simple water.
Fierce is each royal mania for applause; And, as a horse-pond wide, are monarch's maws— Form'd, therefore, on a pretty ample scale: To sound the decent panegyric note, To pour the modest flatt'ries down their throat, Were off'ring shrimps for dinner to a whale.
And mind! whene'er thou strik'st the lyre to kings, To touch to Abigails of court the strings; Give the Queen's toad-eater a handsome sop, And swear she always has more grace Than e'en to sell the meanest place— Swear, too, the woman keeps no title-shop.
Thus, reader, ends the prologue to my odes! The true-bred courtiers wonder whilst I preach— And with grave vizards and stretch'd eyes to gods, Pronounce my sermon a most impious speech: With all my spirit—let them damn my lays— A courtier's curses are exalted praise.
THE TRIUMPH OF SENTIMENT.