By me meridian excellence display,
And, like autumnal fruits, by me decay.
When poets, and when painters are no more,
And all the feuds of rival wits are o'er;
'Tis mine to fix their merit and their claim,
I judge their works to darkness or to fame.

I am a monarch, whose victorious hands
No craft eludes, no regal power withstands:
My annals prove such mighty conquests won,
As shame the puny feats of Philip's son.
But though a king, I seldom sway alone,
The goddess Fortune often shares my throne.
The human eye detects our blended rule,
Here we exalt a knave, and there a fool.
Ask you what powers our sovereign laws obey?
Creation is our empire-we convey
Sceptres and crowns at will—as we ordain,
Kings abdicate their thrones, and peasants reign.

Lovers to us address the fervent prayer; 'Tis ours to soften or subdue the fair: We now like angels smile, and now destroy, Now bring, or blast, the long-expected joy. At our fair shrine ambitious churchmen bow, And crave the mitre to adorn the brow. Go to the inns of court-the learned drudge Implores our friendship, to commence a judge. Go, and consult the sons of Warwick Lane; They own our favours, and adore our reign. Theirs is the gold, 'tis true—but all men see Our claim is better founded to the fee.

Reader, thus sublunary worlds we guide, Thus o'er your natal planets we preside. Kingdoms and kings are ours-to us they fall We carve their fortunes, and dispoşe of all.

Nor think that kings alone engross our choice; The cobbler sits attentive to our voice.

But since my colleague is a fickle she;
A bjure my colleague and depend on me.
Either she sees not, or with partial eyes,
Either she grants amiss, or she denies.
But I, who pity those that wear her chain,
Scorn the capricious measures of her reign;
In every gift and every grace excel,
And seldom fail their hopes who use me well.
Yet though in me unnumber'd treasures shine,
Superior to the rich Peruvian mine!
Though men to my indulgence hourly owe
The choicest of their comforts here below
(For men's best tenure, as the world agree,
Is all a perquisite derived from me):

's
my

foe! ungrateful man, Who meditates

my murder

every day. What various scenes of death do men prepare! And what assassinations plot the fair! But know assuredly, who treat me ill, Who mean to rob me, or who mean to kill; Who view me with a cold regardless eye,

favours

pass

unheeded by; They shall lament their folly when too late; So mourns the prodigal his lost estate!

While they who with superior forethoughtbless'd, Store all my lessons in their faithful breast; (For where's the prelate who can preach like me, With equal reasoning and persuasive plea?) Who know that I am always on my wings, And never stay in compliment to kings; Who therefore watch me with an eagle's sight, Arrest my pinions, or attend my flight;

Still man

I say,

And let my

Or if perchance they loiter'd in the race,
Chide their slow footsteps, and improve their pace;
Yes, these are wisdom's sons, and when they die
Their virtues shall exalt them to the sky,

THE FIRESIDE.
DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

In folly’s maze advance;
Though singularity and pride
Be callid our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.
From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs; .
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heartfelt joys. If solid happiness

we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies,

And they are fools who roam;
The world hath nothing to bestow,
From our ownselves our bliss must flow,

And that dear hut-our home.
Of rest was Noah's dove bereft,
When with impatient wing she left

That safe retreat, the ark; Giving her vain excursions o'er, The disappointed bird once more

Explored the sacred bark.