"  What  fury,  nobles,  occupies  your  breast  ?

What,  patriot  spirits,  has  your  minds  possessed  1

Nor  honorary  gifts  nor  pensions  please,

Say,  are  you  Covent- Garden  patentees  ?

How  ?  wist  you  not  what  ancient  sages  said —

'  The  council  quarrels  and  the  poor  have  bread. '

See  this  court-pie  with  twenty  thousand  dressed  ;

Be  every  thought  of  enmity  at  rest :

Divide  it,  and  be  friends  again,"  he  said.
The  council-god  returned,  and  Discord  fled.
AOROSTIO  ON  MISS  CLARKE.
SERAPHIC  virgins  of  the  tuneful  choir,
Assist  me  to  prepare  the  sounding  lyre  !
Like  her  I  sing — soft,  sensible,  and  fair —
Let  the  smooth  numbers  warble  in  the  air.
62  TO  A  FRIEND.
Ye  prudes,  coquettes,  aud  all  the  misled  throng,
Can  Beauty,  Virtue,  Sense,  demand  the  song  ?
Look  then  on  Clarke,  and  see  them  all  unite —
A  beauteous  pattern  to  the  always-right.
Rest  here,  my  Muse,  nor  soar  above  thy  sphere —
Kings  might  pay  adoration  to  the  fair,
Enchanting,  full  of  joy,  peerless  in  face  and  air  !


TO  A  FRIEND.
[6th  March  1768.
DEAR  FRIEND— I  have  received  both  your  favours.   The  Muse
alone  must  tell  my  joy.]

^V'ERWHELM'D  with  pleasure  at  the  joyful  news,

^J     I  strung  the  chortled  shell,  and  woke  the  Muse.
Begin,  O  servant  of  the  sacred  Nine,

And  echo  joy  through  every  nervous  line  ;

Bring  down  th'  ethereal  choir  to  aid  the  song ;

Let  boundless  raptures  smoothly  glide  along.
My  Baker's  well !    Oh,  words  of  sweet  delight !

Now,  now,  my  Muse,  soar  up  th'  Olympic  height.
What  wondrous  numbers  can  the  goddess  find,

To  paint  th'  ecstatic  raptures  of  my  mind  ?

I  leave  it  to  a  goddess  more  divine,

The  beauteous  Hoyland  shall  employ  my  line.
