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The towering dome delights; and gardens fair,
And fruitful fields, with silvan honours crown'd,
Stretch'd out in wide extent; the gay machine
Dear to the female race, the gilded coach,
With liveried servants in retinue long,
Adorn'd with splendent robes, the pompous train
Of pageantry and pride. His neighbour sits
Immur'd at home, a miser dire! nor dares
To touch his store, through dread of fancied want:
Industrious of gain, he treasures up
Large heaps of wealth, to bless a spendthrift heir
That wastes in riot, luxury, and mis-rule,
The purchase of his want; nought shall he reck
His father's pine, when lavish he ordains
The feast in pillar'd hall, or sunny bow'r,
With lust-inflaming wine, and wicked mirth
Prolong'd to morning hour, and guilty deed.

Others again, the woods of Astery
Love to inhabit, or where down the mount
Sky-climbing Parnass', her sweet-sounding wave
Castalia pours, with potent virtues bless'd;
Powerful to charm the ear of furious wrath,
To close the eye of anguish, or to strike
The lifted dagger from despairing breast.
Such Addison; and such, with laurel crown'd,
Immortal Congreve; such the Muses' grace,
Mæonian Pope: nor do the Nine refuse
To rank with these, Fergusian nightingale,
Untaught with wood-notes wild, sweet Allan hight;
Whether on the flow'r-blushing bank of Tweed,
Or Clyde, or Tay's smooth-winding stream, his
Choose to reside; or o'er the snowy hills [Muse
Benlomon, or proud Mormount, all the day,
Clad in tartana, varied garb, she roves,
To hear of kings' and heroes' godlike deeds:
Or, if delighted on the knee she lies
Of lovely nymph, as happy lap-dog grac'd;
Intent to soothe the Scotish damsel's ear,
Cochrane or Hamilton; with pleasing song
Of him who sad beneath the wither'd branch
Sat of Traquair, complaining of his lass;
Or the fond maid, that o'er the wat'ry brink
Wept sleepless night and day; still wafting o'er
Her flying love, from Aberdour's fair coast.

Others again, by party rage inflam'd, Blindfolded zeal, and superstition dire, Offspring of ignorance, and cloister-born, With undistinguish'd violence, assault Both good and bad..

There is, who studious of his shape and mien On dress alone employs his care to please, Aspiring with his outward show; who, vain Of flaxen hair perfum'd, and Indian cane, Embroider'd vest, and stockings silver-clock'd, Walks through th' admiring train of ladies bright; Sole on himself intent; best liken'd to The painted insect, that in summer's heat Flutters the gardens round, with glossy wing, Distinct with eyes; him oft the tender Miss, Escap'd from sampler and the boarding-school, Pursues with weary foot, from flow'r to flow'r, Tulip, or lily bright, or ruby'd rose; And often in the hollow of her hand Retains him captive, sweet imprisonment! But, ah! how vain the joys the beau can boast; Awhile he shines in tavern, visit, dance, Unrival'd, clad in rich refulgent garb Laç'd or brocaded; till the merchant bold, With messenger conspiring, mortal dire! Of merciless heart, throw him in dungeon deep

