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She seiz'd his bill with wild affright,
Her diamond to descry:
'Twas gone! she sicken'd at the sight,
Moaning her bird would die.

The tongue-ty'd knocker none might use,
The curtains none undraw,
The footmen went without their shoes,
The street was laid with straw.

The doctor us'd his oily art

Of strong emetic kind, Th' apothecary play'd his part, And engineer'd behind.

When physic ceas'd to spend its store,
To bring away the stone,
Dicky, like people given o'er,
Picks up, when let alone.

His eyes dispell'd their sickly dews, He peck'd behind his wing; Lucia recovering at the news, Relapses for the ring.

Mean while within her beauteous breast

Two different passions strove; When av'rice ended the contest, And triumph'd over love.

Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing,
Thy pains the sex display,
Who, only to repair a ring,

Could take thy life away.

Drive av'rice from your breasts, ye fair,
Monster of foulest mien:

Ye would not let it harbour there,
Could but its form be seen.

It made a virgin put on guile, Truth's image break her word, A Lucia's face forbear to smile, A Venus kill her bird.

THE SEEKER.

WHEN I first came to London, I rambled about From sermon to sermon, took a slice and went out. Then on me, in divinity bachelor, try'd Many priests to obtrude a Levitical bride; And urging their various opinions, intended To make me wed systems, which they recommended. [inn, Said a lech'rous old fri'r skulking near Lincoln's(Whose trade's to absolve, but whose pastime 's to sin; Who, spider-like, seizes weak protestant flies, Which hung in his sophistry cobweb he spies;) "Ah! pity your soul; for without our church pale, If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't fail; The Bible, you boast, is a wild revelation: Hear a church that can't err if you hope for salvation." [grace

Said a formal non-con, (whose rich stock of Lies forward expos'd in shop-window of face,) "Ah! pity your soul: come, be of our sect: For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect. As it stands in the Acts, we can prove ourselves saints, [against." Being Christ's little flock every where spoke Said a jolly church parson, (devoted to ease,

While penal law dragons guard his golden fleece,)
"If you pity your soul, I pray listen to neither;
The first is in errour, the last a deceiver:
That our's is the true church, the sense of our
And surely in medio tutissimus ibis.”

[tribe is,

Said a yea and nay friend with a stiff hat and [hand,)

band,

(Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his "Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, Though about ways and means they may all disagree;

Then prithee be wise, go the quakers by-way, 'Tis plain, without turnpikes, so nothing to pay."

ON BARCLAY'S APOLOGY FOR THE
QUAKERS'.

THESE sheets primeval doctrines yield,
Where revelation is reveal'd;
Soul-phlegm from literal feeding bred,
Systems lethargic to the head
They purge, and yield a diet thin,
That turns to gospel-chyle within.
Truth sublimate may here be seen
Extracted from the parts terrene.
In these is shown, how men obtain
What of Prometheus poets feign:
To scripture plainness dress is brought,
And speech, apparel to the thought.
They hiss from instinet at red coats,
And war, whose work is cutting throats,
Forbid, and press the law of love:
Breathing the spirit of the dove.
Lucrative doctrines they detest,
As manufactur'd by the priest;
And throw down turnpikes, where we pay
For stuff, which never mends the way;
And tythes, a Jewish tax, reduce,
And frank the gospel for our use.
They sable standing armies break;
But the militia useful make:

Since all unhir'd may preach and pray,
Taught by these rules as well as they;
Rules, which, when truths themselves reveal,
Bid us to follow what we feel.

The world can't hear the small still voice,
Such is its bustle and its noise;
Reason the proclamation reads,
But not one riot passion heeds.
Wealth, honour, power the graces are,
Which here below our homage share:
They, if one votary they find
To mistress more divine inclin'd,

This celebrated book was written by its author, both in Latin and English, and was afterwards translated into High Dutch, Low Dutch, French, and Spanish, and probably into other languages. It has always been esteemed a very ingenious defence of the principles of Quakerism, even by those who deny the doctrines which it endeavours to establish. The author was born at Edinburgh in 1648, and received part of his education at the Scots College in Paris, where his uncle was principal. His father became one of the earliest converts to the new sect, and from his example, the son seems to have been induced to tread in his steps. He died on the 3d of October, 1690, in the 42d year of his age.

