Pleas'd in the Muse's nook, with decent pride,
To throw the scepter'd pall of state aside,
Nor from the shade shall George be long away,
Which claims Charlotta's love, and courts her stay.-
These are Britannia's praises. Deign to trace, With rapt reflection, Freedom's favorite race! But tho' the generous isle, in arts and arms, Thus stands supreme, in Nature's choicest charms; Tho' George and conquest guard her sea-girt throne, One happier blessing still she calls her own; And, proud a fresh increase of fame to view, Crowns all her glory by possessing you.
BY RICHARD OWEN CAMBRIDGE, ESQ.
'Tis so-though we're surpris'd to hear it :
The laurel is bestow'd on merit.
How hush'd is every envious voice!
Confounded by so just a choice,
Though by prescriptive right prepar'd
To libel the selected bard.
But as you see the statesman's fate
In this our democratic state,
Whom virtue strives in vain to guard
From the rude pamphlet and the card;
You'll find the demagogues of Pindus
In envy not a jot behind us:
For each Aonian politician
(Whose element is opposition),
Vol. VI.
Will shew how greatly they surpass us
In gall and wormwood at Parnassus.
Thus as the same detracting spirit Attends on all distinguish'd merit, When 'tis your turn, observe, the quarrel Is not with you, but with the laurel.
Suppose that laurel on your brow
For cypress chang'd, funereal bough!
See all things take a diff'rent turn!
The very critics sweetly mourn,
And leave their satire's pois'nous sting
In plaintive elegies to sing:
With solemn threnody and dirge
Conduct you to Elysium's verge.
At Westminster the surplic'd dean
The sad but honorable scene
Prepares. The well-attended herse
Bears you amid the kings of verse.
Each rite observ'd, each duty paid,
Your fame on marble is display'd,
With symbols which your genius suit,
The mask, the buskin, and the flute;
The laurel crown aloft is hung;
And o'er the sculptur'd lyre unstrung
Sad allegoric figures leaning
(How folks will gape to find their meaning!)
And a long epitaph is spread,
Which happy You will never read.
But hold-The change is so inviting,
I own, I tremble while I'm writing.
Yet, WHITEHEAD, 'tis too soon to lose you:
Let critics flatter or abuse you,
O! teach us, ere you change the scene
To Stygian banks from Hippocrene,
How free-born bards should strike the strings,
And how a Briton write to kings.
ON old PARNASSUS, t'other day,
The Muses met to sing and play;
Apart from all the rest were seen
The Tragic and the Comic Queen,
Engag'd, perhaps, in deep debate,
On RICH's, or on FLEETWOOD's fate.
When on a sudden, news was brought
That GARRICK had the patent got,
And both their ladyships again
Might now return to Drury-lane.
They bow'd, they simper'd, and agreed,
They wish'd the project might succeed.
'Twas very possible, the case
Was likely too and had a face-
A face! THALIA titt'ring cry'd,
And could her joy no longer hide;
Why, sister, all the world must see
How much this makes for you and me à
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