"Say to the tyrant man, whose pride denies "Thy sex a Soul, and bars them from the skies, "That when the date of female worth expires, "And sickening Nature yields her latest fires, "When beams no more the lustre of the eye, "And Death o'er Beauty hails his victory, "To life by Fate recall'd, the Sex assume "Celestial charms, and never-fading bloom; "In roseate bowers recline, or blissful rove "Thro' scenes of boundless joy and rapturous love; "That there, so Heaven ordains, a blooming band "Of youths, obsequious to each Fair's command, "Attentive waits, and, as her fancy wills, "Each task of duty or of love fulfills.—

"Then to the peremptory tyrant say: "Who hopes this lot in Heav'n must here obey, "Bow to superior worth, to sense refin❜d,

"Bless the benignant sway of womankind,

"Hail the fair fabric of an hand divine,

"And own the soul that animates the shrine.

"Or, driv'n for ever from the realms above,

"His soul in vain shall pant for heavenly love.”

SONNE T.

TO THE RED-BREAST.

WHEN that the fields put on their gay attire

Silent Thou sitst near brake or river's brim,
Whilst the glad Thrush sings loud from covert dim:
But when pale Winter lights the social fire,

And meads with slime are sprent, and ways with mire,
Thou charm'st us with thy soft and solemn hymn
From battlement, or barn, or hay-stack trim:

And now not seldom tun'st, as if for hire,
Thy thrilling pipe to Me, waiting to catch
The pittance due to thy well-warbled song.
Sweet Bird, sing on! for oft near lonely hatch,
Like Thee, myself have pleas'd the rustic throng;
And oft, for entrance 'neath the peaceful thatch,
Full many a tale have told, and ditty long.

SONNET,

WRITTEN AT A FARM."

AROUND my porch and lowly casement spread
The myrtle never sear, and gadding vine,
With fragrant sweetbriar loves to intertwine;

And in my garden 's box-encircled bed
The pansie pied, the musk-rose, white and red,
The pink and tulip, and honied woodbine,
Fling odours round; the flaunting eglantine

Decks my trim fence, 'neath which, by Silence led,
The Wren hath wisely fram'd her mossy cell;
And, far from noise in courtly land so rife,
Nestles her young to rest and warbles well:
Here in this safe retreat and peaceful glen

I

pass my sober moments, far from men,

Nor wishing death too soon, nor asking life.

I

THE PARADOX:

OR,

NED FRIGHTENED OUT OF HIS WITS.

cave ne titubes.

Hor. Ep. l. i. ep. 13.

EMPTY the flask, discharg'd the score,
NED stagger'd from the tavern door,
And falling, in his drunken fits,
Crippled his nose and lost his wits;
But, from the kennel soon emerging,
His nose repairs by help of surgeon:
That done, the leech peeps in his brain
To find his Wits,-but peeps in vain.
""Tis hard," the patient cries, " to lose
"Wits not a whit the worse for use;
"Wits which I always laid aside

"For great occasions, cut and dried ;”
("Tho' here the case was falsely put:
His wits were dried, himself was cut.)

"Wits like the Continental Aloe,

"That for a century lies fallow;

"Wits never prodigally wasted;

"Like choice conserves, but rarely tasted:
"Wits husbanded, not spent at random;
"Cork'd up like cordials for my grandam:
"Wits, which, if all your wealth could buy-sir,
"You would not be a jot the wiser."

Tho' plain appear'd in ev'ry face
A fellow-feeling of his case,

Yet still, to shew their wits were sound,
His boon companions throng around,

And sagely, one and all, accost him;

"Zounds, NED! I wonder how you lost 'em!"

Ah! let them drink their port in

For miracles will never cease!

peace,

And, if NED's loss of wits astound 'em,

Zounds!-how they'll wonder when he 's found 'em!