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On the burning of Lord Mansfield's Library, toge
ther with his MSS. by the Mob, in June 1780
On the same
The Love of the World reproved; or, Hypocrisy
The Lily and the Rose
Idem Latine Redditum
The Nightingale and Glowworm
On a Goldfinch starved to Death in a Cage
Horace, Book the 2d, Ode the roth
A Refle Elion on the foregoing Ode
Translations from l'incent Bourn
The Winter Nosegay
To the Reverend Mr. Newton
Translation of Prior's Chlce and Euphelia
The Poet, the Oyster, and the Sensitive Plant
To the Rev. Mr. William Cawthorn Unwin
Si te fortè meæ gravis uret sarcina chartæ
Hor, Lib. I. EPIs. 13.
OU told me, I remember, glory built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt. The deeds that men admire as half divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel that the very light’ning spares, B
Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant, that men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war.
And never meant the rule should be applied ,
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his nem’ry, dear to ev'ry muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root. In honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good that heav'n bestows, And when recording history displays Feats of renown, though wrought in antient days, Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and dy'd Where duty plac'd them, at their country's side, The man that is not mov'd with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a Nave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to naught but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
T'he post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself ftation'd on a tow'ring rock,
To see a people scatter'd like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tyger feels,
Then view him felf-proclaim'd in a gazette,
Chief monster that has plagu'd the nations yet,
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplac’d,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgrac'd !
The glass chat bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And death's own scythe would better speak his pow'r,
Then grace the boney phantom in their stead
With the king's shoulder knot and gay cockade,
Cloath the twin brethren in each other's dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man, Kings do but reason on the self same plan, Maintaining your's you cannot their's condemn, Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.
B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic 'reigns
With much sufficiency in royal brains.
Such reas'ning falls like an inverted cone,
base to stand upon.
Man made for kings! those optics are but dim
That tell you so— say rather, they for himn.
That were indeed a king-enobling thought,
Could they, or would they, reason as they ought.
The diadem with mighty projects lin’d,
To catch renown by ruining mankind,
Is worth, with all its gold and glitt'ring store,
Just what the toy will sell for and no more.
Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
How feldom used, how little understood!
To pour in virtue's lap her just reward,
Keep vice restrain'd behind a double guard,