Since first before the hallow'd shrine

I call'd my dearest Anna mine,

Ne'er did my soul such rapture prove,
Ne'er glow'd my heart with equal love:

Some charm must in this Infant lie
That binds us by a closer tie.

My partial eyes with pleasure trace
Thy features in her smiling face;
And, if kind Heav'n in mercy hears

The fondness of a Father's pray'rs,

ΤΟ

THOS ORDE, Esq.

(afterwards Lord BOLTON,)

IN RETURN FOR HIS "SKETCH OF A FAMILY."

THE Muse with envy views her sister art,
And struggling passions fill her rival heart;
She thanks her for the master-strokes, that give
Six cherub forms in matchless tints to live:
But still in secret anguish must bemoan
That art like this so far transcends her own,
In vain she bids the Parent's love conspire
To aid her task, and raise the Poet's fire:
All, all, alas! must far unequal prove,
The Poet's liveliest fire, and Parent's love!
Yet in his grateful heart the gift shall dwell,
So ill requited, and esteem'd so well.

22

UPON OUR

PROCESSION TO SALT-HILL;

IN THE YEAR 1748.

BY sportive winds our shatter'd hopes were tost,
And, shipwreck'd in the stormy deluge, lost;
Long we resolv'd to mitigate with pray'rs,
Or wish'd to emulate the flood with tears.
At length our inoffensive arms we bear,
To show the pomp, without the guilt, of war.
In dazzling martial lace we shine, and vie
With tragic Kings, in * Monmouth's pageantry.
We banish fear, intruding care suppress,
Flirting in bright diversity of dress;

Look mighty big, and with our rusty gown
Shake off at once the scholar and the clown ;
The Poet's laurel does not now presume

Τ

appear in contest with the Soldier's plume:

* Monmouth-street, from whence we buy our Clothes.

In

In short, our little share of common sense
Is chang'd for military impudence.

But when the harmonious music at our head

Sounds Marlbro's march-as if by Marlbro' led,
We're all inspir'd-we all transported own
Raptures unfelt, and joys till now unknown.
Music conspires with riches to delude
The gazing, gaping, senseless multitude.
No longer subject to Apollo's will,
We quit Parnassus for a nobler Hill

Here first we halt-our duty then prepare,
Our grand, tho' mock solemnity of pray'r;
While one canonicially drest in black,
Fit equally for Chaplain or a Quack,
Reads Latin, ere his audience is gone;

(Old women must have Latin pray'rs, or none.)
But yet I call not our religion good,

When little's heard, and less is understood.

• Salt-Hill,

+ The Chaplain to our Regiment, who reads a Latin prayer at the top of the Hill.

Two

Two more, equipp'd for swiftness, light and gay, Complete with lawful theft the happy day:

All pay their share, for no one can deny

To yield to customary roguery.

Let others blame they're sure to have at least Praise from our Captain, pardon from our Priest†.

LINES

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF HIS FATHER,

VERSES

AT TWELVE YEARS OLD.

you ask-hard task to both decreed,

To me to write them, and to you to read:
Let not my fear my duty, then, belie

'Tis hard to grant, but harder to deny :
Accept this tribute of my new-born Muse,

Unask'd, I cannot write; I cannot, ask'd, refuse.

* The Salt-Bearers, who, for the benefit of the Captain of the School, collect money from every one they meet.

+ The Chaplain.