On Lady SUNDERLAND.

FAIR nymph afcend to beauty's throne,

And rule that radiant world alone;
Let fav'rites take thy lower sphere,
Not monarchs are thy rivals here.

The court of beauty, built fublime,
Defies all pow'r, but Heaven and Time;
Envy that clouds the hero's sky,
Aims but in vain her flight fo high.

Not Blenheim's field, or Ifter's flood,
Nor standards dy'd in Gallic blood,
Torn from the foe, add nobler grace
To Churchill's houfe, than Spencer's face.

The warlike thunder of his arms
Is lefs commanding than her charms;
His light'nings ftrike with less furprize,
Than fudden glances from her eyes.

His captives feel their limbs confin'd
In iron-fhe enflaves the mind

VOL. I.

We

We follow with a pleafing pain,
And blefs the conqueror and the chain.

The Mufe, that dares in numbers do,
What paint and pencils never knew,
Faints at her presence, in despair,
And owns th' inimitable Fair.

ITER V IT Æ.

WOULD you thro' life's tempestuous scene

An easy journey take; In ev'ry stage of life ferene,

These maxims ne'er forfake.

Your spring of life to Heav'n devote,
Religion does contain

The best, the fureft antidote,

'Gainst every care and pain.

Let Virtue bright, immortal maid,
Be your unerring guide;

Pursue her close, by Reason's aid,

And never quit her fide.

Through

Thro' life be this refolve purfu'd
What e'er your lot fhall be,
To act with perfect rectitude,

And keep a confcience free.

You'll find, that confcious innocence
Such pure delights fupplies,
As from the richest joys of fenfe
Were never known to rife.

Hope not your happiness to find

Abroad; but homeward bend, And always let your peace of mind Upon yourself depend.

Paffion and Fancy, Hope and Fear,
Must never paint the scene;

But move within bright Reason's sphere,
And keep the golden mean.

Ne'er for a future idle wish,

Neglect the present hour;

But learn to taste the deftin'd blifs, 'Tis all that's in your power.

Pleasures, approv'd by Reafon's voice,

With moderation ufe;

And in the prefent good rejoice,

But don't those gifts abuse.

Hope not for wild romantic blifs,
Nor with a loftier state ;
The first is Folly's paradife,

The last, a war with Fate.

Ne'er vainly raise of future joy
Your expectations high;
The future like the past will cloy,
And in poffeffion die,

And Disappointment, ugly fiend,

Will be your daily guest,
With racking pains your bofom rend,

And ruin all your rest.

Nor let the fear of future ill

Your prefent joys destroy;

Why fhou'd the woes you ne'er may feel, With pain your breast annoy?

But fince while on the stage of life,
Fortune oft' fhifts the fcene;
Since ev'ry state with pain is rife,
And woes will intervene,

Arm well with fortitude the mind:

And fhou'd diftreffes rise,

Think, they're by Providence defign'd For ends both good and wife.

If smiling Fortune shou'd appear,
And plenteous gifts bestow,
Of Pride, of hateful Pride beware,
Nor fwell with Fortune's flow.

Joy in your neighbour's happiness,
Drive Envy from your mind,
Humanely fuccour pale Diftrefs;
Benevolently kind.

Thus arm'd, when cares and griefs arise, (For rife in life they will)

Be truly calm with tearless eyes,
You'll meet the approaching ill.

With steady mind, and equal foul,

You'll view the changing scene; On foft content the hours fhall roll, And all be peace within.

And when the dangerous journey's past,
And Night's dark shades arise;

You'll fearless lay you down to rest,
And wake in Paradise.