Each hour a different face he wears, Now laughing, now in sorrow; And roars for power to-morrow. At noon the Tories had him tight, See yon old, dull, important Lord, Why did you cross God's good intent ? Back to that station go: Nor longer act this farce of power, See valiant Cobham, valorous Stair, Now strike my ravish'd eye: But oh! their strength and spirits flown, They, like their conq'ring swords, are grown Rusty with laying by. Dear Bat, I'm glad you've got a place, And since things thus have chang'd their face, You'll give opposing o'er: 'Tis comfortable to be in, And think what a damn'd while you've been, Like Peter, at the door. See who comes next-I kiss thy hands, That gives you knowledge, judgment, parts, When great impending dangers shook Judiciously from plough: So we, (but at a pinch thou knowest) When in your hands the seals you found, I fancy (but you hate a joke) See Harry Vane in pomp appear, And see with that important face With pride and meanness act thy part, Oh, my poor Country! is this all You've gain'd by the long-labour'd fall Of Walpole and his tools? He was a knave indeed-what then? He'd parts-but this new set of men A'n't only knaves, but fools. More changes, better times this isle Demands: Oh! Chesterfield, Argyle, To bleeding Britain bring 'em : Unite all hearts, appease each storm; 'Tis yours such actions to perform, My pride shall be to sing 'em. ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE. BORN 1705.-DIED 1760. ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE was born at Burton upon Trent, educated at Westminster and Cambridge, and studied the law at Lincoln's Inn; but his fortune enabled him to decline the pursuit of business long before his death. He sat in two parliaments for Wenlocke, in Shropshire. OLD Battle-array, big with horror, is fled, And olive-rob'd Peace again lifts up her head. Sing, ye Muses, Tobacco, the blessing of peace; Was ever a nation so blessed as this? ་་ AIR. When summer suns grow red with heat, RECITATIVO. Like Neptune, Cæsar guards Virginian fleets, AIR. Happy mortal! he who knows RECITATIVO. Let foreign climes the wine and orange boast, AIR. Smiling years that gaily run |