Drumgold! whose ancestors from Albion's shore
Their conq'ring standards to Hibernia bore,
Tho' now thy valour to thy country lost
Shines in the foremost ranks of Gallia's host,
Think not that France shall borrow all thy fame—
From British sires deriv'd thy genius came;
Its force its energy to these it ow'd,
But the fair polish Gallia's clime bestow'd;
The Graces there each ruder thought refin'd,
And liveliest wit with soundest sense combin'd;
They taught in sportive Fancy's gay attire
To dress the gravest of th' Aonian choir,

I.

Fair Nature's sweet simplicity,
With elegance refin'd,
Well in thy feat, my Friend! I see,
But better in thy mind.

II.

To both from courts and all their state
Eager I fly, to prove
Joys far above a courtier's fate,
Tranquillity and love.

At evening and at dawn old Platthis often sacrificed her sleep to keep off poverty, sitting at her distaff and spindle, although she was on the threshold of old age. And she sometimes whirled her loom all night, cheerfully winding the woof-thread around her shrivelled knees with a withered hand. At the age of eighty, Platthis, who plied the loom so faithfully, saw the waters of Akheron.

In vain, by Paralels, you strive,
Panthea 's Eyes to praise,
Perfection which we can't conceive,
It self alone displays.

Gaze on them only, if you'd know
What dazzling Rays they dart;
But if what piercing Shafts they throw,
Then view my wounded Heart.

Mikythos' mother drew a rough sketch of him and out of her poverty she gave this as an offering to Bakkhos. Aid Mikythos, O Bakkhos, for if the gift be rough, it is offered by poverty.

This charming Bed of Flow'rs, when FLORA spy'd,
By FLAVIA 's Needle wrought; enrag'd she cry'd,
Still to be vanquish'd by her, is my Doom,
Mine yearly fade, but her's shall ever bloom;
Bloom like her Face, that stings me to the Heart,
Surpass'd in Beauty, as excell'd in Art.

Sway'd by the vulgar Tide, (forgive the Wrong)
I thought before I heard your pow'rful Song,
In noisy War the Muses Voice was Mute,
Nor hop'd to find the Trumpet near the Lute .
But now I see, from thy melodious Lays,
The Laurel well may mingle with the Bays ;
The Warriour's Oak may tremble on the Crest ,
And yet the Lover's Myrtle shade the Breast .

Minerva thus in Homer 's Camp is seen;
How the Maid threatens with a Warlike Mien;
Now in soft Words perswades the giddy Throng,
And melts in Musick on Ulysses 's Tongue.

Spoken by Mrs. T HURMOND .

Gallants, without a Length of Formal Speeches,
How did you like Me in my Sparkish Breeches?
Did not my Motions promise Manly Pleasure,
And seem to signify much Hidden Treasure?
Alas! alas! my Buxom Widow thought
She had a Bargain in the Thing she bought.
You all well know their Consciences, but still
It is the Trial proves the Fencer's Skill:
And when it came to That, upon my Word,
I wav'd the Fight, because I had no Sword .
O! 'twas a lovely Scene between us Two,

TO BE WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF MR. POYNTZ

Such is thy form, O Poyntz! but who shall find
A hand or colours to express thy mind?
A mind unmov'd by ev'ry vnlgar fear
In a false world that dares to be sincere;
Wise without art, without ambition great,
Tho' firm yet pliant, active tho' sedate;
With all the richest stores of learning fraught,
Yet better still by native prudence taught;
That fond the griefs of the distress'd to heal
Can pity frailties it could never feel;
That when Misfortune su'd ne'er sought to know

I countries chang'd, new pleasures out to finde,
But, ah! for pleasure new I found new paine;
Enchanting pleasure so did reason blind,
That father's loue and wordes I scorn'd as vaine:
For tables rich, for bed, for frequent traine
Of carefull seruants to obserue my minde,
These heardes I keepe my fellowes are assign'd,
My bed a rocke is, hearbes my life sustaine.
Now while I famine feele, feare worser harmes,
Father and Lord, I turne; thy love, yet great,
My faults will pardon, pitty mine estate.
This, where an aged oake had spread its armes,