_Margaret Nicholson._

ARGUMENT.

Mr. WILKES and Lord HAWKESBURY alternately congratulate each other on his Majesty's late happy Escape, The one describes the Joy which pervades the Country: the other sings the Dangers from which our Constitution has been preserved. Though in the following Eclogue our Author has not selected any single one of Virgil for a close and exact Parody, he seems to have had his Eye principally upon the Vth, or the Daphnis, which contains the Elegy and APOTHEOSIS of Julius Cæsar.

The Session up: the INDIA-BENCH appeas'd, The LANSDOWNES satisfied, the LOWTHERS pleas'd, Each job dispatch'd:--the Treasury boys depart, As various fancy prompts each youthful heart; PITT, in chaste kisses seeking virtuous joy, Begs Lady CHATHAM's blessing on her boy; While MORNINGTON, as vicious as he can, To fair R--L--N in vain affects the man: With Lordly BUCKINGHAM retir'd at STOWE, GRENVILLE, whose plodding brains no respite know, To prove next year, how our finances thrive, Schemes new reports, that two and two make five. To plans of Eastern justice hies DUNDAS; And comley VILLARS to his votive glass; To embryo tax bills ROSE; to dalliance STEELE; And hungry hirelings to their hard-earn'd meal. A faithful pair, in mutual friendship tied, Once keen in hate, as now in love allied (This, o'er admiring mobs in triumph rode, Libell'd his monarch and blasphem'd his God; That, the mean drudge of tyranny and BUTE, At once his practis'd pimp and prostitute), Adscomb's proud roof receives, whose dark recess And empty vaults, its owner's mind express, While block'd-up windows to the world display How much he loves a tax, how much invites the day. Here the dire chance that god-like GEORGE befel, How sick in spirit, yet in health how well; What Mayors by dozens, at the tale affrighted, Got drunk, address'd, got laugh'd at, and got knighted; They read, with mingled horror and surprise, In London's pure Gazette, that never lies. Ye Tory bands, who, taught by conscious fears, Have wisely check'd your tongues, and sav'd your ears,-- Hear, ere hard fate forbids--what heavenly strains Flow'd from the lips of these melodious swains. Alternate was the song; but first began, With hands uplifted, the regenerate man.

WILKES. Bless'd be the beef-fed guard, whose vigorous twist Wrench'd the rais'd weapon from the murderer's fist, Him Lords in waiting shall with awe behold In red tremendous, and hirsute in gold. On him, great monarch, let thy bounty shine, What meed can match a life so dear as thine? Well was that bounty measured, all must own, That gave him half of what he saved--a crown. Bless'd the dull edge, for treason's views unfit, Harmless as SYDNEY's rage, or BEARCROFT's wit. Blush, clumsy patriots, for degenerate zeal, WILKES had not guided thus the faithless steel! Round your sad mistress flock, ye maids elect, Whose charms severe your chastity protect; Scar'd by whose glance, despairing love descries, That virtue steals no triumph from your eyes. Round your bold master flock, ye mitred hive, With anathems on Whigs his soul revive! Saints! whom the sight of human blood appals, Save when to please the Royal will it falls. He breathes! he lives! the vestal choir advance, Each takes a bishop, and leads up the dance, Nor dreads to break her long respected vow, For chaste--ah strange to tell!--are bishops now: Saturnian times return!--the age of truth, And--long foretold--is come the virgin youth. Now sage professors, for their learning's curse, Die of their duty in remorseless verse: Now sentimental Aldermen expire In prose half flaming with the Muse's fire; Their's--while rich dainties swim on every plate-- Their's the glad toil to feast for Britain's fate; Nor mean the gift the Royal grace affords, All shall be knights--but those that shall be lords. Fountain of Honour, that art never dry, Touch'd with whose drops of grace no thief can die, Still with new titles soak the delug'd land, Still may we all be safe from KETCH's menac'd hand!

