And see, a young bird rises, weak and slow; "At him, Sir Charles !"-He fires, and lays him low Scar'd at the sound, up the full covey springs; A double barrel's force, but try in vain; But if too soon the startled covey rise, And move a previous question in the skies, My faithful groom quick marks them as they spring, To their old beaten ground the covey 's gone Thus from each kindred image, fancy draws If chance, a stray, lone, bird my course invites, Mean, mangled, game not for itself I prize: Some senatorial type ev'n Pointers yield; But come, dear Jack, all martial as thou art, Come, happy Friend! to hail thy wish'd return, Nor vulgar fire, nor venal light shall burn, From gentle bosoms purer flames shall rise, And keener ardors flash from Beauty's eyes. Methinks, I see thee now resume thy stand, Pride of Fop-alley, tho' a little tann'd: What tender joy the gazing Nymphs disclose ! How pine with envy the neglected Beaux ! While many a feeble frown and struggling smile, Fondly remove thy too adventurous toil, And seem with reprehensive love to say, "Dear Mr.Townshend, wherefore did'st thou stray ! "What fatal havoc might one shot have made, "If not thy life, thy leg the forfeit paid! "That shot thy foretop might have made it's prey, "Or sing'd one dear devoted curl away ; "Or lopp'd that hand, the pride of love and lace; "Or scarr'd, with bolder sacrilege, thy face." Soon as to Brooks's thence thy footsteps bend, What gratulations thy approach attend I See Gibbon rap his box; auspicious sign, That classic compliment and wit combine; See Beauclerk's cheek a tinge of red surprize, And Friendship give what cruel Health denies. Important Townshend! what can thee withstand ? The ling'ring black-ball lags in Boothby's hand; Ev'n Draper checks the sentimental sigh, And Smith, without an oath, suspends the dye. That night, to festive wit and friendship due.- From liberal Brooks, whose speculative skill, Who, nurs'd in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade, On that auspicious night, supremely grac'd With chosen guests, the pride of liberal taste, Not in contentious heat, nor mad'ning strife, We'll waste the fleeting hours; far happier themes He best shall tell, who still unites them most. If Sheridan for once be not too late : EPISTLE XI. THE PROJECT. TO THE REV. DEAN TUCKER. By the Same. Verum, ubi, tempestas, et coeli mobilis humor Mutavere vias, et Jupiter uvidus Austris Densat erant quae rara modo, et quae densa, relaxat Virg. SINCE sage philosophers aver, That climate forms the character; And prove each nation, tame, or bold, What schemes might crafty statesmen lay, If such a system they'd obey? Suppose the Turks, who now agree It would fatigue them to be free, More cooly on affairs of state, Might not some Mussulmen be brought, To brace their minds, not shrink at thought? |