Recluse from ladies; what avails him then
The love of women? or the many balls
He made to please the fair? There must he lie
Remediless, if not by pity won
Fair Cytherea, sea-begotten dame,
By spousal gifts from sooty Vulcan earn
Fallacious key; as erst, by love o'ercome,
He forg'd celestial arms, to grace her son
Anchises-born; and in the borrow'd form
Of longing widow, or of maiden aunt,
(While sly Cyllenius, with opiate charm
Of Ceres, the still-watching Argus' eyes
Of keeper drench in sleep profound), release
The captive knight from the enchanted dome.
Thus others choose: their choice affects not me;
For each his own delight, with secret force
Magnetic, as with links of love, constrains.
Behoves me then to say what bias rules
My inclinations, since desire of fame
Provokes me not to win renown in arms,
Nor at Pieria's silver spring to slake
Th' insatiate thirst, to write on the coy nymph
Love-labour'd sounet; nor in well-dress'd beau
To please the lovely sex. For me at Keith's
Awaits a bowl, capacious for my cares;
There will I drown them all, no daring thought
Shall interrupt my mirth, while there I sit
Surrounded with my friends; and envy not
The pomp of needless grandeur, insolent.
Nor shall alone the bowl of punch delight,
Compounded fluid! rich with juicy spoil
Of fair Iberia's sunny coast, combin'd
With the auxiliar aid of rack or rum,
Barbade, or Sumatra, or Goan-born;
The luscious spirit of the cane, that in
Fermenting cups with native element
Of water mixt, pure limpid stream! unite
Their social sweets. For us, her ruddy soul
The Latian grape shall bleed; nor will thy hills,
Far-flowing Rhine, withhold their clustering vines,
Haste then! to friendship sacred let us pour
Th' exhilarating flood, while, as our hands
In union knit, we plight our mutual hearts
Close as the loving pair, whom holy writ
Renowns to future times, great Jonathan,
And Jesse's son: now this delights my soul.

There was a time we would not have refus'd
Macdougal's lowly roof, the land of ale;
Flowing with ale, as erst in Canaan said
To flow with honey: there we often met,
And quaff'd away our spleen, while fits of mirth
Frequent were heard: nor wanted amorous song,
Nor jocund dance; loud as in Eden town,
Where the tir'd writer pens the livelong day,
Summons and horning, or the spousal band
Of Strephon, and of Chloe, lovely lass!
Spent with his toil when thirsty twilight falls,
He hies him gladsome to the well-known place,
Bull-cellar, or O Johnston's thine! where fond
́Of drink, and knowledge, erst philosophers
Have met; or Couts's dark Cimmerian cell,
Full many a fathom deep: from far he hears
The social clamour through the dome re-ound;
He speeds amain to join the jovial throng.
So we delighted once: the bowl meanwhile
Walk'd ceaseless still the round, to some fair name
Devoted; thine, Maria, toasted chief,
Duty obsequious! and thy looks benign
Miss'd not their due regard: Dundassea fair
Claim'd next the kindred lay; nor didst thou pass,

Constance, uncelebrated or unsung.
Hail, sacred three! hail, sister minds! may Heav'n
Pour down uncommon blessings on your heads.

Thus did our younger years in pleasing stream
Flow inoffensive; friendship grac'd our days,
And dream of loving mistress bless'd our night.
Now, from these joys convey'd, (so fate ordains)
Thou wander'st into foreign realms, from this
Far, far sejoin'd; no more with us to drain
The ample bowl; or, when in Heav'n sublime
The monthly Virgin from full gather'd globe
Pours down her amber streams of light, till wide
The ether flame, with choral symphony
Of voice, attemper'd to sweet hautboy's breath,
Mixt with the violin's silver sound, below
The window of some maid belov'd, shall ply
The nightly serenade.-To other joys
Thou now must turn, when on the pleasing shore
Of mild Hesperia, thou behold'st amaz'd
The venerable urns of ancient chiefs,
Who stern in arms, and resolute to dare

In freedom's cause, have died, or glorious liv'd:
Camillus; Brutus, great from tyrant's blood;
Coriolanus, famous in exile;

Laurel'd Zamean Scipio, the scourge
Of Punic race; or liberty's last hope,
Self-murder'd Cato; consecrate to fame
They live for ever in the hearts of men,
Far better monument, than costly tomb

Of Egypt's kings. Time, with destructive hand,
Shall moulder into dust the pil'd-up stone,
With all its praises; ah! how vain is fame!
With virtue then immortalize thy life.

