Herd in the Stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my Salvation.
No Danger, no Remorse, no Discontent,
Can feize a Soul that's truly innocent.
To the Memory of Thomas Rowe, Efq; Wrote by bis Wife.
My dearest Jewel, when I talk of thee ?
Ye Muses, graces, all ye gentle Train,
Of weeping Loves, assist the penfive Strain:
But why should 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, unstain'd with Vanity or Art;
No Thought within his generous Mind had Birth,
But what he might have own'd to Heaven and
His faultless Shape appear'd with every Grace,
While Beauty fat triumphant in his Face;
His Hair, the palest Brown, in Ringlets flow'd,
And Charms beyond the reach of Art bestow'd;
His Forehead white as Snow, his radiant Eyes,
The bright Celestial Blue that paints the Skies;
A guiltless Blush his blooming Cheeks disclose,
The native Tincture of an opening Rote;
His Aspect open, artless, and serene,
Reveal'd the spotless Mind that dwelt within :
Practis'd by him each Virtue grew more bright,
And shin'd with more than its own native Light.
Whatever noble Warmth could recommend,
The Just, 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, distracted and forlorn,
The Lover I, and tender Husband mourn.
Whate'er to fuch superior Worth was due,
Whate'er Excess the fondest Passion knew,
I felt for thee, dear Youth; my Joys, my Care,
My Prayers themselves were thine, and only
Thou wast concern'd, my Virtue was fincere.
Whene'er I beg'd for Blessings on thy Head,
Nothing was cold or formal that I said;
My warmest Vows to Heaven were made for thee,
And Love still mingl'd with my Piety.
O thou wast all my Glory, all my Pride,
Through Life's uncertain Paths my constant Guide;
Regardless of the World, to gain thy Praise,
Was all that could my just Ambition raise.
Why has my Heart this fond Engagement known?
Or why has Heav'n difssolv'd the Tye so soon?
Why was the charming Youth so form'd to move ?
Or why was all my Soul so turn'd for Love?
But Virtue here a vain Defence had made,
Where so much Worth and Eloquence could plead;
For he could talk, 'twas Extafy to hear,
'Twas Joy, 'twas Harmony to every Ear;
Eternal Musick dwelt upon his Tongue,
Soft, and transporting as the Muses Song;
Lift'ning to him my Cares were charm'd to Rest,
And Love and filent Rapture fill'd my Breast;
Unheeded the gay Moments took their Flight,
And Time was only measur'd by Delight:
I hear the lov'd, the melting Accent still,
And still the warm, the tender Transport feel;
Again I see the fprightly Passions rise,
And Life and Pleasure kindle in his Eyes :
My Fancy paints him now with every Grace,
But ah! the dear Resemblance mocks my fond
The Flattering Vision takes its hasty Flight,
And Scenes of Horror fwim before my Sight;
Grief and Despair in all their Terrors rife,
A dying Lover, pale and gasping lies:
Each dismal Circumstance 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 Di-
Why did they tear me from the breathless Clay?
I should have staid and wept my Life away.
Ye gentle Spirit, whether thou now doft rove,
Thro' some blest Vale, or ever-verdant Grove;
One Moment listen to my Grief, and take
The softest Vows that ever love can make;
For thee all Thoughts of Pleasure I forego,
For thee my Tears shall never cease to flow,
For thee at once I from the World retire,
To feed in filent Shades a hopeless Fire;
My Bosom all thy Image shall retain,
The full Impression there shall still remain:
As thou hast taught my tender Heart to prove,
The nobleft Height, and Elegance of Love;
That facred Paffion I to thee confine,
My spotless Faith shall be for ever thine.
A Congratulatory POEM,
Presented to King George the II. at his coming to the Crown, in Behalf of the Crew of the Orford Man of War.
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 kiss your Hands;
And we your Servants, Sons to him,
Give thee three Cheers from Stern to Stem:
And pray, while we can splice 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 the ride in gentle Gale,
And your Lov'd Offspring never fail.
Please 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 Sense of what we owe.
Our Verses neither bounce nor boil,
Our Pen's not dipt in Oxford Oyl;
We use no tinsel 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 struck 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;
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 ask us, who are you?
We humbly answer, Orford's Crew.
Who else dare ask, we answer bluff,
We're Orford's Crew; and that's enough.
HEY that go down to the Sea in Ships, and occupy their Business in great Waters: These Men fee the Works of the Lord, and his Wonders in the Deep. For at his Word the stormy Wind arifeth, which lifteth up the Waves thereof. They are carried up to the Heaven, and down again to the Deep, their Soul melteth away because 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 theis Trouble, he delivereth them out of their Distress. For he maketh the Storm to cease, so that the Waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they are at rest, and so he bringeth them unto the Haven where they would be. O that Men would therefore praise the Lord for his Goodness, and declare the Wonders that he doth for the Children of Men.
EST Gift that Heaven's Indulgence could
beftow, To thee our surest Happiness we owe;
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