With half a score of silent votes,

Obey the times, and change their notes.
And ah, if Fitzroy's whim requires,
Ev'n Hinchliff's eloquence expires!
What wonder then their Lordships press,
Without division, the Address?

Now haste my Muse, at Fancy's summons,
To try thy Project on the Commons.
A secret sympathy espouses

The upper and the lower houses;
Thus half thy work 's already done;
Where Chatham hobbles, Granby'll run.
If Rockingham became a Turk,

How Mahomet wou'd shine on Burke?
He'd send him his enlight'ning pigeon :
For party zeal is Burke's religion.

But some there are of firmer frame;
For them must the Buzaglo flame:
Grenville's with stubborn sense endued;
Saville but lives for public good.
Yet if ambition, or the weather
Some gloomy discontent should gather,
The temper'd air shall chase offence;
And blend good humor with good sense.
Behold at length ev'n Barre soften!
"I rise to oppose," He murmur'd often:
But finding that, he knows not how,

Reluctant praise his words allow,

The hardy veteran sits him down;
Yet gives the Treasury Bench a frown.
Now mark the Statesmen of the City!
Hark, Wilkes
grows civil! Hayley witty!
Sawbridge, so chang'd the scene appears,
Consents to keep his seat seven years;
Ev'n Bull, the savage Bull, looks tame!
And melts before the conq'ring flame.

Not so the Luttrells; in despair The clamorous band besiege the chair. "I burn, I burn," old Irnham cries: The Colonel thinks the Project wise; But Jack and Jemmy jointly pledge Themselves, 'tis breach of privilege; And Temple, Greece and Rome can hawk in, Against this barb'rous stop to talkingIn vain; the House enjoy the effect And the Buzaglo all protect.

But Fox, more warily, to gain

His dear delight to speak again,

Most humbly moves, since they approve
This potent wonder-working stove,
Lest some unseen mischance ensue,

They'd have a Ventilator too.

Tho' plausible his Project fails;
Thine, happy Muse, alone prevails.

The vanquish'd Charles to Almack's fled, The Speech is prais'd: the Address is read: The Question carried nemine con:

The House is up: the business done.

EPISTLE XII.

THE

PLEASURES OF THE MIND.

KIND Nature, with a mother's joys
Her every art to charm employs,
For man-the golden King of day
Pours light, health, beauty, in his ray,
The Morn in silver tresses bright,
With milder charms salutes his sight,
And Night her shadowy curtain draws,
Indulging sleep's refreshing pause:
For man the purply finger'd Hours,
Dress beauteous Spring in new-blown flow'rs,
Teach her to breathe a rich perfume,
And smile with eye-enchanting bloom.
Then, ripe in beauty's glowing pride,
Blithe Summer, Sol's refulgent bride,
Bids Plenty revel o'er the plains,
And carol heart enlivening strains.
Next, Autumn calls the sylvan pow'rs,

To lay him soft in shady bow'rs,

Where grape and nectarine, plum and peach, May tempting hang within his reach !

Epist. XII.

EPISTLES DESCRIPTIVE, &c.

103

Last, Winter comes to rule the year

In sweet vicissitude severe.

See him on Zembla's mountains stand,
He stretches out his palsied hand,
And all his magazines unfold

Their copious hoards of ice and cold:
The hail, in vollies rattles round,

The snow descending, shrouds the ground:
Deep bellowing bursts of thunders roll,
And pleasing horror swells the soul,
With still improv'd delight, the mind
Beholds her powers unconfin'd,
She roves with Nature, and explains
What virtues live in secret veins
Of herbs; bids Flora's children rise
In naked beauty to her eyes,
To the soft serenade of gales

Thro' ocean's liquid realms she sails,
Thro' pearly worlds, thro' coral groves,
Where every scaly wonder roves:

With Phoebus, in his chariot driv❜n,
She journies thro' the expanse of heav'n;
Now rolling round on Saturn's ring,
Now roving on the comet's wing,
And urging still her airy flight,
She gains those smiling realms of light,
Where sons of bliss, Immortals dwell,
In golden groves of asphodel.
Now conscious of celestial skill,

Her forming pow'r she tries at will,