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Herd in the Stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my Salvation.

No Danger, no Remorfe, no Discontent,
Can feize a Soul that's truly innocent.

To the Memory of Thomas Rowe, Efq; Wrote by his Wife.

N what foft Language fhall my Thoughts get free,

IN

My deareft Jewel, when I talk of thee?
Ye Mufes, graces, all ye gentle Train,
Of weeping Loves, affift the penfive Strain:
But why fhould I implore your moving Art ?
'Tis but to speak the Dictates of my Heart ;
And all that knew the charming Youth will join
Their friendly Sighs, and pious Tears, to mine.
For all that knew his Merit must confefs,
In Grief for him there can be no Excess ;
His Soul was form'd to act each glorious Part
Of Life, unftain'd with Vanity or Art;

No Thought within his generous Mind had Birth,
But what he might have own'd to Heaven and

Earth:

His faultlefs Shape appear'd with every Grace,
While Beauty fat triumphant in his Face;
His Hair, the paleft Brown, in Ringlets flow'd,
And Charms beyond the reach of Art beftow'd;
His Forehead white as Snow, his radiant Eyes,
The bright Celestial Blue that paints the Skies;
A guiltless Blufh his blooming Cheeks disclose,
The native Tincture of an opening Role;
His Afpect open, artlefs, and ferene,
Reveal'd the spotless Mind that dwelt within :
Prais'd

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Practis'd by him each Virtue grew more bright,
And fhin'd with more than its own native Light.
Whatever noble Warmth could recommend,
The Juft, the Active, and the Constant Friend,
Was all his own; but O! a dearer Name,
And fofter Ties, my endless Sorrow claim:
Loft in Despair, diftracted and forlorn,
The Lover I, and tender Hufband mourn.
Whate'er to fuch fuperior Worth was due,
Whate'er Excefs the fondeft Paffion knew,
I felt for thee, dear Youth; my Joys, my Care,
My Prayers themfelves were thine, and only

where

Thou waft concern'd, my Virtue was fincere.
Whene'er I beg'd for Bleflings on thy Head,
Nothing was cold or formal that I faid;
My warmest Vows to Heaven were made for thee,
And Love ftill mingl'd with my Piety.

O thou waft all my Glory, all my Pride,
Through Life's uncertain Paths my conftant Guide;
Regardless of the World, to gain thy Praise,
Was all that could my juft Ambition raise.
Why has my Heart this fond Engagement known?
Or why has Heav'n diffolv'd the Tye fo foon?
Why was the charming Youth fo form'd to move?
Or why was all my Soul fo turn'd for Love?
But Virtue here a vain Defence had made,
Where fo much Worth and Eloquence could plead;
For he could talk, 'twas Extafy to hear,
"Twas Joy, 'twas Harmony to every Ear;
Eternal Mufick dwelt upon his Tongue,
Soft, and transporting as the Mufes Song;
Lift'ning to him my Cares were charm'd to Reft,
And Love and filent Rapture fill'd my Breaft;
Unheeded the gay Moments took their Flight,
And Time was only meafur'd by Delight:
I hear the lov'd, the melting Accent itill,
And fill the warm, the tender Transport feel;
Again I fee the fprightly Paffions rife,
And Life and Pleafure kindle in his Eyes:

My

My Fancy paints him now with every Grace,
But ah! the dear Refemblance mocks my fond

Embrace;

The Flattering Vifion takes its hafty Flight,
And Scenes of Horror fwim before my Sight;
Grief and Defpair in all their Terrors rife,
A dying Lover, pale and gafping lies:
Each difmal Circumftance appears in View,
The fatal Object is for ever new;

He ceas'd, then gently yielded up his Breath,
And fell a blooming Sacrifice to Death.

But O! what Words, what Numbers can exprefs? What Thought conceive the Height of my Diftrefs?

Why did they tear me from the breathless Clay?
I fhould have flaid and wept my Life away.
Ye gentle Spirit, whether thou now doft rove,
Thro' fome bleft Vale, or ever-verdant Grove
One Moment liften to my Grief, and take
The fofteft Vows that ever love can make ;
For thee all Thoughts of Pleasure I forego,
For thee my Tears fhall never cease to flow,
For thee at once I from the World retire,
To feed in filent Shades a hopeless Fire;
My Bofom all thy Image fhall retain,
The full Impreffion there fhall ftill remain.
As thou haft taught my tender Heart to prove,
The nobleft Height, and Elegance of Love;
That facred Paffion I to thee confine,
My fpotless Faith fhall be for ever thine,

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A Congratulatory POEM,

Prefented to King George the II. at his coming to the Crown, in Behalf of the Crew of the Orford Man of War.

OST gracious Sovereign Lord our King,
Since all your Lands their Tribute bring,

Of Loyalty and Duty please,

T accept the Homage of the Seas.
Neptune, who under you commands,

Craves Leave to come and kiís your Hands ;
And we your Servants, Sons to him,
Give thee three Cheers from Stern to Stem:
And pray, while we can fplice a Rope,
You'll live the Anchor of our Hope.
We mourn your Royal Father dead,
But Joy takes Place when you fucceed.
Your Royal Confort next we hail,
Long may fhe ride in gentle Gale,
And your Lov'd Offspring never fail.
Pleafe to accept them as they run,
Rough as the Element we're on,
As tho' not made for outward Shew,
Nor from dry thoughtful Morals flow,
But a due Senfe of what we owe.
Our Verfes neither bounce nor boil,
Our Pen's not dipt in Oxford Oyl;
We use no tinfel Arts to prove,

The Force and Fervour of our Love;
But come like your plain-dealing Folk,
And tell you, we're your Hearts of Oak,
As true as ever ftruck a Stroke.
Speak, and we'll make your Thunder fly,
And all the world dance Barniby;
Bring the Pretender to the Geers,
And cut off all your Rebels Ears;

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Annex Gibraltar to the Crown,
And all your foreign Foes pull down;
Make huffing Charles, and Phil. obey
Your Sceptre, keep us but in pay.
Should our King afk us, who are you?
We humbly anfwer, Orford's Crew.
Who elfe dare afk, we anfwer bluff,
We're Orford's Crew; and that's enough.

T

Pfalm cvii. 23, &c.

HEY that go down to the Sea in Ships, and occupy their Bufinefs in great Waters: Thefe Men fee the Works of the Lord, and his Wonders in the Deep. For at his Word the ftormy Wind arifeth, which lifteth up the Waves there of. They are carried up to the Heaven, and down again to the Deep, their Soul melteth away becaufe of the Trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken Man, and are at their Wits end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their Trouble, he delivereth them out of their Diftrefs. For he maketh the Storm to ceafe, fo that the Waves thereof are ftill. Then are they glad because they are at reft, and fo he bringeth them unto the Haven where they would be. O that Men would therefore praise the Lord for his Goodnefs, and declare the Wonders that he doth for the Children of Men.

B

POEM on MEMORY.

EST Gift that Heaven's Indulgence could beftow,

To thee our fureft Happiness we owe;

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Thou

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