Unlike the town-dame's haughty air,
The scornful eye and harlot's ftare;
But bending mild the bashful front
As modeft Fear is ever wont :
Shepherdeffes fuch of old
Doric bards enamour'd told,
While the pleas'd Arcadian vale
Echo'd the enchanting tale.
But chief of Virtue's lovely train,
A penfive exile on the plain,
No longer active now to wield
Th' avenging fword, protecting shield,
Here thoughtful-walking Liberty
Remembers Britons once were free.
With her would Nobles old converse,
And learn her dictates to rehearse,
Ere yet they grew refin'd to hate
The hofpitable rural feat,
The spacious hall with tenants ftor'd;
Where Mirth and Plenty crown'd the board;
Ere yet their Lares they forfook,
And loft the genuine British look,
The conscious brow of inward merit,
The rough, unbending, martial spirit,
To clink the chain of Thraldom gay,
And court-idolatry to pay;
To live in city fmoaks obfcure,
Where morn ne'er wakes her breezes pure,
Where darkest midnight reigns at noon,
And fogs eternal blot the fun.
But come, the minutes flit away,
And eager Fancy longs to stray;
Come, friendly Genius! lead me round
Thy fylvan haunts and magic ground;
Point every spot of hill or dale,
And tell me, as we tread the vale,
"Here mighty Dudly once wou'd rove,
"To plan his triumphs in the grove;
"There loofer Waller, ever gay,
"With Saccharifs in dalliance lay;
"And Philip, fide-long yonder fpring,
"His lavish carols wont to fing.".
Hark! I hear the echoes call,
Hark! the rushing waters fall;
Lead me to the green retreats,
Guide me to the Mufes' feats,
Where ancient bards retirement chofe,
Or ancient lovers wept their woes.
What Genius points to yonder oak?
What rapture does my foul provoke ?
*An oak in Penfhurst park, planted the day Sir Philip Sidney was born, of which Ben Johnson Speaks in the following manner:
That taller tree, which of a nut was fet,
At his great birth, where all the Muses mct,
There let me hang a garland high,
There let my Muse her accents try;
Be there my earliest homage paid,
Be there my latest vigils made;
For thou waft planted in the earth
The day that shone on Sidney's birth.
That happy time, that glorious day
The Mufes came in concert gay;
With harps in tune, and ready fong,
The jolly Chorus tript along;
In honour of th' auspicious morn,
To hail an infant genius born:
Next came the Fauns in order meet,
The Satyrs next with cloven feet,
The Dryads swift that roam the woods,
The Naiads green that swim the floods;
Sylvanus left his filent cave,
Medway came dropping from the wave;
Vertumnus led his blushing spouse,
And Ceres fhook her wheaten brows,
And Mars with milder look was there,
And laughing Venus grac'd the rear.
They join'd their hands in feftive dance,
And bade the smiling babe advance;
Each gave a gift; Sylvanus laft
Ordain'd, when all the pomp was past,
Memorial meet, a tree to grow,
Which might to future ages fhew,
That on felect occafion rare,
A troop of Gods affembled there:
The Naiads water'd well the ground,
And Flora twin'd a wood-bine round:
The tree sprung fast in hallow'd earth,
Co-æval with th' illuftrious birth.
Thus let my feet unwearied ftray;
Nor fatisfied with one furvey,
When morn returns with doubtful light,
And Phebe pales her lamp of night,
Still let me wander forth anew,
And print my footsteps on the dew,
What time the fwain with ruddy cheek
Prepares to yoke his oxen meek,
And early drest in neat array
The milk-maid chanting fhrill her lay,
Comes abroad with milking pail;
And the found of distant flail
Gives the ear a rough good-morrow,
And the lark from out his furrow
Soars upright on matin wings,
And at the gate of heaven fings.
But when the fun with fervid ray
Drives upwards to his noon of day,
And couching oxen lay them down
Beneath the beechen umbrage brown;
Then let me wander in the hall,
Round whofe antique-visag'd wall
Hangs the armour Britons wore,
Rudely caft in days of yore.
Yon fword fome heroe's arm might wield,
Red in the ranks of Chalgrave's field,
Where ever-glorious Hampden bled,
And Freedom tears of forrow shed,
Or in the gallery let me walk,
Where living pictures feem to talk,
Where Beauty smiles ferenely fair,
And Courage frowns with martial air;
Tho' whiskers quaint the face disguise,
And habits odd to modern eyes.
Behold what kings in Britain reign'd,
Plantagenets with blood diftain'd,
And valiant Tudor's haughty race,
And Stuarts, England's worst disgrace.
The Norman firft, with cruel frown,
Proud of his new-ufurped crown,
Begins the lift; and many more,
Stern heroes form'd of roughest ore.
See victor Henry there advance,
Ev'n in his look he conquers France;
And murd'rer Richard, juftly flain
By Richmond's fteel on Bosworth plain;
See the tyrant of his wives,
Prodigal of fairest lives,
And laureat Edward nurs'd in arts,
Minerva school'd his kingly parts:
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