Amazement feiz'd the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
E'en bearded fages hail'd the boy,
And all, but Plato, gaz'd with joy.
For he, deep-judging fage, beheld
With pains the triumphs of the field:
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And flush'd with hope, had caught his eye,
"Alas, unhappy youth!" he cry'd,
Expect no praise from me, (and figh'd)
With indignation I survey
Such fkill and judgment thrown away,
The time profufely fquandered there,
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at less expence,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, fenfe;
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men, and guide the ftate."
WHERE London's column pointing at the skies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;
There dwelt a citizen of fober fame,
A plain, good man, and Balaam was his name ;
Religious, punctual, frugal, and fo forth;
His word would pafs for more than he was worth:
One folid dish his week-day meal affords,
And added pudding folemniz'd the Lord's:
Conftant at Church and 'Change; his gains were fure,
His givings rare, fave farthings to the poor.
The devil was piqu'd fuch faintship to behold,
And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old:
But Satan now is wifer than of yore,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.
Rous'd by the Prince of air, the whirlwinds fweep The furge, and plunge his father in the deep; Then full against his Cornish lands they roar, And two rich fhipwrecks Blefs the lucky fhore. Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks, Fle takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes: "Live like yourfelf," was foon my lady's word, And lo! two puddings fmok'd upon the board. Afleep and naked as an Indian lay,
An honeft factor flole a gem away ;-、
He pledg'd it to the knight: the knight had wit,
So kept the di'mond, and the rogue was bit.
Some fcruple rofe, but thus he eas'd his thought,
"I'll now give fixpence where I gave a groat;
Where once I went to church I'll now go twice---
And am fo clear too of all other vice."
The temptex faw his time; the work he ply'd;
Stocks and fubfcriptions pour on ev'ry fide,
Till all the dæmon makes his full defcent,
In one abundant fhow'r of cent. per cent.
Sinks deep within him, and poffefs the whole,
Then dubs Director, and fecures his foul.
Behold Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit,
Afcribes his gettings to his parts and merit;
What late he call'd a Bleffing, now was Wit,
And God's good Providence, a lucky Hit.
Things change their titles as our manners turn ;
His compting-house employ'd the Sunday morn :
Seldom at church ('twas fuch a bufy life)
But duly fent his family and wife.
There (fo the devil ordain'd) one Christmas tide,
My good old lady catch'd a cold and dy'd.
A nymph of quality admires our knight;
He marries, bows at court, and grows polite :
Leaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair)
The well-bread cuckolds in St. James's air.
In Britain's Senate he a seat obtains,
And one more penfioner St. Stephen gains.
My lady falls to play; fo bad her chance,
He must repair it; takes a bribe from France:
The houfe impeach him, Coning(by harangues;
The Court forsake him, and Sir Baalam hangs.
Wife, fon, and daughter, Satan, are thy own,
His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the Crown;
The devil and the king divide the prize;
And fad Sir Baalam curfes God and dies,
FAR in the windings of a vale,
Faft by a fhelt'ring wood,
The fafe retreat of Health and Peace,
A humble cottage stood.
There beautious Emma flourish'd fair
Beneath a mother's eye,
Whofe only with on earth was now
To see her bleft, and die.
The foftest blush that Nature spreads,
Gave colour to her cheek;
Such orient colour fmiles thro' Heav'n
When May's fweet mornings break,
Nor let the pride of great ones fcorn
This charmer of the plains ;
That fun which bids their di'mond blaze To deck our lily deigns.
Long had she fir'd each youth with love,
Each maiden with defpair;
And though by all a wonder own'd,
Yet knew not fhe was fair.
Till Edwin came, the pride of Swains,
A foul that knew no art,
And from whofe eyes, ferenely mild,
Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual flame was quickly caught,
Was quickly too reveal'd;
Nor neither bofom lodg'd a wish
Which Virtue keeps conceal'd..
What happy hours of heart-felt blifs
Did love on both bestow!
But blifs too mighty long to laft,
Where Fortune proves a foe.
His fifter, who like envy 'form'd,-
Like her in mischief joy'd,
To work them harm, with wicked skill
Each darker art employ'd.
The father too, a fordid man,
Who love nor pity knew,
Was all unfeeling as the rock
From whence his riches grew.
Long had he feen their mutual flame,
And feen it long unmov'd;
Then with a father's frown at last,
He fternly disapprov'd.
In Edwin's gentle heart a war
Of diff'ring paffions firove;
His heart, which durft not disobey,
Yet could not ceafe to love.
Deny'd her fight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,
To fnatch a glance, to mark the spot
Where Emma walk'd and wept.
Oft too in Stanmore's wintry waste,
Beneath the moonlight shade,
In fighs to pour his foften'd foul,
The midnight mourner ftray'd.
His cheeks where love with beauty glow'd,'
A deadly pale o'ercast:
So fades the fresh rofe in its prime,
Before the northern blast.
The parents now, with late remorfe,
Hung o'er his dying bed,
And weary'd Heav'n with fruitless pray'rs, And fruitless forrows fhed.
"Tis paft (he cry'd) but if your fouls
Sweet mercy yet can move,
Let these dim eyes once more behold
What they must ever love."
She came; his cold hand foftly touch'd,
And bath'd with many a tear;
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