Gentle in power, but daring in disgrace, Whose knowledge, courage, temper, all surpris'd, * Sir Robert Walpole was bold, open, steady; never dejected; he never gave up his party to serve himself; he was content to have one great, honest view, and would overlook or trample on the intermediate degrees; he raised himself to the head of administration without interest, without fortune, and without alliances. His mastery was, understanding the interest of his own country: with the greatest confidence of himself he had no pride; he loved magnificence, and was generous to a fault; his friendship was chiefly confined to persons much below him.— W. BRITANNIA'S GHOST TO THE EARL OF BAT H. WHILE Pultney, seeking lost repose, Fresh horrors in his soul arose, And further banish'd rest. For, lo, Britannia by his side, All ghastly pale and wan, Thus in deep doleful accent cry'd; Oh, base perfidious man! "How can'st thou hope that balmy sleep "Should close thy guilty eyes; "When all Britannia's sons must weep VOL. I. "Her fall'n thy sacrifice." P "Long had she trusted to thine aid, "Hence she each traitor had supprest, "Or boldly had defy'd; "Till leaning on her Guardian's breast, "His treacherous arm she spy'd. "And art thou Pultney?" said she, 'fie! "Thou of the traitor crew! "Nay, brave Cæsar like I'll die, "Since Brutus lives in you.' "But, oh, why must Britannia bleed, "How can you e'er atonement make, "Why, cancel your late grand mistake, "Her interest to espouse. "So shall her genius yet revive, "You barter guilt for fame; "She shall revere you when alive, "When dead, adore your name." "Ah! too," he said," too false I've prov'd, "Too fickle vile a thing, "Ever to be sincerely loved, By Country, Court, or King." Hereat the spectre disappear'd, But Conscience in its stead Dire cursing legions quickly reared, Round his devoted head. Then to his wife he, raving, cried, "Thou daughter of perdition; "Britannia's ruin'd by thy pride; “I'm damn'd by thy ambition." AN ODE FROM FAME TO THE EARL OF BATH. Audivere, Lyce, dii mea vota, dii Ludisque et bibis, impudens. HE is grown old; he is abhorr'd, So great is Bubo's want of shame, But know 'tis Pt that goddess seeks, His shining virtues claim her choice; For him alone is heard her voice. |