Classic Poem

AN ODE.

The country girl that's well inclin'd
To love, when the young 'squire grows kind,
Doubts between joy and ruin;
Now will, and now will not comply,
To raptures now her pulse beats high,
And now she fears undoing.

But when the lover with his pray'rs,
His oaths, his sighs, his vows and tears,
Holds out the profer'd treasure;
She quite forgets her fear and shame,
And quits her virtue, and good-name,
For profit mixt with pleasure.

So virtuous P — — , who had long
By speech, by pamphlet, and by song,
Held Patriotism's steerage,
Yields to ambition mixt with gain,
A treasury gets for H — — y V — — e,
And for himself a peerage.

Tho' with joint lives and debts before,
H — — y's estate was covered o'er,
This Irish place repairs it;
Unless that story should be true,
ThaThe receives but half his due,
And the new C — — — ss shares it.

'Tis said, besides, that t'other H — — — y
Pays half the sees of secretary
To B — — 's ennobled doxy;
If so — good use of pow'r she makes,
The treasury of each kingdom takes,
And holds them both by proxy.

WhilsTher dear L — d obeys his summons,
And leaves the noisy H — e of C — — — s,
Amongst the L — s to nod;
Where, if he's better than of old,
His hands perhaps a stick may hold,
But never more a rod.

Unheard of, let him slumber there,
As innocent as any p — — — r,
As prompt for any job?
For now he's popular no more,
Has lost the power he had before,
And his best friends, the Mob.

Their fav'rites shou'dn't soar so high,
They fail him when too near the sky,
Like Icarus's wings;
And popularity is such,
As still is ruin'd by the touch
Of gracious giving kings.

Here then, O B — — h! thy empire ends,
A — — — le shall with his tory friends
Soon better days restore;
For Enoch's fate and thine are one,
Like him translated thou art gone
Ne'er to be heard of more.