He hath nothing farther to premise, but that the Reader must not expect to be pleased with every particular poem which is here prefented to him. It is impossible to furnish out an entertainment of this nature, where every part shall be relished by every guest: it will be sufficient, if nothing is set before him, but what has been approved by those of the most acknowledged taste.

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Sacerdos Fronde fuper MITRAM, et fælici comptus olivá. VIRG.

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YOntending kings, and fields of death, too long

Have been the subject of the British song. Who hath not read of fam'd Ramilia's plain, Bavaria's fall, and Danube choak’d with Nain ?



Exhausted themes! A gentler note I raise,
And sing returning Peace in softer lays.
Their fury quell’d, and martial rage allay'd,
I wait our heroes in the sylvan shade :
Disbanding hosts are imag'd to my mind,
And warring pow'rs in friendly leagues combin'd ;
While ease and pleasure make the nations smile,
And heav'n and ANNA bless Britannia's ille.

Well sends our Queen her mitred BRISTOL forth,
For early counsels fam'd, and long-try'd worth,
Who, thirty rolling years, had oft with-held
The Suede and Saxon from the dusty field;
Compleatly form’d, to heal the Christian wounds,
To name the kings, and give each kingdom bounds ;
The face of ravag'd nature to repair,
By leagues to soften earth, and heav'n by pray'r;
To gain by love, where rage and Naughter fail,
And make the crosier o'er the sword prevail.

So when great Moses, with JEHOVAH's wand,
Had scatter'd plagues o'er stubborn Pharaoh's land,
Now spread an host of locusts round the shore,
Now turnid Nile's fattning streams to putrid gore ;
Plenty and gladness mark'd the priest of God,
And sudden almonds shot from Aaron's rod.

O thou,

O thou, from whom these bounteous blessings flow, To whom, as chief, the hopes of peace we owe, (For next to thee, the man whom kings contend To stile companion, and to make their friend, Great STRAFFORD, rich in every courtly grace, With joyful pride accepts the second place,) From Britain's isle, and Ifis' sacred spring, One hour, oh ! listen while the Muses fing. Though ministers of mighty monarchs wait, With beating hearts, to learn their masters' fate, One hour forbear to speak thy Queen's commands, Nor think the world, thy charge, neglected stands ; The blissful prospects, in my verse display'd, May lure the stubborn, the deceiv'd persuade, Ev'n thou to peace shalt speedier urge


way, And more be haften'd by this short delay.

The haughty Gaul, in ten campaigns o’erthrown, Now ceas'd to think the western world his own. Oft had he mourn’d his boasting leaders bound, And his proud bulwarks smoaking on the ground; In vain with pow'rs renew'd he fillid the plain, Made tim'rous vows, and brib'd the saints in vain; As oft his legions did the fight decline, Lurk'd in the trench, and skulk'd behind the line.


Before his eyes the fancy'd javelin gleams ;
At feasts he starts, and seems dethron'd in dreams;
On glory past reflects with secret pain,
On mines exhausted, and on millions Nain.

To Britain's Queen the scepter'd fuppliant bends,
To her his crowns and infant race commends,
Who grieves her fame with christian blood to buy,
Nor asks for glory at a price fo high.
At her decree the war fuspended stands,
And Britain's heroes hold their lifted hands :

open brows no threatning frowns disguise, Bụt gentler passions sparkle in their eyes. The Gauls, who never in their courts could find Such temper'd fire with manly beauty join'd, Doubt if they're those, whom dreadful to the view In forms fo fierce their fearful fancies drew, At whofe dire names ten thousand widows press'd Their helpless orphans clinging to the breast. In silent rapture each his foe furveys, They vow firm friendship, and give mutual praise.

Brave minds, howe'er at war, are fecret friends, · Their gen’rous difcord with the battle ends ;

In peace they wonder whence diffention rofe,
And ask how fouls so like could e'er be foes.


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