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, Than ever Roman faw! And Murray fighs o'er Pope and Swift, many a treasure more, And The well judged purchase, and the gift Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn, The lofs was his alone; But ages yet to come fhall mourn ON THE SAME. HEN wit and genius meet their doom They tell us of the fate of Rome, O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept, Yet bleff'd the guardian care that kept There Memory, like the bee that's fed The lawless herd, with fury blind, THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED; Or, Hypocrify detected.* HUS fays the prophet of the Turk, No friend or follower of mine May taste, whate'er his inclination, * 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, He meant not to forbid the head; Thus, confcience freed from every clog, 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. With fophiftry their fauce they sweeten, ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (AFTERWARDS LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. E nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red Her favourite, even in his cage, Where Rhenus ftrays his vines among, Or only with a whistle blest, Well taught he all the founds expreff'd The honours of his ebon poll With which Aurora decks the skies, Above, below, in all the house, 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; But fmooth with wands from Oufe's fide, Night veil'd the pole: all feem'd fecure: 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, And fomething in the wind Conjectured, fniffing round and round, Just then, by adverfe fate impreff'd, |