But these, so potent Nature's will decrees,
Delight not me, on other thoughts intent;
Not studious at midnight lamp to pore
The medal, learned coin! where laurel wreathes
The sacred head of kings, or beauty bright
Of kings sweet paramour, the letter'd sage
Or prudent senator, by eating time
Defac'd injurious; the faithless trust
Of human greatness! Nor do I incline

To pass the Frith that parts from Gallia's reign
My native coast, solicitous to know
What other lands impart: all my delights
Are with my friends in merry hour, at Steel's
Assembled, while unrespited the glass
Swift circles round the board, charg'd with fair
Erskine, or, Pringle, thine; until the Sun [name,
That, setting, warn'd us to the friendly cups,
Awake, and view our revels uncomplete.
But if the Heavens, disposer of our fate,
Force me, unwilling, shift my native land;
O! in whatever soil my weary feet

Are doom'd to stray, O might I meet my friend!
Or if the rising Sun shall gild my steps
On fruitful fields of Ind, Bengala's shore,
Spice-bearing Tidor's isle, or where at eve,
Near western Califurn, beneath the main
He sinks in gold; or on vine-fostering hills
Of nearer Latium, nurse of kings and gods.
O! might I view thee on the flowery verge
Of Tyber, stream renown'd in poets' song;
Or in the Roman streets, with curious eye
Studying the polish'd stone, or trophied arch
Trajan, or Antonine; not long content
With toil unprofitable. Thee I'd lead
Well pleas'd to Horace' tomb, dear laughing bard!
Where the Falernian vintage should inspire
Sweet thoughts of past delight; the goblet rough

With sculptur'd gold rosy from Chios' isle,
Should warm our hearts sacred to Pringle's cheek
Still glowing, and to sweet Humeia's lip,
To Drummond's eye, Maria's snowy breast
Soft-heaving, or to lovely Erskine's smile;
While on the wounded glass the diamond's path
Faithful, shall show each favourite virgin's name;
Not without verse and various emblem grac'd.
The Latian youth at merry reveis met,
In fancy shall admire the Scotish maid
Bright as the ruddy virgin Roman-born;
Nor with their native dames refuse to join
Impartial, their health belov'd: and would
The Nine inspire me equal to my choice,
In lays such as the Roman swan might sing,
Fair as Horatian Lydia should my Hume
For ever flourish, or Næera bright,
Of soft Tibullus Muse the lovely theme.
Nor should alone in melancholy strains,
Of cruel nymph, and constant vows refus'd,
Gallus complain, when on the flinty rock,
Or wailing near earth-diving Arethuse,
Sicilian stream, he made to woods his moan,
Despairing of his loves: Maria's scorn,
Cloth'd in the style of Mantua, should shine
As thine, Lycoris! theme of future song
Surviving as itself. Maria's scorn
For ever I endure; ah! hard return

To warmth like mine: nathless the mourning Muse
Must praise the maid still beauteous in her eye,
Crown'd with each lovely grace, and warm in
Though, sullen to my suit, her ear be shut [bloom;
Against my vows, ungracious to my love.

But this as time directs; thy health demands The present care, and joys within our pow'r; Nor shall we not be mindful of thy love, Met in our festivals of mirth: but when Thou to thy native Albion shalt return, From whate'er coast, or Russia's northern bear, Inclement sky! or Italy the blest Indulgent land, the Muses' best belov'd; Over a wondrous bowl of flowing punch We'll plight our hands anew, at Don's, or Steel'sWho bears the double keys, of plenty sign; Or at facetious Thom's, or Adamson, Who rears alone (what needs she more?) the vine, Emblem of potent joys; herself, with looks Suasive to drink, fills up the brimming glass, Well-pleas'd to see the sprightly healths go round.

Hail, and farewell! may Heav'n defend thee safe; And to thy natal shore and longing friends Restore thee, when thy destin'd toils are o'er, Polish'd with manners, and eurich'd with arts.

