Attempt to warble backwards too,
Your Messrs. Orpheus and Amphion,

With their confounded break-tooth words, Might try their skill on beasts and birds, Without a single bed to lie on.

For what might please the Greeks and Latins,
To our politer ears would sound
Just like an Abigail in pattens,
Parading o'er a stony ground.

Then for their instruments-you'll own,
They're far inferior to our own:

Unless they only chose to leave us

Those meanest instruments of chiming,

Tongs, pokers, marrow-bones, and cleavers, And other followers of Hymen,

Basely condemning to the fire

The noble pipe, and nobler lyre.

Thus pedants, when we come to college,
With care suppress all useful knowledge;
Whip us, whenever we presume

To think what ne'er was thought at Rome,
And punish with the same severity
Both our posteriors and posterity.

But to conclude-Where'er you range

Or to St. James's or the Change,
To Portman-square or Leadenhall,
We're Dilettantis one and all.

By Music's charms, like those of Circé,
You'll see all moving vice versà.

All, from the porter to the peer,

Or have, or think they have an ear,
Cits grow refin'd and spend their money,
And starve on soups and maccaroni.
The roughest, rudest country squire
Deserts his pipe and parlour fire;
His tenants want the sçavoir vivre,
The parson puts him in a fever;
To harmony a convert grown,
He swears he only breathes in town.
Now for new miracles prepare-
Behold that punch-bowl in the air!
That shame to ancient Greece and Rome,
'Twas music rais'd the pensile dome,
'Twas she that form'd our proud Casinos,
Our rooms for concerts and festinos,
Our villas in St. George's fields,

White Conduit House, and Bagnigge Wells.
As she directs, the artists rear

The Crescent, oblong, or the square,

The octagon with sides so small,

And Circus with no sides at all;

With every angle charm our eyes

That e'er the most consummate skil Of great Vauban, or greater Gill, Has form'd for ramparts or minc'd pies.

My hand is tir'd, my Muse is mute, So ladies, who have heard our suit, Please to determine the dispute.

ODE XVII.

THE TROPHY:

IN SIX CANTATAS.

TO THE HONOR OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS

WILLIAM DUKE OF CUMBERLAND;

Expressing the just Sense of a grateful Nation, in the several Characters of

BY BENJAMIN HOADLY, M.D.

SET TO MUSIC BY DR. GREENE. 1746.

CANTATA I.

THE VOLUNTEER.

RECITATIVE.

DEEP in a forest's shadowy seat,

A youth enjoy'd his calm retreat,
Deaf to the din of civil rage,
And discord of the impious age;
When visionary sleep deprest

His drowsy lids, and thus alarm'd his rest:

Two rival forms immensely bright
Appear'd, and charm'd his mental sight;
Honor and Pleasure seem'd descending,
On each her various train attending,
Of decent, sober, great, and plain,

Of gay, fantastic, loud, and vain.
With confident yet charming grace,
Pleasure first brake the silence of the place.

AIR.

Enjoy with me this calm retreat,

Dissolv'd in ease thine hours shall flow: With love alone thy heart shall beat, And this be all th' alarms you know : Cares to sooth, and life befriend, Pleasures on your nod attend.

CHORUS.

Cares to sooth, and life befriend,
Pleasures on your nod attend.

RECITATIVE.

Her decent front straight Honor shew'd,
Where mingled scorn and anger glow'd;
Contempt of Pleasure's flow'ry reign,
Enrag'd at all her abject train;
And thus in rapid strains exprest

The tumults of her honest breast: