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I SHOULD not have troubled the reader with any thing by way of preface, if I did not think myself obliged to return my thanks to my goodnatured subscribers for their patience in waiting so long for their books. A bad state of health, and some other intervening accidents, prevented me from publishing the volume sooner, though above half of it has been printed off for some time.

As for the poems themselves, the greater part of them was writen when the author was very young, and without any design of printing them, which is only mentioned with hopes to procure the reader's pardon for the imperfection of some and the lightness of others. Yet

Non ego mordaci distrinxi carmine quemquam,

Nulla venenato litera mista joco est. OVID. I should not have printed the two Latin odes, if they had not given me an opportunity of publishing the translations along with them, which I believe will be thought the best verses in the collection: they are finished in so casy and masterly a manner, that I must own that I had rather have been the author of them than of the originals themselves. The tragedy was likewise chiefly composed when the anthor was an under-graduate in the university, as an innocent relaxation from those severer and more useful studies for which the college, where he had the benefit of his education, is so deservedly distinguished. I have caused it (with all its juvenile imperfections on its head) to be printed as it was at first written, and have even added the original motto, that it might be all of a piece. The poem called Sickness was republished at the request of several of my subscribers, to which, without regarding the additional expense, I very readily agreed: I have made some alterations, which, in the divisions of the books, I hope will be thought improvements.

I return my most humble thanks to my friends for their many kind offices in the course of the subscription, and shall leave the poems to the candour of the courteous reader with part of a retse from Horace,

Si placeo, tuum est.





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Her Thamis (on his golded urn he lean'd)

Saluted with this hymeneal song,

And hail'd her safe. Full silent was the wind, IN MAY, 1736.

The river glided gently-soft along, O® Thamis' banks, where many a flow!ry gem

Ne4 whispered the breeze the leaves emong, Blooms wanton-wild, advanc'd a jovial crew,

Ne love-learn'd Philomel out-trill'd her lay; Thick as the daisies which his meadows hem,

A stilness on the waves attentive hung, And with sweet herbs the liquid crystal strew;

A brighter gladness blest the face of day, (May. For on the liquid crystal gayly few

All nature gan to smile, her smiles diffus'd the A painted gondelay', bedecked fair

" Ah sacred ship, to Albion wafting good, With gold and purple, gorgeous to the view!

Our wish, our hope, our joy! who safe convey'd While loud approving shouts divide the air, Hail, bappy future bride of Albion's worthy This beauty's paragon, this royal maid,

Through perilous sea, from lla's little flood, beir."

Isprung, iwist, of high empyreal seed;

The child of Heav'n, the daughter of Delight, Eftsoons: the father of the silver flood,

Nurst by a Grace, with milk and honey fed! The noble Thames, his azure head uprais'd,

Oh Frederick! oh, certes s, blessed wight, [hight 6. And shook his dewy locks, worthy a god!

To whom the Gods consign the nymph Augusta A lambent glory round his temples blaz'd, On which the Naids all with wonder gaz'd.

" Ah sacred ship! may favourable gales, So sparkle Thetis purple-trembling streams,

The kindest breath of Heav'n attend thy way, When Phæbus, for his golden car yprais'd, And swell the winged canvass of thy satis: Strikes the calm surface with his morning beams, May calmness be thy path, and pleausance lay And sprinkles spangles round and the wide blue On the soft bosom of the yielding sea, inflames.

Where-e'er thou wind; or to the spicy shore

Of Araby the blest, or India's bay, The wanton Naïds, Doris' daughters all,

Where diamonds kindle, and the golden ore
Pange in a ring: Pherusa, blooming-fair,

Flames into purity, to deck Augusta more!
Cymodoce dove-ey'd, with Florimal,
Sareet-smelling flowrets deck'd their long green Augusta, fairest princess under sky,
And Erato, to Love, to Venus dear, (hair, Welcome to Albion's renowned land,
Galene drest in smiles and lilly-white,

Albion, well known to thy great ancestry,
And Phao, with her snowy bosom bare,

Made dearer far to thee by Hymen's band, All these, and more than these, a dainty sight! The band of love, of honour and command! lo daunce and merriment and sweet belgardså de- Deign to receive the nation's public voice, light.

Of heartiness unfeign'd, who gleeful stand

In meet array, and thus express their joys (noise. Around the bark they daunce, wherein there lo peals of loud acclaim, and mirtbs confused A lady fresh and fair, ab! such a one,

[sat So fresh and fair, so amiably great,

« With warmer raptures, and more passionate, S. goodly-gracious seem'd as never none,

Though hard to be! the royal youth, I trow, And like thy sweet-beam'd planet, Venus shone. Shall thee embrace: bim tenfold fires elate, They much admire, ( very much her face, And sacred passions in his bosom glow, Her shape, her breast, for Love a downy throne! Which from thy picture erst began to flow. Her beauty's glorious shine, her every grace;

For thee he burns, for thee he sighs and prays, An augei she appear'd, at least of angel-race. Pours out his soul to thee, nor rest can know; Preseptly. 3 Beautiful looks.

4 Nor. s Certainly. 6 Named.

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