THE RHONE AND THE ARAR. Two rivers in fam'd Gallia's bounds are knoWB, The gentle Arar and the rapid Rhone; [dream, Through pleasing banks, where love-sick shepherd Mild Arar softly steals her lingering stream: Her wave so still, th' exploring eye deceives, That sees not if it comes, or if it leaves: With silver graces ever dimpled o'er, Reflects each flower, and smiles on every shore; Each youth with joy th' enchanting scene surveys, And thinks for him the amorous stream delays; While the sly nymph above unseen to flow, To her own purpose true, steals calm below.

More rapid rolls the Rhone, tumultuous flood,
All raging unwithheld, and unwithstood;
In vain or fertile fields invite its stay,
In vain or roughest rocks oppose its way;
It bounds o'er all, and, insolent of force,
Still hurries headlong on a downward course.
Sometimes, 'tis true, we snatch, with painful sight,
Across the working foam a moment's light;
The momentary vision snatch'd again,
The troubled river boils and froths amain.
To which of these, alas! shall I confide?
Say, shall I plunge in Rhone's impetuous tide,
And by the various eddies roll'd about,
Just as the whirlpools guide, suck'd in, cast out!
Till, through a thousand giddy circles tost,
In the broad ocean's boundless floods I'm lost?
Or, tell me, friends-less venturous, shall I lave
My glowing limbs in Arar's gentle wave?
In whose fair bosom beauteous prospects rise,
The earth in verdure, and in smiles the skies:
With thoughtless rapture every charm explore,
Heav'd by no breeze, or wafted to no shore:
Till trusting credulous to the false serene,
I sink to ruin in the pleasing scene.

THE PARODY:

BY MR. W******.

Two toasts at every public place are seen,
God-like Elizabeth, and gentle Jean:
Mild Jeany smiles at every word you say,
Seems pleas'd herself, and sends you pleas'd away.
Her face so wondrous fair, so soft her hands,
We're tempted oft to think-she understands:
Each fop with joy the kind endeavour sees,
And thinks for him the anxious care to please:
But the sly nymph has motives of her own,
Her lips are open'd, and-her teeth are shown.
Bess blunders out with every thing aloud,
And rattles unwithheld and unwithstood:
In vain the sighing swain implores a truce,
Nor can his wit one moment's pause produce;
She bounds o'er all, and conscious of her force,
Still pours along the torrent of discourse.
Sometimes, 'tis true, just as her breath she draws,
With watchful eye we catch one moment's pause:

But when that instantaneous moment's o'er,
She rattles on incessant as before.

To which of these two wonders of the town,
Say, shall I trust to spend an afternoon?
If Betty's drawing-room should be my choice,
Intoxicate with wit, struck down with noise,
Pleas'd, and displeas'd, I quit the Bedlam scene,
Aud joyful hail my peace of mind again:
But if to gentle Jeany's I repair,
Regal'd on syllabub, and fed on air,
With studied rapture yawning I commend,
Mov'd by no cause, directed to no end,
Till hak asleep, though flatter'd, not content,
I come away as joyless as I went.

EPIGRAM

ON A LION ENRAGED AT SEEING A LAD IN THE HIGHLAND DRESS.

CALM and serene th' imperial lion lay Mildly indulging in the solar ray,

On vulgar mortals with indifference gaz'd,
All unconcern'd, nor angry, nor amaz'd:
But when the Caledonian lad appear'd,
Sudden alarm'd, his manly mane he rear'd,
Prepar'd in fierce encounter to engage
The only object worthy of his rage.

MISS AND THE BUTTERFLY,

A FABLE.

IN THE MANNER OF THE LATE MR. GAY.

A
TENDER Miss, whom mother's care
Bred up in wholesome country air,
Far from the follies of the town,
Alike untaught to smile or frown;
Her ear unus'd to flattery's praise,
Unknown in woman's wicked ways:
Her tongue from modish tattle free,
Undipp'd in scandal and bohea;
Her genuine form and native grace
Were strangers to a looking-glass:
Nor cards she dealt, nor flirted fan,
And valued not quadrille or man;
But simple liv'd, just as you know
Miss Chloe did-some weeks ago.

