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And let her pluck a verdant spray
From Shakspere's never-fading bay ;
And let a Muse the gift receive,
And into form the garland weave,
And place it on the favor'd brow
Where SHAKSPERE would the palm bestow.

Beneath let serpent Flatt'ry lour, Bedeck'd with many a fading flower; And let her pois'nous train appear, To writhe in foul contortion there.

Again th' unfading tints prepare!
Great Painter ! ply thy utmost care!
To ev'ry touch attention give :
Let BURKE upon the canvass live!
Let him with solemn grace appear
Before the Senate's awful chair,
As if preparing to dispense
That flood of rapid eloquence,

Which now with wond'rous sweetness charms,

Now by its nervous force alarms;

And, with a more than Wizard's art,
Commands the pulses of the heart.

Let emblems of exalted Sense,

Of Genius, Wit, and Eloquence,
Of cunning Art's collected store,

Of Erudition's hidden lore,
With careless grace, be scatter'd round,
And, where he stands, bestrew the ground.

But 'mid th' inestimable heap
Let PARTY-RAGE be laid asleep!

Now on the canvass be display'd The figure of a weeping Maid! Paint her thin cheeks of pallid hue; With flooding tears those cheeks bedew ; And turn her humble, streaming eye To the soft mercies of the Sky. Upon her arm, with haggard mien, Let F*x's tawny figure lean; And, in his face, pourtray the smart Which Conscience lashes on his heart. Before them paint the bright abodes Of Virtue and her kindred Gods: Let HOPE beside the portal stand, The anchor in her beck'ning hand, And kindly bid the sorrowing Pair To urge their steps, and enter there.

Your hand an harder task must try, And change the Vet'ran to the Boy! No more let T**D's form appear With martial grace and hoary hair! Let crisped curls his brow bedeck, And hang in ringlets on his neck; Such as around the fingers twin'd Of panting VENUS, when reclin'd Upon her breast ADONIS lay, And heav'nly raptures bless'd the day!

Paint on his cheek health's crimson glow, Let whiteness clad his youthful brow, And give him ev'ry charm beside Expected by a blooming Bride!

But if your pencil should refuse The arduous task; my forward Muse An easy subject will propose.

Time, Sir, and you have long been foes:
For once, then, take the lead of Time,
And wrinkle T**D in her prime.
For since you cannot bring his years
Back to the strength and youth of hers,
Your hand to fitness must accord,
And make her aged as her Lord.
The wrinkles on her face display,
And turn her floating tresses grey.
And give her such a form and dress
As she at fifty will possess ;
Such as your pencil would have given
To FERRARS, now a Saint in Heaven,
In nuptial ties this truth I hold :
Both should be Young, or both be Old!

Again I urge the pencil's power:
Come, trace the lone monastic tower,
Whose walls, with ivy overgrown,
Echo the sad repentant moan
Of sinful souls, who glad repair
To shed their daily sorrows there ¡

And in a turret place the bell

That from the dark and dreary cell, At midnight hour, breaks off the sleep Of those who only wake to weep. Beneath the wall's dark umbrage place, Repentance mark'd upon her face, Some aged and repentant Dame, That doth the heav'nly mercies claim. Let her before His Image bend, Who died to be the Sinner's Friend; And hang the cross adown her side, Emblem of that whereon He died. Make her eyes shed the dropping tear, As tho' she urg'd a doubtful prayer; And give to the repentant Nun, The wrinkled form of H ** TON.

Thus, thus, my Friend, exert your art, And please the eye, and mend the heart! Uncrimson A ** R's gawdy face, But leave her all her share of Grace. To MLB** give her Father's spirit, And D** R all her Mother's merit. Make C** N sober, P* refin'd, And B ** gen'rous, brave and kind. Let them their better Natures see, And paint them what they ought to be.

Already youthful BEDFORD'S sword, Urg'd by the valor of its Lord,

Gives, to a dragon's form, the wound
That lays the monster on the ground.
-So may he in his future Age
Quell Passion's unrelenting rage;
Or, by his sweetness, soothe to rest
The Tyrants of the human breast.

Then be yourself! nor blend your fame With Artists of inferior name.

Do not your moral works expose

At Royal-Academic shows;

But thus hold forth, to mend the Town, An exhibition all your own!

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