LONDON, Printed by JOHN NICHOLS,
at Cicero's Head, Red Lion Puffage, Fleet-Street;
where LETTERS are particularly requefied to be fent, PosT PAID:
And fold by ELIZ. NEWBERY, the Corner of St. Paul's
Church Yard, Ludgate-Street. 1795-
ON COMPLETING HIS LXVth VOLUME.
HEN Genius, to fair Learning
join'd,
With Pleafare feek to form the mind,
And dignify their name;
Forego the joys this World obeys,
Chufing to live laborious days,
To gain a fprig of Fame:
Some mount the tow'ring Alps fublime,
Others the fnow-capp'd Andes climb,
Or Ana's fiery top;
Or o'er th' unfathom'd ocean run,
To diftant lands, another fun,
Some unknown plant to crop.
Such views each kindrel bofom warms,
Such plans th' enraptur'd fancy charms,
As urge to gain renown;
Nor lefs the glory of the Sage,
Who patient turns the learned page,
To claim the after crown:
Nor thoughts like these alone infest
Th' Ingenious, but the Hermit's breaft,
Swells in his fmall career,
For, not to dull neglect a prey,
So much but hopes another day
To live recorded here.
Confign'd to Earth's dark bowels, where
Death lurks unfeen in folph'rous air,
The dauntlefs miners go;
When water, rufhing in between,
Too oft destroys the bufy fcene,
And swallows all below:
Whilft, more at eafe, fee fome reclin'd,
Explore a TULLY, BACON's mind,
Or NEWTON's labours try;
EUCLID, fome other occupies,
Or magnifying grubs or flies,
Each labour to outvie.
Hence, from laborious fcenes, the Mufe
Cannot to URBAN long refuse
Whofe monthly care, fince THIRTY-ONE, Has more than any other done,
In bringing things to light: Heedlefs of what the World may say, In ferious or in comic way,
Thy monthly works fhall live;
And when the lighter ftrains of Wit,
With all their local humour writ,
Are paft, thine must furvive.
Releas'd from school-abftrufive dreams,
And all their hypothetic schemes,
URBAN, we turn to thee;
Whilft the juft Mufe, a friend to Fame,
Attempts immortalize thy name
For thy variety.
By Science fir'd, each thinking foul
With fcorn behind leaves all controul,
And every partial plan;
And, flave to no one's narrow creed,
Whether they drink the Thames or Tweed,
Admire the ufeful man.
When rigid fkies impel the form,
And whirlwinds Nature's face deform,
Or wanton meteors thine,
Thy register fecures the date,
Of mercy or mischief fhews the fate,
The tract and wayward line.
Vain task it would be, to effay
To tell thy worth the present day,
Or public fpirit fhew;
Thy feries every year declares
The World thy monthly labours fhares,
And praifes all bestow.
Deem not, O URBAN, here amifs
Of aught I've faid of thee in this,
For flatt'ry's not my mode;
Like you I fcora that hackney'd praife,
Which foul D.fhonour oft betrays
In Adulation's road.
Nor only thould the World alive,
In grateful memory here frive,
The Dead a debt must own;
Their reliques oft would be forgot,
Fame is not of all the lot,
Nor can be grav'd on ftone.
If fuch the wifh of all mankind,
To leave memorials here behind,
And, dead, yet still to speak;
Philofophers we need not read,
Why for diftin&tion men will bleed;
A name is all they feck.
Nor here, Friend URBAN, let us dwell
Therry for another year, farewell!
Let's call another caufe:
No more in complimental rhimes-
We'll loyally wait better times,
And merit MEN's applaufe.
And may our feuds for ever ceafe,
May Wifdom guide our Reps to Peace,
With all her blefs'd fupplies;
Alike fecure from fraud or force,
May Brunswick's Line ftill run its course,
And claim their kindred fkies!
Another with yet should appear—
That we may happier be this year
Than we've been heretofore;
Improving too in Wifdom's ways,
And Piety, our latter days,
And Providence adore!
Kingfland, Dec. 28. HENRY LEMOINE
|