1806.] 
roare or loud whifper. It is the great ex- 
change of all difcourfe, and no bufinefs 
whatfoeuer 
“It is the fynod of all pates politicke, 
joynted and laid together in moft fe- 
rious pofture, and they are not half fo 
bufie at ‘he Parliament. It is the anticke 
of tailes to tailes, and backes to backes, 
and for vizards you need go no further 
than faces. It is the market of young 
lecturers, whom you may eheapen here at 
all rates and fizes. Itis the generall mint 
of al famous lies, which are here, like the 
legends of Popery, firft coyn’d and ftampt 
in the church, All inventions are emp- 
tyed here, and not few pockets. The beft 
fignof a Temple in it is, that ir js.the 
theves fanctuary, which robbe more fafe- 
ly in the croud then a wildersefs, whilft 
Original Poetry. 
but is here ftirring and afoot. 
; 37 
every fearcher isabufhto hide them. [ft — 
is the other expence of the day, after 
playes, tauerne, and a bawdy-houfe, and 
men have ftill fome oathes left to fweare 
here. It is the eares brothell, and, fatis- 
fies their luft and ytch. The victante are 
all men without exceptions, but the prin- 
cipall inhabitants and poffeflors are ftale 
Knights, and Captaines out of fervice, 
men of long rapiers, and breeches, which, 
after all turne merchants here and traffickey 
for newes. Some make it a preface ta 
their dinner, and tranell for a {temache; 
but thriftier men make it their ordinarie, 
and beorde here very cheape. Of all fuch 
places, it is leaft haunted with hobgob- 
lins, for if a ghoft would walke more, hee 
could nat,” 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
THE DAWN OF MY PEACE. 
MY youthful hours are almoft paft, 
But not one joy has grac’d them 5 
I weep to think they fly fo fat, 
And yet I firangely wafte them, 
The fport of ev’ry vain defire, 
Of bubbles how unmeaning ! 
Form’d virtue deeply to admire, 
And yet to weaknefs leaning. 
How have If fritter’d life away 
In wild and idle dreaming— 
How is my fancy prone to ftray 
Thro’ worlds with falfebood teeming ! 
Fair Hope, that fyren! young and gay, 
My heart was wont to cherifh ; 
But if the win agaia the fway, 
That infant may I perifh! 
And Friendfhip too hath fweetly fung, 
Charming my foul to gladnefs, 
And Oh! that foul hath forely wrung, 
Weaving it nought but fadnefs. 
Love too hath dafh’d my bloom of years 
With many a one of forrow=— 
A wand’rer thro” this vale of tears, : 
Ive hail’d the grave's dark morrow. 
Yes, I have long’d for thet deep reft, 
The Sabbath of the weary, 
For to this fad deje&ted breatt 
All was o’ercaft and dreary. 
The roy fmile of waking light 
Awak’d me not to pleafure, 
And with the thick defcending night 
Return’d my grief’s full meafure. 
Bat what avails it to be fad? 
The Fates may yet befriend me, 
And if my lot fhould fill be bad 
Patience her garb shail lend me, 
And Keafon too, with look fevere, 
Shall curb the throb of fecling, 
Whiltt gentle Peace—-companion dear! 
Shall on me pour her healing. 
Laura SopHia TEMPLE. 
Exeter, 
Dec. 12, 1805. 
eRe 
THE RUINED CASTLE. 
FROM POEMS eee TO BE PUBLISHED 
_BY J. LYNCHy- ESQ. 
WHERE yonder tott’ring pile of Gothic 
pride 
Frowns from the ford ichado-ns the fide 
Of that vat moa an whofe diadem of {now 
Prociaims it fov’reigfi of the vales below, 
There once Rodoiphus dwelt in defpot flate, | 
Whofe will to all his vaffais "round was fate. 
If pa urty feuds, or dire ambition’s charins, 
Urg’d him to meditate on deeds of arms, 
Soon as the war-flag floated in the gale, 
What brifk commotion fpread along 
vale! 
By feudal tenure bound, the peiceful {wain 
Forfoox his paftures for th? enfanguin’d 
plain ; > 
And crowds on crowds of hardy warriors rofe, 
To hurl defeat and tesror on his foes. 
How folitary now!—his dark retreat 
The fox feleéis in yonder hall of ftate, 
Where once the tapeltry., with taudry: grace, 
Difplay’d the glories of ‘the Saxon race ; ‘ 
Their high defcent, their val’rous doaue of 
the 
ane, 
Ané all the honours which ajorn*d their 
name, } 
he eS * 4 h S > 
nere creeps the ivy now, and there o’er- 
grown 
With nettle and rank fees lies the ftone 
By 
