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For streams more crystal than her skies,
The goddess flies from dirty Bath;*
Oh, Bubo, thou art fill’d with lies,
O, Virtue, he has left thy path !
Nor title can nor strings of blue,
Nor wealth immense thy fame restore;
Nor heav'nly peace of mind renew

What Time has buried is no more !
Where is the man who next to Wyndhamt shone
The Nation's column and the Senate's pride?
Where is the Patriot the Camillus gone?
Of true applause where now the levelling tide ?

But Wyndham dy'd while credit bloom'd,
Cursed, O Bubo, is thy fate;
An aged raven thou art doom'd,
The world's contempt-not worth its hate.

* Pultney, Earl of Bath.

+ Sir William Wyndham, father of the first Earl of Egremont.

THE

PATRIOT PARROT:

A Fable.

A ZEALOUS Patriot had a parrot taught,
To mimic sound, to prattle his own thought;
Rogues all, rogues all,” was Poll's eternal

tone, “ Rogues all, rogues all,” who e'er approach a

throne. How well the master judged, how well the bird, Critics decide the master is preferr'd; Servile he cringes, fawns, adores the throne, But honest Poll still keeps her honest tone. “ Rogues all, rogues all,” is her eternal song, Rogues all, rogues all,” who ’re slaves the court

among!

« Curse on this noisy bird,” the patriot cries;

Rogues all, rogues all,” still honest Poll replies. “ Tom, take the bird, wring off his neck, for

hoarse, “ Hoarse is as raven's croak his voice,and worse.” Rogues all, rogues all,” still honest Poll re

plied Who more a patriot lived than Poll, or dy'd ?

THE MORAL. From Poll's heroic soul let Statesmen see, With their first lesson should their last agree; The bird disdain'd his servile master's wrathWas it the bird of Sandys,* or of Bath ?*

Samuel, first Lord Sandys.--Thus Sandys thinks he has spoken an Epigram when he crinkles up his nose and lays a smart accent on Ways and Means.-W.

+ Wm. Pultney, Earl of Bath.

AN EPITAPH

ON THE POLITICAL MEMORY OF

WILLIAM PULTNEY, EARL OF BATH;

Who died to Fame, July 15th, 1742.

PULTNEY, no friend to truth, in fraud sincere,
In act unfaithful, and from honour clear;
Who broke his promise, served his private ends,
Who gain'd a title, and who lost all friends;
Dishonour'd by himself, by none approv’d,
Curs’d, scorn'd, and hated, e'en by those he

lov’d.

A BALLAD:

IN IMITATION OF “ WILLIAM AND MARGARET,”

ADDRESSED TO

WM. EARL OF BATH.

"TWAS in the hour when guiltless care

Is lull'd in soft repose;
When nothing wakes, save fell despair,

Beset with cureless woes.
Inviting sleep, lo, William lay,

The down he vainly prest; Honour, alas ! had soar'd away,

And shame had poisoned rest. Britannia, with that stern regard

That conscious worth puts on, Before his frantic eye appear’d,

And pierc'd him with a groan. Her cheek had lost its rosy bloom,

And languid roll'd her eye; This once could brighten midnight gloom,

That shame the Tyrian dye.

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