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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;
Richard at random fires, and only wings:
Not so thy Charles; intent with half-clos'd sight,
Cautious I watch their veteran leader's flight:
At him I aim, the covey's head and guide;
I fire; but ah! too plainly on one side :
Again I try, like rising to explain,

A double barrel's force, but try in vain;
Against myself the heated tube recoils,
Nor gains one feather to requite my toils.

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,
And counts their noses, undeceiv'd as Byng :
Whether in close array, and nemini con,

To their old beaten ground the covey 's gone
Or, scattering wild, in petty parties fall,
Some to pair off, and some to wait a call.

Thus from each kindred image, fancy draws
The latent emblem of a nobler cause.

If chance, a stray, lone, bird my course invites,
I think of Meredith, and proselytes;

Mean, mangled, game not for itself I prize:
Vengeance and Palliser to memory rise.

Some senatorial type ev'n Pointers yield;
One loves too narrow, one too wide a field;
This creeps below, that springs above his work,
As Hartley slow, or uncontrol'd as Burke.
With rav'nous ardor some devour the prey;
O gentle Sawbridge, lash such fiends away!
Others, with puzzling zeal, small objects mark;
Judicious Luttrell, bid them ware a lark!

But come, dear Jack, all martial as thou art,
With spruce cockade, heroically smart,
Come, and once more together let us greet
The long lost pleasures of St. James's Street.
Enough o'er stubbles have I deign'd to tread;
Too long wer't thou at anchor, at Spithead !

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.-
That night thy Charles's board shall welcome you.
Sallads, that shame ragouts, shall woo thy taste;
Deep shalt thou delve in Weltjie's motley paste ;
Derby shall lend, if not his plate, his cooks,
And, know, I've bought the best Champaigne from
Brooks;

From liberal Brooks, whose speculative skill,
Is hasty credit, and a distant bill;

Who, nurs'd in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade,
Exults to trust, and blushes to be paid!

On that auspicious night, supremely grac'd With chosen guests, the pride of liberal taste,

Not in contentious heat, nor mad'ning strife,
Not with the busy ills, nor cares of life,

We'll waste the fleeting hours; far happier themes
Shall claim each thought, and chase ambition's dreams.
Each beauty that sublimity can boast

He best shall tell, who still unites them most.
Of wit, of taste, of fancy, we'll debate;

If Sheridan for once be not too late :
But scarce a thought to Ministers we'll spare,
Unless on Polish Politics, with Hare :
Good-natur'd Devon! oft' shall then appear
The cool complacence of thy friendly sneer:
Oft' shall Fitzpatrick's wit, and Stanhope's ease,
And Burgoyne's manly sense unite to please.
And while each guest attends our varied feats
Of scatter'd covies and retreating fleets,
Me shall they wish some better sport to gain,
And thee more glory from the next campaign.

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
Vertuntur species animorum.------

Virg.

SINCE sage philosophers aver,

That climate forms the character;

And prove each nation, tame, or bold,
Just as it's air is hot or cold;

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,
Should build an ice house, to debate

More cooly on affairs of state,

Might not some Mussulmen be brought,

To brace their minds, not shrink at thought?

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