In truth's pursuit, to cause delay,
Throw golden apples in his way.

Place me, O Heav'n, in some retreat;
There let the serious death-watch beat,
There let me self in silence shun,
To feel thy will, which should be done.

Then comes the Spirit to our hut,
When fast the senses' doors are shut;
For so divine and pure a guest
The emptiest rooms are furnish'd best.

O Contemplation! air serene!
From damps of sense, and fogs of spleen!
Pure mount of thought! thrice holy ground,
Where grace, when waited for, is found.

Here 'tis the soul feels sudden youth,
And meets exulting, virgin Truth;
Here, like a breeze of gentlest kind,
Impulses rustle through the mind;
Here shines that light with glowing face,
The fuse divine, that kindles grace;
Which, if we trim our lamps, will last,
"Till darkness be by dying past.
And then goes out at end of night,
Extinguish'd by superior light.

Ah me! the heats and colds of life, Pleasure's and pain's eternal strife, Breed stormy passions, which confin'd, Shake, like th' Æolian cave, the mind, And raise despair; my lamp can last, Plac'd where they drive the furious blast.

False eloquence! big empty sound! Like showers that rush upon the ground! Little beneath the surface goes, All streams along, and muddy flows. This sinks, and swells the buried grain, And fructifies like southern rain.

His art, well hid in mild discourse, Exerts persuasion's winning force, And nervates so the good design, That king Agrippa's case is mine.

Well-natur'd, happy shade forgive! Like you I think, but cannot live. Thy scheme requires the world's contempt, That from dependence life exempt; And constitution fram'd so strong, This world's worst climate cannot wrong. Not such my lot, not Fortune's brat, 1 live by pulling off the hat; Compell'd by station every hour To bow to images of power; And in life's busy scenes immers'd, See better things, and do the worst.

Eloquent Want, whose reasons sway, And make ten thousand truths give way, While I your scheme with pleasure trace, Draws near, and stares me in the face. "Consider well your state," she cries, "Like others kneel, that you may rise; Hold doctrines, by no scruples vex'd, To which preferment is annex'd; Nor madly prove, where all depends, Idolatry upon your friends. See, how you like my rueful face, Such you must wear, if out of place. Crack'd is your brain to turn recluse Without one farthing out at use. They, who have lands, and safe bank-stock, With faith so founded on a rock,

May give a rich invention ease,
And construe scripture how they please.

"The honour'd prophet that of old, Us'd Heav'n's high counsels to unfold, Did, more than courier angels, greet The crows, that brought him bread and meat,"

THE GROTTO'.

WRITTEN BY MR. GREEN, UNDER THE NAME OF PETER DRAKE, A FISHERMAN OF BRENTFORD. PRINTED IN THE YEAR 1732, BUT NOT PUBLISHED.

Scilicet hic possis curvo dignoscere rectum, Atque inter silvas Academi quærere verum. Hor.

Our wits Apollo's influence beg, The Grotto makes them all with egg: Finding this chalkstone in my nest, I strain, and lay among the rest. ADIEU awhile, forsaken flood, To ramble in the Delian wood, And pray the god my well-meant song May not my subject's merit wrong.

Say, father Thames, whose gentle pace Gives leave to view what beauties grace Your flow'ry banks, if you have seen The much-sung Grotto of the queen. Contemplative, forget awhile Oxonian towers, and Windsor's pile, And Wolsey's pride2 (his greatest guilt) And what great William since has built; And flowing fast by Richmond scenes, (Honour'd retreat of two great queens 3) From Sion-house4, whose proud survey Brow-beats your flood, look cross the way, And view, from highest swell of tide, The milder scenes of Surry side.

Though yet no palace grace the shore,
To lodge that pair you should adore;
Nor abbies, great in ruin, rise,
Royal equivalents for vice;
Behold a grott, in Delphic grove,
The Graces' and the Muses' love.
(0, might our laureat study here,
How would he hail his new-born year!)
A temple from vain glories free,
Whose goddess is Philosophy,
Whose sides such licens'd idols crown
As Superstition would pull down;
The only pilgrimage I know,

That men of sense would choose to go:
Which sweet abode, her wisest choice,
Urania cheers with heavenly voice,
While all the Virtues gather round,
To see her consecrate the ground.
If thou, the god with winged feet,
In council talk of this retreat,

A building in Richmond Gardens, erected by queen Caroline, and committed to the custody of Stephen Duck. At the time this poem was written many other verses appeared on the same subject. Hampton Court, begun by cardinal Wolsey, and improved by king William III.

