To bear this Form, the Genial Sun
Has daily, fince his Course begun,
Rejoic'd the Metal to Refine,
And Ripen'd the Peruvian Mine.

Thou, Kneller, long with noble Pride
(The Foremost of thy Art) ha'ft vied
With Nature in a gen'rous Strife,
And touch'd the Canvas into Life.
Thy Pencil has, by Monarchs fought,
From Reign to Reign in Ermine wrought,
And, in their Robes of State array'd,
The Kings of half an Age difplay'd.

Here fwarthy Charles appears, and there His Brother with Dejected Air; Triumphant Nassau here we find,

And with him bright Maria join'd;

There, Anna, Great as when the fent
Her Armies thro' the Continent,

E'er yet her Hero was Difgrac't:

O may
(Tho' Heav'n fhou'd with

fam'd BRUNSWICK be the laft,

my Wish agree

And long preferve thy Art in Thee)

The Laft, the Happiest British King,
Whom Thou shalt paint, or I fhall fing!

Wife Phidias, thus his Skill to prove,
Thro' many a God advanc'd to Jove,
And taught the polish'd Rocks to fhine
With Airs and Lineaments Divine;
'Till Greece, amaz'd, and half-afraid,
Th' Affembled Deities furvey'd.

Great Pan, who wont to chase the Fair,
And lov'd the spreading Oak, was there;
Old Saturn too with up-cast Eyes
Beheld his Abdicated Skies;

And mighty Mars, for War renown'd,
In Adamantine Armour frown'd;

By Him the childless Goddess rofe,
Minerva, ftudious to compofe

་

Her twisted Threads; the Webb fhe ftrung, And o'er a Loom of Marble hung:

Thetis the troubled Ocean's Queen,

Match'd with a Mortal, next was feen

(Reclining on a Fun'ral Urn)

Her fhort-liv'd Darling Son to Mourn.
The Laft was He, whofe Thunder flew
The Titian-Race, a Rebel Crew,
'That from a Hundred Hills, ally'd
In impious Leagues, their King defy'd,

This Wonder of the Sculptor's Hand
Produc'd, his Art was at a stand:

For who wou'd hope New Fame to raise,
Or rifque his well-establish'd Praise,

That, his high Genius to approve,
Had drawn a GEORGE, or carv'd a Jove!

то

General Stanhope,

ON

Dr. S------------ll's TRYAL.

Here-e'er you fought, the haughty Foes were broke,

The Priest more haughty, trembled when
you spoke.

Thus Jove th' afpiring Gyants drove to HELL,
By Lightning fome; fome ftun'd, by Thunder fell.
Bleft Spain whil'ft fuch a Sword protects her Cause,
Bleft WE! whil'ft fuch a Tongue maintains our Laws.
Had you been Conful, when revolted Rome,

By Eloquence was snatch'd from threatning Doom;

Not Statues only had adorn'd your Fame,

But Altars would have born your Glorious Name.
Let leffer Merit then in Marble live,

Your Glories fhall the folid Brass furvive;

And

And the extremeft Ages shall be taught,

How well for LIBERTY you Spoke and Fought.

BE

Upon a WOMAN of the Town.

EFORE Enjoyment, Lovers cry, Of CUPID's fiery Dart they die; Yet once poffeft, the Fair complains,

No Spark of all the Flame remains.

The Swain that tries this lovely Dame,
After Enjoyment finds the Flame,

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