ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANS

FIELD'S LIBRARY,

Together with his MSS. by the Mob, in the Month of June, 1780.

O then-the Vandals of our isle,
Sworn foes to fenfe and law,
Have burnt to duft a nobler pile

Than ever Roman faw!

And Murray fighs o'er Pope and Swift, many a treasure more,

And

The well judged purchase, and the gift
That graced his letter'd store.

Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn,

The lofs was his alone;

But ages yet to come fhall mourn
The burning of his own.

ON THE SAME.

HEN wit and genius meet their doom
In all devouring flame,

They tell us of the fate of Rome,
And bid us fear the fame.

O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm,

Yet bleff'd the guardian care that kept
His facred head from harm.

There Memory, like the bee that's fed
From Flora's balmy store,
The quinteffence of all he read
Had treasured up before.

The lawless herd, with fury blind,
Have done him cruel wrong;
The flowers are gone-but ftill we find
The honey on his tongue.

THE LOVE OF THE WORLD

REPROVED;

Or, Hypocrify detected.*

HUS fays the prophet of the Turk,
Good muffulman, abstain from pork;
There is a part in every fwine

No friend or follower of mine

May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.

* It may be proper to inform the reader that this piece has already appeared in print, having found its way, though with fome unneceffary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.

Such Mahomet's myfterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the finful part expreff'd,
They might with fafety eat the reft;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd;
And fet their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind.
Much controversy straight arose,
These choose the back, the belly those;
By fome 'tis confidently faid

He meant not to forbid the head;
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail.

Thus, confcience freed from every clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.

You laugh 'tis well-the tale applied May make you laugh on t'other fide. Renounce the world, the preacher cries ;We do, a multitude replies.

While one as innocent regards

A fnug and friendly game at cards;

And one,

whatever you may say,

Can fee no evil in a play;

Some love a concert, or a race;

And others shooting, and the chase.
Reviled and loved, renounced and follow'd,
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a flice as well as he:

With fophiftry their fauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to fnout 'tis eaten.

ON THE

DEATH OF MRS. (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH.

E nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
O fhare Maria's grief!

Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage ?)
Affaffin'd by a thief.

Where Rhenus ftrays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute,

Or only with a whistle blest,

Well taught he all the founds expreff'd
Of flageolet or flute.

The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the fleekeft mole,
His bofom of the hue

With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise,
To sweep away the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,

VOL. I.

No cat had leave to dwell;

Р

On

And Bully's cage supported stood props of fmootheft-fhaven wood, Large built and latticed well.

Well latticed, but the grate, alas;
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage' fake,

But fmooth with wands from Oufe's fide,
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried,
The fwains their baskets make.

Night veil'd the pole: all feem'd fecure:
When, led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subfiftence to provide,

A beaft forth fallied on the scout,

Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisker'd snout, And badger-colour'd hide.

He, entering at the study door,
Its ample area 'gan explore;

And fomething in the wind

Conjectured, fniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverfe fate impreff'd,
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest;
In fleep he seem'd to view
A rat faft clinging to the cage,
And, screaming at the fad prefage,
Awoke and found it true.