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The griesly king: in vain the tyrant tried
You too, ye libertines, who idly jest With virtue wrong'd, and innocence distrest; Who vainly boast of what should be your shame, And triumph in the wreck of female fame ; Be warn'd, like Belford, and behold, with dread, The hand of vengeance hovering o'er your head! If not, in Belton's agonies you view What dying horrors are reserv'd for you.
In vain even Lovelace, healthy, young, and gay, By nature form'd to please, and to betray, Tried from himself, by change of place, to run; For that intruder, Thought, he could not shun. Tasteless were all the pleasures that he view'd In foreign courts; for conscience still pursu'd: The lost Clarissa each succeeding night, In starry garment, swims before his sight; Nor ease by day her shrill complaints afford, But far more deeply wound than Morden's sword.
O! if a sage had thus on Attic plains Improv'd at once and charm'd the listening swains; Had he, with matchless energy of thought,
Great truths like these in antient Athens taught:
Even Plato, in Lyceum's awful shade,
Th' instructive page with transport had survey'd;
BY THE HONORABLE
SIR CHA. HANBURY WILLIAMS, BART.
APOLLO of old on Britannia did smile,
But now, since the laurel is given of late
To Cibber, to Eusden, to Shadwell and Tate,
And further he says, men no longer shall boast
WHEN home I return'd from the dancing last night,
And told him how many fine things you had said.
I have prov'd his resentment, alas! but too true.