THE ROSE-BUD.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY

JANE WHARTON.'

BY WILLIAM BROOME, LL. D.

QUEEN of fragrance, lovely rose,
The beauties of thy leaves disclose !
The winter's past, the tempefts fly,
Soft gales breathe gently through the sky;
The lark fweet warbling on the wing
Salutes the gay return of spring:
The filver dews, the vernal show'rs,
Call forth a bloomy waste of flow'rs;
The joyous fields, the fhady woods,

*

Are cloath'd with green, or fwell with buds
Then hafte thy beauties to disclose,

Queen of fragrance, lovely rofe!

Thou, beauteous flow'r, a welcome guest, Shalt flourish on the fair-one's breast,

Shalt

grace her hand, or deck her hair,
The flow'r moft fweet, the nymph most fair;

Breathe foft, ye winds! be calm,
Arife, ye flow'ry race, arife!
And hafte thy beauties to disclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely rofe!

ye skies!

Born 16..; dyed 1745.

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;

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But thou, fair nymph, thyself survey In this fweet offspring of a day;

That miracle of face must fail,

Thy charms are sweet, but charms are
Swift as the short-liv'd flow'r they fly,
At morn they bloom, at evening die :
Tho' fickness yet a while forbears,
Yet time deftroys what fickness spares ;
Now Helen lives alone in fame,

And Cleopatra's but a name;

frail: 25

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Time must indent that heav'nly brow,

And thou must be, what they are' now.

This moral to the fair disclose,

Queen of fragrance, lovely rofe.

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ADDRESS

ΤΟ HIS

ELBOW-CHAIR,

NEW CLOATHED.

BY WILLIAM SOMERVILE, ESQ.

My dear companion, and my faithful friend!
If Orpheus taught the listening oaks to bend ;
If ftones and rubbish at Amphion's call,

Danc'd into form, and built the Theban wall;
Why shouldft not thou attend my humble lays, 5
And hear my grateful harp refound thy praise?

True thou art fpruce and fine, a very beau;
But what are trappings and external show?
To real worth alone I make my court;

Knaves are my fcorn, and coxcombs are my sport. 10
Once I beheld thee far lefs trim and gay;
Ragged, disjointed, and to worms a prey ;
The fafe retreat of every lurking mouse;
Derided, fhunn'd; the lumber of my houfe.
Thy robe how chang'd from what it was before! 15
Thy velvet robe, which pleas'd my fires of yore:
"Tis thus capricious Fortune wheels us round;
Aloft we mount-then tumble to the ground.
Born 16..; dyed 17...

Yet grateful then, my conftancy I prov'd;

I knew thy worth; my friend in rags I lov'd;
I lov'd thee, more; nor, like a courtier spurn'd
My benefactor, when the tide was turn'd.

With confcious fhame, yet frankly, I confefs,
That in my youthful days-I lov'd thee less.
Where vanity, where pleasure call'd, I ftray'd;
And every wayward appetite obey'd.

But fage experience taught me how to prize
My felf; and how, this world: fhe bad me rife
To nobler flights, regardless of a race

Of factious emmets; pointed where to place 30
My blifs, and lodg'd me in thy foft embrace.

Here on thy yielding down I fit fecure;
And, patiently, what heaven has fent, endure;
From all the futile cares of business free;

Not fond of life, but yet content to be
Here mark the fleeting hours; regret the past;
And feriously prepare to meet the last.

So fafe on fhore the penfion'd failor lies;
And all the malice of the ftorm defies:

With ease of body bleft, and peace of mind,
Pities the reflefs crew he left behind;

While in his cell, he meditates alone

On his great voyage, to the world unknown.

}

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AN ODE, WRITTEN IN 1717, ON OCCASION OF THE DUKE OF MARLBRO'S APOPLEXY.

AWFUL

BY LEONARD WELSTED.

I.

L hero, Marlbro' rife: Sleepy charms I come to break:

Hither turn thy languid eyes:

Lo! thy Genius calls; awake!

II.

Well furvey this faithful plan,

Which records thy life's great ftory;

'Tis a fhort, but crowded span,

Full of triumphs, full of glory.

III.

One by one thy deeds review:
Sieges, battles, thick appear;
Former wonders, lost in new,

Greatly fill each pompous year.

IV.

This is Blenheim's crimson field,

Wet with gore, with flaughter ftain'd!

Here retiring fquadrons yield,

And a bloodless wreath is gain'd!

* Born 16..; dyed 1749.

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