3 Queen Anne, consort to king Richard II. and queen Elizabeth, both died at Richmond.

4 Sion-house is now a seat belonging to the duke of Northumberland.

And jealous gods resentment show At altars rais'd to men below;

Tell those proud lords of Heaven, 't is fit
Their house our heroes should admit;
While each exists, as poets sing,
A lazy lewd immortal thing,
They must (or grow in disrepute)
With Earth's first commoners recruit.
Needless it is in terms unskill'd
To praise whatever Boyle 5 shall build;
Needless it is the busts to name
Of men, monopolists of fame;
Four chiefs adorn the modest stone,
For virtue as for learning known;
The thinking sculpture helps to raise
Deep thoughts, the genii of the place:
To the mind's ear, and inward sight,
Their silence speaks, and shade gives light:
While insects from the threshold preach,
And minds dispos'd to musing teach:
Proud of strong limbs and painted hues,
They perish by the slightest bruise;
Or maladies, begun within,

Destroy more slow life's frail machine;
From maggot-youth through change of state,
They feel like us the turns of fate;
Some born to creep have liv'd to fly,
And change earth-cells for dwellings high;
And some that did their six wings keep,
Before they dy'd been forc'd to creep;
They politics like ours profess,
The greater prey upon the less:
Some strain on foot huge loads to bring;
Some toil incessant on the wing;
And in their different ways explore
Wise sense of want by future store;
Nor from their vigorous schemes desist
"Fill death, and then are never miss'd.
Some frolic, toil, marry, increase,
Are sick and well, have war and peace,
And, broke with age, in half a day
Yield to successors, and away.

Let not prophane this sacred place,
Hypocrisy with Janus' face;
Or Pomp, mixt state of pride and care;
Court Kindness, Falshood's polish'd ware;
Scandal disguis'd in Friendship's veil,
That tells, unask'd, th' injurious tale;
Or art politic, which allows
The jesuit-remedy for vows;
Or priest, perfuming crowned head,
'Till in a swoon Truth lies for dead;
Or tawdry critic, who perceives
No grace, which plain proportion gives,
And more than lineaments divine
Admires the gilding of the shrine;
Or that self-haunting spectre Spleen,
In thickest fog the clearest seen;

5 Richard Boyle, earl of Burlington, a nobleman remarkable for his fine taste in architecture. "Never was protection and great wealth more generously and judiciously diffused than by this great person, who had every quality of a genius and artist, except envy." He died December 4, 1753.

6 The author should have said five; there being the busts of Newton, Locke, Wollaston, Clarke, and Boyle.

Or Prophecy, which dreams a lie,
That fools believe and knaves apply;
Or frolic Mirth, prophanely loud,
And happy only in a crowd;
Or Melancholy's pensive gloom,
Proxy in Contemplation's room.

O Delia! when I touch this string,
To thee my Muse directs her wing.
Unspotted fair! with downcast look
Mind not so much the murm'ring brook;
Nor fixt in thought, with footsteps slow
Through cypress alleys cherish woe:
I see the soul in pensive fit,
And moping like sick linnet sit.
With dewy eye, and moulting wing,
Unperch'd, averse to fly or sing;
I see the favourite curls begin
(Disus'd to toilet discipline)
To quit their post, lose their smart air,
And grow again like common hair;
And tears, which frequent kerchiefs dry,
Raise a red circle round the eye;
And by this bur about the Moon,
Conjecture more ill weather soon.
Love not so much the doleful kuell:
And news the boding night-birds tell;
Nor watch the wainscot's hollow blow;
And hens portentous when they crow;
Nor sleepless mind the death-watch beat;
In taper find no winding-sheet:
Nor in burnt coal a coffin see,