As now the pretty innocent
Walk'd forth to taste the early scent,
She tripp'd about the murmuring stream,
That oft had lull'd her thoughtless dream.
The morning sweet, the air serene,
A thousand flowers adorn'd the scene;
The birds rejoicing round appear
To choose their consorts for the year;
Her heart was light, and full of play,
And, like herself, all nature gay.

On such a day, as sages sing,
A Butterfly was on the wing;

From bank to bank, from bloom to bloom,
He stretch'd the gold-bespangled plume:
Now skims along, and now alights,
As smell allures, or grace invites;
Now the violet's freshness sips;
Now kiss'd the rose's scarlet lips;
Becomes anon the daisy's guest;
Then press'd the lily's snowy breast;
Nor long to one vouchsafes a stay,
But just salutes, and flies away.

The virgin saw, with rapture fir'd;
She saw, and what she saw desir'd,
The shining wings, and starry eyes,
And burns to seize the living prize:
Her beating breast and glowing face
Betray her native love of dress,
And all the woman full exprest
First flutters in her little breast:
Ensnar'd by empty outward show,
She swift pursues the insect-beau;
O'er gay parterres she runs in haste,
Nor heeds the garden's flowery waste.

Long as the Sun, with genial pow'r
Increasing, warm'd the sultry hour,
The nymph o'er every border flew,
And kept the shining game in view:
But when, soft breathing through the trees,
With coolness came the evening-breeze;
As hovering o'er the tulip's pride
He hung with wing diversified,

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His words the little charmer mov'd;
She the poor trembler's suit approv'd.
His gaudy wings he then extends,
And flutters on her fingers' ends;
From thence he spoke, as you shall hear,
In strains well worth a woman's ear:-
"When now thy young and tender age
Is pure, and heedless to engage:
When in thy free and open mien
No self-important air is seen;
Unknowing all, to all unknown,
Thou liv'st, or prais'd or blam'd by none.
But when, unfolding by degrees
The woman's fond desire to please,
Studious to heave the artful sigh,
Mistress of the tongue and eye,
Thou sett'st thy little charms to show,
And sport'st familiar with the beau;
Forsaking then the simple plain,
To mingle with the courtly train,
Thou in the midnight ball shalt see
Things apparell'd just like me;
Who round and round, without design,
Tinsel'd in empty lustre shine:
As dancing through the spacious dome,
From fair to fair the friskers roam,
If charm'd with the embroider'd pride,
The victim of a gay outside,

From place to place, as me just now,
The glittering gewgaw you pursue,
What mighty prize shall crown thy pains?
A butterfly is all thy gains!"

ON A SUMMER-HOUSE IN MY OWN
GARDEN.

WHILST round my head the zephyrs gently play,
To calm reflection I resign the day;
From all the servitudes of life releast,
I bid mild Friendship to the sober feast,
Nor Beauty banish from the hallow'd ground,
She enters here to solace, not to wound;
All else excluded from the sacred spot,
One half detested, and one half forgot:
All the mad human tumult, what to me?
Here, chaste Calliope, I live with thee.

ON A DIAL IN MY GARDEN.

ONCE at a potent leader's voice it stay'd,
Once it went back when a good monarch pray'd:
Mortals, howe'er we grieve, howe'er deplore,
The flying shadow shall return no more.

ON AN OBELISK IN MY GARDEN, VIEW all around, the works of Power Divine, Inquire, explore, admire, extol, resign; This is the whole of human kind below, 'Tis only giv'n beyond the grave to know.

ON A DOG.

