33° 
Where, now, the fond concern, the blifsfui 
dream, 
The glad furprize, that purpled o’er my 
cheek ; 
. The fprightly hope, that from my eye would 
gleam, 
The throbbing with that language could not 
{peak ? 
In liberty I pine, condemn'd to fee 
A barren wafte, fo wretched, tho’ fo free! 
— 
eDE TO SCARCITY. 
‘Spare faft that oft with Gods dof diet.” 
MILTON. 
Meagre Nymph, of dowbrful* birth, 
Scarcity yelep’d on earth, 
Thee I invoke ! and thee I'd call 
From Jove to vifit this terreftrial ball ; 
But that, ere now, too well I know, 
Thou art already come below— 
And thee P'dfummon from thy reign 
O’er + thieves beyond the fouthern main, 
Or Afric’s fands, or Scotia’s clime fevere, 
Wert thou not already here. 
Here! tho? not as erf? confin’d i 
To thy poor votry’s manfion or his mind, 
Nor trivially employed, as heretofore, 
Jn planting barren laurels round his door. 
Enlarg’d, lo! now I fee thee take thy fta- 
tion 
Upon the panting heart of this free nation ! 
Yet fhifting. eft thy feat to view 
How.its half-ftarv’d fons fubmit, 
Now préaching patience to the grumbling 
crew, 
- Now finging praifes in the voice of Pitt. 
From ftreet to fireet then gravely ftraying 
Tocommune with the bakers of the city 5 
Or plans of faving with alarm furveying, 
Or reading the reports of the Committee, 
Or flyly fimpering that thenorthern elf 
Should aid thy courfe by acting like himfelf! 
Smiling, I can attend thy promenade 
To behold the livery’d oaf,, 
The butler, cook, and dainty lady’s-maid, 
Each figh in anguifh o’er their quartern 
Toaf ! 
Penning a mifpelt ticket on the top, 
And fcanning each day’s fhare with mourn- 
- ful glance, 
While e’enthe fcullion, as fhe twirls her mop, 
Swears tin’t for farvants half fo bad in 
France. 
And fmiling,I can view the greafy Cit, 
Now feeling firft the war, with purple joles 
Growl to himfelf, and boafting now a fit 
Of fomach-loyalty forego his rolls. 
E’en high-fed Gluttony excites my fmile, 
Perhaps a little mix’d with indignation, 
Who leaving of twelve difhes, for awhile, 
Fafts on twelve more with wond’rous mo- 
deration : 
* See fpeeches in Parliament, &c.: 
+ Botany Bay. 
Original Poetry. 
[May 1, 
And into his unwieldy ftomach cramming 
A few boil’d grains of rice--thus cheaply fed-- 
Exclaims thofe mifcreants deferve a famine, 
Who, feafied thus on rice, cancry for bread. 
Alithis, with fmiles, can furvey, 
For many an inmate 0: cils profperous fate, 
I fear, has rather gone aftray, 
And felt from fortune’s favours too elate ; 
A little real fafting might be good 
To curb and purify their blood ; 
But to hard-handed labour, let me tell ye, 
Whofe very foul is center’din his belly, 
By far too cruel is thy vifitation, 
In fpite of Ryders plans, or e’en the Procla- » 
mation. 
Prompt thy orders to purfue, _ 
Lo! thy fell minifters, the farmer-crew, 
Grafping, grafping ftill for more, 
How they prefs and grindthe poor! 
While the lean wretch beholds his wife 
And famifh’d children round him cry, 
Denied for thefe the ling’ring means of life, 
Praying in bitternefs of foui to die! 
Ah! here I cannot fmile, my aching heart 
_ Forbids—and tears in fpite of manhood ftart. 
O meagre Nymph! thy withering fteps now 
turn, 
Nor longer caufe the humble plainto mourn : 
Spare the poor peafant, too, in town and city, 
And, mindful of the Income Tax, 
Oh, break not all the middle claffes: acks, 
But light, 1°11 tell thee where, and Ww no 
pity 5 
For *twas for rhis bright Fancy glow’d, 
Cloathing her fpirit in this mortal ode, 
Refolv’d to fummons thee to thefe abodes, 
From Thieves, or Slaves, or Scotland, or the 
Gods! 
Grind the money-jobbing crew, 
In their turns the farmers fcrew, 
Pinch the proud monopolizer, 
Make the foolifh landlord wifer 5 
Punifh, with the fly regrator, 
Every rogue and every traitor, 
Who would plot Britannia’s ruin, 
And grow fatonherundoing; 
Torment, for once, thefe minions of thy reign, 
And Plenty foon fhall blefs our fhores again. 
: S. ee 
SEE 
SONNET #0 GEORGE ROMNEY,ESQ. written 
at EARTHAM, im 1792. 
OMNEY ! expert infallibly to trace 
On chart or canvas, not the form alone 
And femblance ; but, however faintly fhewn, 
The mind’s impreffion too, on every face, 
With ftrokes that Time ought never to erafe! 
Thou haft fo pencil’d mine that, tho’ I own 
The fubje& worthlefs, I have never known 
Theartift fhining with fuperior grace: 
But this I mark—that fymptom none of woe 
In thine incomparable work appear: 
Well! I am fatisfy’d it fhould be fo, 
Since on maturer thought the caufe is clea, © 
For in my looks what forrow could’ft thou fee, 
While I was Hayley’s gueft, and fat to thee ? 
WILLIAM CowPER. 
a a 
