In social talk and ready jest

He shone superior at the feast,

And qualities of mind

Illustrious in the eyes of those
Whose gay society he chose
Possess'd of every kind.

Methinks I see him powder'd red,
With bushy locks his well-dress'd head
Wing'd broad on either side,
The mossy rose-bud not so sweet;
His steeds 'superb, his carriage neat
As luxury could provide.

Can such be cruel? Such can be
Cruel as hell, and so was he;
A tyrant entertain'd

With barbarous sports, whose fell delight
Was to encourage mortal fight

"Twixt birds to battle train'd.

One feather'd champion he possess'd,
His darling far beyond the rest,
Which never knew disgrace,

Nor e'er had fought, but he made flow
The life-blood of his fiercest foe,
The Cæsar of his race.

It chanced, at last, when, on a day,
He push'd him to the desperate fray,
His courage droop'd, he fled.

The Master storm'd, the prize was lost,
And, instant, frantic at the cost,

He doom'd his favourite dead.

He seized him fast, and from the pit
Flew to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit,
And, bring me cord, he cried;

The cord was brought, and, at his word,
To that dire implement the bird
Alive and struggling, tied.

The horrid sequel asks a veil,
And all the terrors of the tale

That can be, shall be, sunk.-
Led by the sufferer's screams aright
His shock'd companions view the sight
And him with fury drunk.

All, suppliant, beg a milder fate
For the old warrior at the grate :
He, deaf to pity's call,

Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel
His culinary club of steel,

Death menacing on all.

But vengeance hung not far remote,
For while he stretch'd his clamorous throat
And heaven and earth defied,

Big with a curse too closely pent
That struggled vainly for a vent,

He totter'd, reel'd, and died.

'Tis not for us, with rash surmise,
To point the judgements of the skies;
But judgements plain as this,

That, sent for Man's instruction, bring
A written label on their wing,
'Tis hard to read amiss.

ON THE

BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MAJESTY FROM SEA-BATHING,

IN THE YEAR 1789.

O SOVEREIGN of an isle renown'd

For undisputed sway

Wherever o'er yon gulf profound
Her navies wing their way ;

With juster claim she builds at length

Her empire on the sea,

And well may boast the waves her strength
Which strength restored to Thee.

TO MRS. THROCKMORTON,

ON

HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE

AD LIBRUM SUUM.

FEBRUARY, 1790.

MARIA, could Horace have guess'd

What honour awaited his ode
To his own little volume address'd,

The honour which you have bestow'd,—
Who have traced it in characters here,

So elegant, even, and neat,

He had laugh'd at the critical sneer

Which he seems to have trembled to meet.

And

sneer, if you please, he had said, A nymph shall hereafter arise

Who shall give me, when

you are all dead,

The glory your malice denies; Shall dignity give to my lay,

Although but a mere bagatelle;

And even a poet shall say,

Nothing ever was written so well.

INSCRIPTION

FOR A STONE ERECTED AT THE SOWING OF A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHILLINGTON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFARD, ESQ. 1790.

JUNE, 1790.

OTHER stones the era tell,

When some feeble mortal fell;

I stand here to date the birth

Of these hardy sons of Earth.

Which shall longest brave the sky,
Storm and frost-these Oaks or I?

Pass an age or two away,

I must moulder and decay;

But the years that crumble me
Shall invigorate the tree,
Spread its branch, dilate its size,
Lift its summit to the skies.

Cherish honour, virtue, truth,
So shalt thou prolong thy youth.
Wanting these, however fast
Man be fix'd, and form'd to last,
He is lifeless even now,

Stone at heart, and cannot grow.

ANOTHER,

FOR A STONE ERECTED ON A SIMILAR OCCASION AT THE SAME PLACE IN THE FOLLOWING YEAR.

JUNE, 1790.

READER! Behold a monument
That asks no sigh or tear,
Though it perpetuate the event
Of a great burial here.

ANNO 1791.

HYMN

FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY.

JULY, 1790.

HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,
In heaven thy dwelling-place,
From infants, made the public care,

And taught to seek thy face!

Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day;

And grant us, we implore,

Never to waste in sinful play

Thy holy Sabbaths more.

Thanks that we hear,-but oh! impart

To each desires sincere,
That we may listen with our heart,

And learn as well as hear.

For if vain thoughts the minds engage
Of elder far than we,

What hope that at our heedless age

Our minds should e'er be free?