But if the youth behind the scenes retreat,
He sees the blended colours melt with heat,
And all the trickling beauty run in sweat.
The borrow'd visage he admires no more,
And nauseates every charm he loved before:
So the famed spear, for double force renown'd,
Applied the remedy that gave the wound.

In tedious lists 'twere endless to engage, And draw at length the rabble of the stage; Where one for twenty years has given alarms, And call'd contending monarchs to their arms; Another fills a more important post,

And rises, every other night, a ghost;

Through the cleft stage his mealy face he rears, Then stalks along, groans thrice, and disappears; Others, with swords and shields, the soldier's pride, More than a thousand times have changed their side, And in a thousand fatal battles died.

Thus several persons, several parts perform; Soft lovers whine, and blustering heroes storm: The stern exasperated tyrants rage,

Till the kind bowl of poison clears the stage.
Then honours vanish, and distinctions cease,
Then, with reluctance, haughty queens undress;
Heroes no more their fading laurels boast,
And mighty kings in private men are lost.
He, whom such titles swell'd, such power made
proud,
[bow'd,
To whom whole realms and vanquish'd nations
Throws off the gaudy plume, the purple train,
And in his own vile tatters stinks again.

ON

LADY MANCHESTER.

WRITTEN ON THE TOASTING-GLASSES OF THE
KIT-KAT CLUB.

WHILE haughty Gallia's dames, that spread
O'er their pale cheeks an artful red,
Beheld this beauteous stranger there,
In native charms divinely fair;
Confusion in their looks they show'd;
And with unborrow'd blushes glow'd.

HYMN I.

FROM PART OF THE XIXTH PSALM.

THE spacious firmament on high,

With all the blue etherial sky,

And spangled Heavens, a shining frame,

Their great Original proclaim.

The' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes, to every land,
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale;
And, nightly, to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth:

Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball:
What though, no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found:
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
'The hand that made us is divine.’

HYMN II.

WHEN all thy mercies,

My rising soul surveys;

my God!

Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.

O how shall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare,

That glows within my ravish'd heart!—
But thou canst read it there.

Thy Providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redress'd;
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries
Thy mercy lent an ear,

Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd
To form themselves in prayer.

Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceived

From whence those comforts flow'd.

When in the slippery paths of youth
With heedless steps I ran,

Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man.

Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,
It gently clear'd my way;

And through the pleasing snares of vice,
More to be fear'd than they.

When worn with sickness, oft hast thou
With health renew'd my face;
And when in sins and sorrows sunk,
Revived my soul with grace.

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made my cup run o'er,

And in a kind and faithful friend

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life
Thy goodness I'll pursue ;
And after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.

When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,

My ever-grateful heart, O Lord!
Thy mercy shall adore.

Through all eternity to Thee

A joyful song I'll raise ; For oh! eternity's too short To utter all thy praise.

HYMN III.

How are thy servants bless'd, O Lord!
How sure is their defence!
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.

In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,

Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,
And breath'd in tainted air.

Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,
Made every region please;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd,
And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.
Think, O my soul! devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep
In all its horrors rise.

Confusion dwelt on every face,

And fear in every heart;

When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs,

O'ercame the pilot's art.

Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord!

Thy mercy set me free;

Whilst in the confidence of

prayer

My soul took hold on thee.

For though in dreadful whirls we hung
High on the broken wave,

I knew thou wert not slow to hear,

Nor impotent to save.

The storm was laid, the winds retired,

Obedient to thy will;

The sea, that roar'd at thy command,

At thy command was still.