CALM though not mean, courageous without rage,
Serious not dull, and without thinking sage;
Pleas'd at the lot that Nature has assign'd,
Suar as I list, and freely bark my mind;
As churchman wrangle not with jarring spite,
Nor statesman-like caressing whom I bite;
View all the canine kind with equal eyes,
I dread no mastiff, and no eur despise:
True from the first, and faithful to the end,
I balk no mistress, and forsake no friend.
My days and nights one equal tenour keep,
Fast but to eat, aud only wake to sleep:
Thus stealing along life I live incog,
A very plain and downright honest dog,

MITHRIDATES.

ACT I. SCENE I.

After the manner of the French dramatic rhyme of Racine.

XIPHARES. ARBATES.

Xip. 'Tis true, Arbates, what all tongues relate,
Rome triumphs, and my father yields to fate:
He whose wide empire stretch'd from shore to
The mighty Mithridates, is no more. [shore,
Pompey, wide-scattering terrour and affright,
Surpriz'd his prudence in the shades of night;
Through all his camp a sudden ruin spread,
And heap'd it round with mountains of the dead:
On broad Euphrates' bank the monarch lies-
His diadem is fall'n the victor's prize.
Thus he whom Asia forty years bebeld
Still rising nobler from each well-fought field,
Who bold aveng'd, high-rais'd on valour's wings,
The common cause of empire and of kings,
Dies, and behind him leaves, by fortune crost,
alas! in mutual discords lost.

Two sons,

Arb. How, prince! So soon does fell ambition To break the union of fraternal love?

[move

Xip. Far, far such guilt be from Xiphares' breast, Far such ambition, which the good detest; Nor glory shines so tempting in my eye, Nor rate I empire at a price so high; True to the kindred honours of my name, I recognize a brother's juster claim; Nor further does my highest wish aspire, Than those fair kingdoms left me by my sire; The rest without regret, I see become His valour's purchase, or the gift of Rome. Arb. The gift of Rome, say 'st? Can Puarnaces Can Mithridates' son?--[owe?

Xip.

Arbates, know, In vain Pharnaces veils himself in art, Long since become all Roman at the heart; Lost to his father's glories, and his own, He longs to mount a tributary throne:

Whilst I, more desperate from my father's fate,
Nourish within my breast immortal hate.
But yet, not all the rage that hatred breeds,
Not all the jealousies ambition feeds,
Not all the giories Pontus' realms can boast,
Not these divide our wretched bosoms most.

Arb. What nearer care Xiphares' fear alarms?
Xip. Then hear astonish'd, friend; Monimia's
charms,

Whom late our father honour'd with his vows,
And now Pharnaces with bold zeal pursues.
Arb. Monimia!
Xip.
I love, nor longer will conceal
A flaine which truth and honour bid reveal:
Nor duty further binds my tongue, since here
I now no rival, but a brother fear:
Nor is this flame the passion of a day,
A sudden blaze that hastens to decay;
Long in my breast I pent the rising groan,
Told it in secret to my heart alone:
O could 1, faithful to its rage, express
Its first uneasiness, my last distress!
But lose not now the moments to disclose
The long, long story of my ainorous woes.
Suffice it thee to know, that ere my sire
Beheld this beauteous object of desire,
I saw and felt the charmer in my heart,
And holy passion dignified the dart.
My father saw her too; nor sought to move
With vows that she and virtue could approve;
Haughty of sovereign rule, he hop'd to find
An easy conquest o'er a woman's mind:
But when he found, in honour resolute,
She scorn'd indignant his imperious suit,
Twas then be sent in Hymen's sacred name
His diadem, the pledge of purer flame.
Judge then, my friend, what agonizing smart
Fore up my senses, and transfix'd my heart,
When first from fame the dreadful tale I heard,
The fair Monimia to his throne preferr'd;
And that Arbates with his beauteous prey
Shap'd for Nymphea's walls the destin'd way.
"Twas then, the more to aggravate my doom,
My mother listen'd to the arts of Rome:
Whether by her great zeal for me misled,
Or stung with rage for her deserted bed,
Betray'd to Pompey (impotent of mind)