Though thrown at others, meant for thee:
Or when the corruscation gleams,
Find out not first the bloody streams;
Nor in imprest remembrance keep
Grim tap'stry figures wrought in sleep;
Nor rise to see in antique hall

The moon-light monsters on the wall,
And shadowy spectres darkly pass
Trailing their sables o'er the grass.
Let vice and guilt act how they please
In souls, their conquer'd provinces;
By Heaven's just charter it appears,
Virtue's exempt from quartering fears,
Shall then arm'd fancies fiercely drest,
Live at discretion in your breast?
Be wise, and panic fright disdain,
As notions, meteors of the brain;
And sights perform'd, illusive scene!
By magic lanthorn of the spleen.
Come here, from baleful cares releas'd,
With Virtue's ticket, to a feast,
Where decent Mirth and Wisdom join'd
In stewardship, regale the mind.
Call back the Cupids to your eyes,
I see the godlings with surprise.
Not knowing home in such a plight,
Fly to and fro, afraid to light.-

Far from my theme, from method far,
Convey'd in Venus' flying car,
I go compell'd by feather'd steeds,
That scorn the rein when Delia leads,
No daub of elegiac strain
These holy wars shall ever stain;
As spiders Irish wainscot flee,
Falshood with them shall disagree;
This floor let not the vulgar tread,
Who worship only what they dread:
Nor bigots who but one way see
Through blinkers of authority;

Nor they who its four saints defame
By making virtue but a name;
Nor abstract wit, (painful regale
To hunt the pig with slippery tail!)
Artists, who richly chase their thought,
Gaudy without, but hollow wrought;
And beat too thin, and tool'd too much
To bear the proof and standard touch:
Nor fops to guard this sylvan ark
With necklace bells in treble bark:
Nor cynics growl and fiercely paw,
The mastiffs of the moral law.
Come, nymph, with rural honours drest,
Virtue's exterior form confest,
With charms untarnish'd, innocence
Display, and Eden shall commence;
When thus you come in sober fit,
And wisdom is preferr'd to wit;
And looks diviner graces tell,
Which don't with giggling muscles dwell;
And beauty like the ray-clipt Sun,
With bolder eye we look upon;
Learning shall with obsequious mien
Tell all the wonders she has seen;
Reason her logic armour quit,
And proof to mild persuasion sit;
Religion with free thought dispense,
And cease crusading against sense;
Philosophy and she embrace,

And their first league again take place;
And Morals pure, in duty bound,
Nymph-like the sisters chief surround;
Nature shall smile, and round this cell
The turf to your light pressure swell,
And knowing Beauty by her shoe,
Well air its carpet from the dew.
The Oak, while you his umbrage deck,
Lets fall his acorns in your neck;
Zephyr his civil kisses gives,
And plays with curls instead of leaves:
Birds, seeing you, believe it spring,
And during their vacation sing;
And flow'rs lean forward from their seats
To traffic in exchange of sweets;

And angels bearing wreaths descend,
Preferr❜d as vergers to attend
This fane, whose deity entreats
The fair to grace its upper seats.

O kindly view our letter'd strife,
And guard us through polemic life;
From poison vehicled in praise,
For satire's shots but slightly graze;
We claim your zeal, and find within,
Philosophy and you are kin.

What virtue is we judge by you; For actions right are beauteous too; By tracing the sole female mind, We best what is true nature find: Your vapours bred from fumes declare, How steams create tempestuous air, 'Till gushing tears and hasty rain Make Heaven and you serene again: Our travels through the starry skies Were first suggested by your eyes; We, by the interposing fan, Learn how eclipses first began: The vast ellipse from Scarbro's home, Describes how blazing comets roam; The glowing colours of the cheek Their origin from Phoebus speak; Our watch how Luna strays above Feels like the care of jealous love; And all things we in science know From your known love for riddles flow.

Father! forgive, thus far I stray, Drawn by attraction from my way. Mark next with awe, the foundress well Who on these banks delights to dwell; You on the terrace see her plain, Move like Diana with her train. If you then fairly speak your mind, In wedlock since with Isis join'd, You'll own, you never yet did see, At least in such a high degree, Greatness delighted to undress; Science a sceptr'd hand caress; A queen the friends of freedom prize; A woman wise men canonize.

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