Though fweet your prefence, graceful is your mien, You to be happy want not to be seen;

Though priz'd in public, you can smile alone,
Nor court an approbation but your own :
In throngs, not conscious of those eyes that gaze
In wonder fix'd, though resolute to please;
You, were all blind, would still deserve applause ;
The world 's your glory's witness, not its cause:
That lies beyond the limits of the day,
Angels behold it, and their God obey.

You take delight in others excellence ;
A gift, which Nature rarely does dispense:
Of all that breathe 'tis you, perhaps, alone
Would be well pleas'd to see yourself outdone.
You wish not thofe, who fhew your name respect,
So little worth, as might excufe neglect;
Nor are in pain left merit you should know;
Nor fhun the well-deferver as a foe;

A troublesome acquaintance, that will claim
To be well us'd, or dye your cheek with shame.
You wish your country's good; that told, so well
Your powers are known, th' event I need not tell.
When Neftor fpoke, none ask'd if he prevail'd;
That god of fweet persuasion never fail'd :
And fuch great fame had Hector's valour wrought,
Who meant he conquer'd, only said he fought.
When you, my lord, to fylvan scenes retreat,
No crouds around for pleasure, or for state,
You are not caft upon a stranger land,
And wander penfive o'er the barren strand;

Nor

Nor are you by receiv'd example taught,
In toys to fhun the difcipline of thought;
But, unconfin'd by bounds of time and place,
You chufe companions from all human race;
Converse with those the deluge swept away,
Or those whose midnight is Britannia's day.
Books not so much inform, as give consent
To thofe ideas your own thoughts prefent;
Your only gain from turning volumes o'er,
Is finding cause to like yourself the more:
In Grecian fages you are only taught

With more refpect to value your own thought:
Great Tully grew immortal, while he drew
Those precepts we behold alive in you:
Your life is fo adjusted to their schools,
It makes that history they meant for rules.
What joy, what pleafing transport, must arise
Within your breast, and lift you to the skies,
When in each learned page that you unfold,
You find some part of your own conduct told !
So pleas'd, and fo furpriz'd, Æneas ftood,
And fuch triumphant raptures fir'd his blood,
When far from Trojan fhores the hero fpy'd
His ftory fhining forth in all its pride;
Admir'd himself, and faw his actions stand
The praise and wonder of a foreign land.

He knows not half his being, who 's confin'd
In converfe, and reflection on mankind :
Your foul, which understands her charter well,
Difdains imprison'd by those skies to dwell;

Ranges Eternity without the leave

Of death, nor waits the paffage of the grave.
When pains eternal, and eternal bliss,
When thefe high cares your weary thoughts dismiss,
In heavenly numbers you your foul unbend,
And for your eafe to deathlefs fame defcend.
Ye Kings! would ye true greatness understand,
Read Seneca grown rich in Granville's hand *.
Behold the glories of your life compleat!
Still at a flow, and permanently great;
New moments shed new pleasures as they fly,..
And yet your greatest is, that you must die.
Thus Anna faw, and rais'd you to the feat
Of honour, and confefs'd her fervant great;
Confefs'd, not made him fuch; for faithful Fame
Her trumpet fwell'd long since with Granville's name.
Though you in modefty the title wear,
Your name fhall be the title of your heir;
Farther than ermin make his glory known,
And caft in fhades the favour of a throne.
From thrones the beam of high diftinction fprings;
The foul's endowments from the King of kings.
Lo! one great day calls forth ten mighty peers!
Produce ten Granvilles in five thousand years;
Anna, be thou content to fix the fate

Of various kingdoms, and control the great;
But O to bid thy Granville brighter thine!
To him that great prerogative refign,

Who

*See his Lordship's Tragedy intitled "Heroic Love."

YOUNG.

Who the fun's height can raise at pleasure higher,
His lamp illumine, fet his flames on fire.

Yet still one blifs, one glory, I forbear,

A darling friend whom near your heart you wear; That lovely youth, my lord, whom you must blame, That I grow thus familiar with your name.

He 's friendly, open, in his conduct nice,
Nor ferve thefe virtues to atone for vice:
Vice he has none, or such as none wish less,
But friends indeed, good-nature in excess.
You cannot boaft the merit of a choice,

In making him your own, 'twas nature's voice,
Which call'd too loud by man to be withstood,
Pleading a tye far nearer than of blood;
Similitude of manners, fuch a mind,
As makes you lefs the wonder of mankind.
Such eafe his common converfe recommends,
As he ne'er felt a paffion, but his friend's;
Yet fix'd his principles, beyond the force
Of all beneath the fun, to bend his course *.

Thus the tall cedar, beautiful and fair,
Flatters the motions of the wanton air;
Salutes each paffing breeze with head reclin'd;
The pliant branches dance in every wind:
But fix'd the stem her upright ftate maintains,
And all the fury of the North disdains.

How are you bless'd in such a matchless friend!
Alas! with me the joys of friendship end;

N 4

O Harrifon!

*His Lordship's Nephew, who took Orders.

YOUNG,

O Harrison! I muft, I will complain;

Tears footh the foul's diftrefs, though fhed in vain
Didst thou return, and bless thy native shore
With welcome peace, and is my friend no more?—
Thy task was early done, and I must own
Death kind to thee, but ah! to thee alone.
But 'tis in me a vanity to mourn,

The forrows of the great thy tomb adorn;
Strafford and Bolingbroke the lofs perceive,
They grieve, and make thee envy'd in thy grave.
With aking heart, and a foreboding mind,
I night to day in painful journey join'd,
When first inform'd of his approaching fate;
But reach'd the partner of my foul too late :
'Twas paft, his cheek was cold, that tuneful tongue,
Which Ifis charm'd with its melodious fong,
Now languifh'd, wanted ftrength to speak his pain,
Scarce rais'd a feeble groan, and funk again :
Each art of life, in which he bore a part,
Shot like an arrow through my bleeding heart.
To what ferv'd all his promis'd wealth and
But more to load that most unhappy hour?
Yet ftill prevail'd the greatness of his mind;
That, not in health, or life itself confin'd,
Felt through his mortal pangs Britannia's peace,
Mounted to joy, and smil'd in death's embrace.
His fpirit now just ready to resign,

power,

No longer now his own, no longer mine,
He grafps my hand, his fwimming eye-balls roll,
My hand he grafps, and enters in my foul;

Then