The fort and treasures to her charge consign'd.
How dreadful did my mother's guilt appear!
Soon as the fatal tidings reach'd my ear,
No more I saw my rival in my sire,
My duty triumph'd o'er my fond desire;
Alone in the unhappy man survey'd
The father injur'd, and the king betray'd:
My mother saw me, prodigal of breath,
In every field encounter every death;
Keen to redeem the honours of my name,
Repair her wrongs, and disavow her shame.
Then the broad Euxine own'd my father's sway,
made the raging Hellespont obey;
His happy vessels flew without control,
Wherever winds could waft, or oceans roll.
My filial duty had attempted more,
Ev'n hop'd his rescue on Euphrates' shore;
Sudden I heard, amid the martial strife,
A hostile arm had cut his thread of life.
Twas then, I own, amid my various woes,
Monimia dear to my remembrance rose:
fear'd the furious king, the dire excess
Of amorous rage, and jealous tenderness:

Hither I flew, some mischief to prevent,
With all the speed presaging passion lent:
Nor less my fears sinister omens drew,
When in these wails Pharnaces struck my view,
Pharnaces! still impetuous, haughty, bold,
Rash in design, in action uncontrol'd,
Solicits the fair queen, again renews
His interrupted hopes, and former vows,
Confirms his father's death, and longs to move
Her gentle bosom to more equal love.
I own indeed, whilst Mithridates reign'd,
My love was by parental law restrain'd,
Rever'd submissive his superior pow'r,
Who claim'd my duty from my natal hour;
Enfranchis'd by his death, it scorus to yield
To any other's hopes so dear a field.
Either Monimia adverse to my claim,
Rejects, ah, Heav'n forbid! my tender claim;
Or-but whatever danger's to be run,

'Tis by my death alone the prize is won.
'Tis thine to choose, which of the two to save,
Thy royal master's son, or Pompey's slave.
Proud of the Romans who espouse his cause,
Pharnaces proudly thinks to dictate laws;
But let him know, that here, that very hour,
My father died, I knew no rival pow'r.
The realms of Pontus own his sovereign sway,
Him Colchus and its provinces obey,
And Colchus' princes ever did maintain
The Bosphorus a part of their domain.

[claim,

Arb. My lord, what pow'r I boast you justly My duty and affection are the same; Arbates has but one plain point in view, To honour and his royal master true: Had Mithridates reign'd, nor force nor art Had e'er seduc'd this faithful loyal heart; Now by his death releas'd, my duteous care, His royal will declar'd, awaits his heir: The self-same zeal I to your succour bring, With which I serv'd your father, and my king. Had Heav'n Pharnaces' impious purpose sped, I the first victim of his rage had bled; Those walls, so long his entrance'which withstood, Ere this had redden'd with my odious blood, Go, to the blooming queen your suit approve, And mould her gentle bosom to your love: Affianc'd in my faith, dismiss your fear; Either Arbates has no credit here, Or else Pharnaces, by my arts o'ercome, Elsewhere shall boast him of the aids of Rome.

SPEECH OF RANDOLPH.

A FRAGMENT OF BRUCE, BOOK II.

"DEMAND'ST thou, mighty Bruce, to know from
My lineage I derive; then hear a tale [whence
Well known through fair Stirlina's fruitful bounds,
My native land; of ancient Scotish kings,
Thy royal ancestry, O Bruce! am I
Undoubted offspring; and, forgive the boast,
From the same fount my blood united flows,
Allied to thine. As yet Cameldoun's walls
By Forth, delightful stream! encircled stood
The seat of Edenuther, Pictish king;
To whose destruction, eager to revenge
The breach of faith and hospitable laws
Insulted, his embattled host

Fierce Corbred led; for from Dunstaffnage towers,

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