FORGIVE, my Lord, an homely Muse,
Too plain by flatt'ry to amuse,
Too free to hope or fear;
I come not with obsequ'ous bow,
To sooth, protest, recant, or vow,
Like temporising Clare.
Nor meek, and trembling with despair,
To drop a penitential tear,
And sue to be forgiven;
Unfit to sneak about a court,
I live where freedom's sons resort,
Beneath an humbler heaven.
Friend to the law, the church, and king, As numbers flow I boldly sing,
And praise where praise is due :
When laws enslave, I blot the plan,
When spendthrifts guide, I brand the man, Tho' great, or proud as you.
There was a time, I must be plain,
Ere adulation turn'd your brain,
Ere power unmask'd your pride;
When you, my Lord, diftus'd afar
Your lustre, like the Northern star,
Britannia's hope and guide.
But now these rays are over-cast,
Your sun has now his zenith past,
Declining are your fires;
No more, Britannia, meek and tame,
Like a fond mistress fans your flame,
Nor courts your wild desires.
Cast off, impoverish'd, undone,
She
her health and fortune gone, Whilst your new love rejoices; But her's is no uncommon state, 'Tis but the just decree of fate To dames who make such choices.
America, her rival flame,
That rough, imperious, haughty dame,
As dark in heart as feature;.
With your opinions to comply,
Forces all bonds of legal tie,
Of gratitude and nature.
Rais'd by the fondest mother's care,
She wounds that mother to despair,
Who gave her ease and wealth;
Tutor❜d to serve your odious ends,
For you
she cheats herself and friends,
With you intrigues by stealth.
Such is the nature of your sex, Regardless whom you please or vex, You change from one to t' other; Tis lustful passion tempts the man, When daughters give up all they can ; Like you to quit the mother.
This may be folly deem'd in youth,
Ere constancy and social truth
Grow with the growth of time;
Yet sure in life there is a stage,
When treachery's a stain to age,
When want of faith's a crime.
In vain again you meanly fly,
With golden promise, flatt'ring sigh,
For refuge to her arms;
Wisely she shuns th' attractive flame, That blaz'd but to undo her fame, Her fortune, health, and charms.
Britannia now has found a friend,
Active and able to defend,
Accessible and true;
On Grenville she has cast her eye,
From him expects that rich supply
Of wealth, she lost by you.
From his abundant depth of mind,
Resources flow of every kind,
To ease, correct, or heal;
Frugal of treasures not his own;
He bribes no hungry courtier's frown,
He dreads no foe's appeal.
Averse to shed Britannia's blood,
His ruling passion's public good,
His liberty her law;
Reviv'd by these salubrious powers,
She'll rest again on beds of flowers,
And strength from plenty draw.
THE PRESENT PERIOD OF TIME.
In times like these, when party rage
Quickens the feeble pulse of age,
And fires the youthful breast;
When confidence, that social chain,
Which link'd the faith of man to man,
Shrinks from the gen'rous test;
When ev'ry organ, spring, and wheel,
Destin'd to move the public weal,
For good and noble ends;
Forgetful of that great design,
Act, counteract, distract, combine,
As power recommends;
O, whither shall the muse retreat
To seek that safe-establish'd seat
Where freedom spreads her wing?
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