JENKINSON. Oh wond'rous man, with a more wond'rous Muse! O'er my lank limbs thy strains a sleep diffuse, Sweet as when PITT with words, disdaining end, Toils to explain, yet scorns to comprehend. Ah! whither had we fled, had that foul day Torn him untimely from our arms away? What ills had mark'd the age, had that dire thrust Pierc' his soft heart, and bow'd his bob to dust? Gods! to my labouring sight what phantoms rise! Here Juries triumph, and there droops Excise! Fierce from defeat, and with collected might, The low-born Commons claim the people's right: And mad for freedom, vainly deem their own, Their eye presumptuous dares to scan the throne. See--in the general wreck that smothers all, Just ripe for justice--see my HASTINGS fall. Lo, the dear Major meets a rude repulse, Though blazing in each hand he bears a BULSE? Nor Ministers attend, nor Kings relent, Though rich Nabobs so splendidly repent. See EDEN's faith expos'd to sale again, Who takes his plate, and learns his French in vain. See countless eggs for us obscure the sky, Each blanket trembles, and each pump is dry. Far from good things DUNDAS is sent to roam, Ah!--worse than banish'd--doom'd to live at home. Hence dire illusions! dismal scenes away-- Again he cries, "What, what!" and all is gay. Come, BRUNSWICK, come, great king of loaves and fishes, Be bounteous still to grant us all our wishes! Twice every year with BEAUFOY as we dine, Pour'd to the brim--eternal George--be thine Two foaming cups of his nectareous juice, Which--new to gods--no mortal vines produce. To us shall BRUDENELL sing his choicest airs, And capering MULGRAVE ape the grace of bears; A grand thanksgiving pious YORK compose, In all the proud parade of pulpit prose; For sure Omniscience will delight to hear, Thou 'scapest a danger, that was never near. While ductile PITT thy whisper'd wish obeys, While dupes believe whate'er the Doctor says, While panting to be tax'd, the famish'd poor Grow to their chains, and only beg for more; While fortunate in ill, thy servants find No snares too slight to catch the vulgar mind: Fix'd as the doom, thy power shall still remain, And thou, wise King, as uncontroul'd shall reign.

WILKES. Thanks, Jenky, thanks, for ever could'st thou sing, For ever could I sit and hear thee praise the King. Then take this book, which with a Patriot's pride, Once to his sacred warrant I deny'd, Fond though he was of reading all I wrote: No gift can better suit thy tuneful throat.

JENKINSON. And thou this Scottish pipe, which JAMIE's breath Inspir'd when living, and bequeath'd in death, From lips unhallow'd I've prcserv'd it long: Take the just tribute of thy loyal song.

IMITATIONS. Ver. 59. Ergo alacris sylvas et cetera rura voluptas. Panaque pastoresque tenet, Dryadasque puellas. Ver. 61. Nec lupus insidias pecori, &c. Ver. 63. Jam redit et Virgo, redeunt Saturnia regna. Ver. 78. Tale tuum carmen nobis, divine Poeta, Quale sopor sessis in gramine. Ver. 106. Sis bonus; O! felixque tuis-- Ver. 107. Pocula bina novo spumantia lacte quot--annis Craterasque duo statuam tibi. Ver. 109. Vina novum fundum calathis Arvisia nectar. Ver. 114. Cantabunt mihi Damætas et Lictius Ægon. Saltantes Satyros imitabitur Alphæsibæus. Ver. 121. Dum juga montis aper, &c. Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudesque manebunt. Ver. 130. At tu sume pedurn, quod cum me sæpe rogaret Non tulit Antigenes, et erat turn dignus amari. Ver. 134. Est mihi-- Fistula, Damætas dono mini quam dedit olim, Et dixit moriens, "Te nunc, habet ista secundum." ECL. II.

NOTES. Ver. 46. half--a crown!--Literally so.

Ver. 63, 64. It is rearkable that these are the only lines which our Poet has imitated from the IVth Eclogue (or the Pollio) of Virgil. Perhaps the direct and obvious application of that whole Eclogue appeared to our author to be an undertaking too easy for the exercise of his superior talents; or perhaps he felt himself too well anticipated by a similar imitation of Pope's Messiah, which was inserted some time since in one of the public papers. If the author will favour us with a corrected copy, adapted rather to the Pollio than the Messiah, we shall be happy to give it a place in our subsequent editions, of which we doubt not the good taste of the town will demand as many as of the rest of our celebrated bard's immortal compositions.

Ver. 119. The public alarm expressed upon the event which is the subject of this Pastoral, was certainly a very proper token of affection to a Monarch, every action of whose reign denotes him to be the father of his people. Whether it has sufficiently subsided to admit of a calm enquiry into facts, is a matter of some doubt, as the addresses were not finished in some late Gazettes. If ever that time should arrive, the world will be very well pleased to hear that the miserable woman whom the Privy Council have judiciously confined in Bedlam for her life, never even aimed a blow at his August Person.

Ver. 127. This Book, &c. Essay on Woman.

Ver. 130. No gift can better suit thy----throat. The ungrateful people of England, we have too much reason to fear, may be of a different opinion.

* * * * *