* I made both peace and plenty smile. "Hibernia was my favourite ifle; "Now bis-for he fucceeds to me, Two angels cannot more agree. His joy is, to relieve the poor; Behold them weekly at his door! His knowledge too, in brightest rays, He like the fun to all conveys; Shows wifdem in a fingle page, * And in one hour inftructs an age. * When ruin lately ftood around Th' inclofures of my facred ground, He gloriously did interpofe, And fav'd it from invading foes; "For this I claim immortal Swift,

As my own fon, and heaven's beat gift."
The Caledonian faint, enrag'd,
Now defer in difpute engag'd,
Elays to prove, by tranfmigration,
The Dean is of the Scottish nation;
And, to confirm the truth, he chose
The loyal foul of great Montrofe.
Montrofe and he are both the fame,
*They only differ in the name;
Both, heroes in a righteous caufe,
Affert their liberties and laws:

He's now the fame, Montrofe was then,
But that the word is turn'd a pen;
A pen of fo great power, each word
Defends beyond the hero's ford."
Now words grew high-we can't fuppofe
Immortals ever come to blows;
Bu, left unruly paffion fhould
Degrade them into flesh and blood,
An ange quick from Heaven defcends,
And he at once the conteft ends:

Ye reverend pair, from difcord cease,
Ye both mistake the prefent cafe;
One kingdom cannot have pretence
To fo much virtue! fo much fense:
Search Heaven's record; and there you'll find,
That he was born for all mankind."

EPISTLE TO ROBERT NUGENT, ESQ. With a Picture of Dean Swift.

BY DR. DUNKIN".

gratify thy long defire

(So love and piety require),

From Bindon's+ colours you may trace
The patriot's venerable face,
The aft, O Nugent! which his art
Stil ever to the world impart ;
For know, the prime of mortal men,
That matchlefs monarch of the pen
(Whofe labours, like the genial sun,

through revolving ages run, Yet ever, like the fun, decline, But in their full meridian shine),

This elegant tribute of gratitude, as it was writperiod oben all fufpicion of flattery muft vanifb, reits the bigbeft bonour on the ingenious writer, and tant but be agreeable to the admirers of Swift. ↑ Samuel Bindon, Efq. a celebrated painter.

That ever-honour'd, envied fage,
So long the wonder of his age,
Who charm'd us with his golden strain,
Is not the fhadow of the Dean:
He only breathes Baotian air-
Oh! what a falling-off was there!
Hibernia's Helicon is dry,
Invention, wit, and humour die;
And what remains against the storm
Of malice, but an empty form?
The nodding ruins of a pile,
That ftood the bulwark of this ifle;
In which the fifterhood was fix'd
Of candid honour, truth unmix'd,
Impartial reason, thought profound,
And charity, diffufing round,
In cheerful rivulets, the flow
Of fortune to the fons of woe?

Such one, my Nugent, was thy Swift,
Endued with each exalted gift.
But, lo! the pure ethereal flame
Is darken'd by a misty steam.

The balm exhaufted breathes no fmell,
The rofe is wither'd ere it fell.
That godlike fupplement of law,
Which held the wicked world in awe,
And could the tide of faction stem,
Is but a fhell without the gem.

Ye fons of genius, who would aim
To build an everlafting fame,
And, in the field of letter'd arts,
Difplay the trophies of your parts,
To yonder manfion turn afide,
And mortify your growing pride.
Behold the brighteft of the race,
And Nature's honour, in difgrace:
With humble refignation own,
That all your talents are a loan;
By Providence advanc'd for use,
Which you should study to produce.
Reflect, the mental stock, alas!
However current now it pass,
May haply be recal'd from you
Before the grave demands his due.
Then, while your morning-ftar proceeds,
Direct your courfe to worthy deeds,
In fuller day difcharge your debts;
For, when your fun of reafon fets,
The night fucceeds; and all your schemes
Of glory vanish with your dreams.

Ah! where is now the fupple train,
That danc'd attendance on the Dean?
Say, where are thofe facetious folks,
Who fhook with laughter at his jokes,
And with attentive rapture hung
On wifdom dropping from his tongue;
Who look'd with high difdainful pride
On all the bufy world befide,
And rated his productions more
Than treasures of Peruvian ore?

Good Chriftians! they with bended knees.
Ingulph'd the wine, but loath the lees,
Averting (fo the text commands),
With ardent eyes and up-caft hands,
The cup of forrow from their lips,
And fly, like rats from finking fhips.
While fome, who by his friendship rofe
To wealth, in concert with his foes,

Run counter to their former track,
Like old Acteon's horrid pack
Of yelling mungrels, in requitals
To riot on their mafter's vitals;

And, where they cannot blast his laurels,
Attempt to ftigmatize his morals;
Through fcandal's magnifying-glafs
His foibles view, but virtues país,
And on the ruins of his fame
Erect an ignominious name.
So vermin foul, of vile extraction,
The spawn of dirt and putrefaction,
The founder members traverse o'er,
But fix and fatten on a fore.

Hence! peace, ye wretches, who revile
His wit, his humour, and his ftyle;
Since all the monsters which he drew
Were only meant to copy you;
And, if the colours be not fainter,
Arraign yourselves, and not the painter.

But, oh! that He, who gave him breath,
Dread arbiter of life and death;
That He, the moving foul of all,
The fleeping fpirit would recall,

And crown him with triumphant meeds,
For all his paft heroic deeds,
In manfions of unbroken rest,
The bright republic of the blefs'd!
Irradiate his benighted mind
With living light of light refin'd;

And thefe the blank of thought employ With objects of immortal joy!