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BY THE RIGHT HON.
CHARLES JAMES FOX.
WHERE the loveliest expression to features is join'd,
Where blushes unbidden, and smiles without art,
Is't ambition that fills up each chink of my heart,
O, no! for in this all the world must agree,
That I've felt each reverse that from fortune can flow,
I am still but too ready to feel them again :
If, then, for this once in my life, I am free,
And escape from a snare might catch wiser than me; 'Tis that beauty alone but imperfectly charms,
For tho' brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness that
As on suns in the winter with pleasure we gaze,
So beauty, our just admiration may claim,
But love, and love only, the heart can enflame.
THE humble Petition of the worshipful Company of Poets and News-writers,
THAT your honor's petitioners (dealers in rhymes, And writers of scandal, for mending the times), By losses in bus'ness, and England's well-doing, Are sunk in their credit, and verging on ruin.
That these their misfortunes, they humbly conceive,
Arise not from dullness, as some folks believe,
That they always had form'd high conceits of their
And meant their last breath should go out in abuse;
To heed what they say, or to read what they write;
And Slander scarce ventures to lift up her head-
To perplex him still more, and sure famine to bring
(Now satire has lost both its truth and its sting), If, in spite of their natures, they bungle at praise, Your honor regards not, and nobody pays.
YOUR Petitioners therefore most humbly entreat (As times will allow, and your honor thinks meet) That measures be chang'd, and some cause of com. plaint
Be immediately furnish'd, and end their restraint;
Or else (if your wisdom shall deem it all one),
Now the parliament's rising, and bus'ness is done,