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Come, then, immortal Spirit of the stage,
Great Nature's proxy, glass of every age !
Come, taste the simple life of Patriarchs old,
Who, rich in rural peace, ne'er thought of pomp or

gold.

MR. GARRICK's

ANSWER.

When Peleus' son, untaught to yield,
Wrathful forsook the hostile field,
His breast still warm with heavenly fire,
He tun'd the lay, and swept the lyre.

So Chatham, whose exalted soul Pervaded and inspir'd the whole, Where far, by martial glory led, Britain her sails and banners spread, Retires (though Wisdom's God dissuades) And seeks repose in rural shades : Yet thither comes the God confess'd; Celestial form! a well-known guest.

Nor slow he moves with solemn air,
Not on his brow hangs pensive care ;
Nor in his hand th' historic page
Gives lessons to experienc'd age,
As when in vengeful ire he rose,
And plannid the fate of Britain's foes,

While the wing'd Hours obedient stand, And instant speed the dread command.

Chearful he came, all blythe and gay, Fair blooming like the son of May; Adown his radiant shoulder hung A harp, by all the Muses strung: Smiling he to his friend resign'd This soother of the human mind.

UPON,

MR. MASON's

TAKING ORDERS.

BY MR. GARRICK.

To Holdernesse, the Muses three,
Of Painting, Music, Poetry,
To him, their long-lov'd patron, friend,
In grievous pet this letter send-

Give ear, my Lord, while we complain,
Our sex to you ne'er sigh'd in vain.
'Tis said-A youth by you befriended,
Whom to your smiles we recommended ;
Seduc'd by you, abjures our charms,
And Alies for ever from our arms!
Could D'Arcy, whom we lov’d, caress'd,
In whose protection we were bless'd,
Could he, to whom our Sire imparts
That secret rare to taste our arts,
Could he, ungrateful, and unkind !
From us estrange our Mason's mind ?

Could he, who serves and loves the nation, So little weigh its reputation, As in this scarcity of merit, To damp with grace poetic spirit : But be assurd your scheme is vainHe must, he shall be ours again: Nor crape nor lawn shall quench his fires, We'll fill his breast with new desires ; In vain you plead his ordination, His cassock, gown, and grave vocation, Whate'er he now has sworn, he swore, With stronger zeal to us before : He pass'd our forms of consecration, His lips receiv'd our inspiration; To him were all our rites reveal'd, From him no myst'ry was conceal'dEach kindred pow'r obey'd our call, And grac'd the solemn festival ! The Loves forsook their Cyprian bow'rs, And round his temples wreath'd their flow'rs; The Graces danc'd their mystic maze, Our Father struck him with his rays ; And all our Sisters one by one, Gave him full draughts of Helicon! Thus bound our servant at the shrine, Ordain'd he was, and made divine.

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