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A familiar Epistle from a Cat at the Qun's P-Ince, to Edmused Burke, Esq. on his NIction for the better Regulation of his Majesty's Civil Establishment, &c. 4to. 15. 6. Kearlly.

It is a common proverbial saying that, a cat may look at a king, which we by no means wish to dispute the truth of; but it does not follow, that because the may look at, she has therefore a right to abuse him, which seems to be the design of this very indifferent performance, which has nothing to recommend it but a great quantity of virulence and fcurrility in most intolerable metre, as the reader will see by the few following lines, where, speaking of the American war, puss purs thus :

it makes one quite frantie
To think how things go t'other side the Atlantic!
Where a war's carry'd on between friend and friend,
Which, whoever shall conquer, mult fatally end.
Oh! curse on the authors ! aloud exclaim'd he,
That they have their reward, heav'n grant I may fee ;
To their much injur'd country victims be led,
With B and the R-b-c-n lord, at their head.

Such victims alone the gods can appease,
• Sweet peace can restore, and the people well please.

As he utter'd these words, a spontaneous sigh
Burst forth from my breast, and Amen did I cry.
That moment, my principles totally chang'd,
And all my ideas were newly arrang'd.
I now feel for my country; and when I compare
The paít with the present, I cannot forbare
Sincerely to join in the wish of my friend
That signal dishonour and some fatal end,
The authors of this fad reverse

may

attend.
And whenever my r-y-t m-ster appears,
As I creep along by him, I always shed tears ;
To think what a tract from his empire is rent,
Thro' his servants perverseness and milmanagement:
With the loss we've sustain’d in all branches of trade,
Ever since the impolitic breach has been made :
Then again I reflect on our numerous foes-

What will be the event of it God only knows.' The remark in the last line is certainly a very true one, though neither fagacious nor poetical. The event of this poem may be much more easily foreseen ; for, unlike the Arnerican war, it will do nobody any harm, will very soon be at an end, and, in a few days, be totally forgotten.

The Library. A Poem. 4to. 25. Dodfley. & vein of good fenfe and philosophical reflection runs through this little performance, which distinguishes it from most modern poems, though the subject is not sufficiently interesting to re

commend

}

commend it to general attention. The rhymes are correct, and the versification smooth and harmonious.

The author ranges

his books scientifically, and carries us through natural philosophy, phyfic, romance, history, &c. What he lays of physical writers is not less true than severe; their aim, says hė, is glorious.

to But man, who knows no good unmix'd and pure,
Oft finds a poison where he sought a cure;
For grave deceivers lodge their labours 'here,
And cloud the science they pretend to clear :
Scourges for fin the solemn tribe are fent ;
Like fire and storms, they call us to repent ;
But storms subside, and fires forget to rage ;
These are eternal scourges of the age :
'Tis not enough that each terrific hand
Spreads defolation round a guilty land;
But, train'd to ill, and harden'd by its crimes,
Their

pen relentless kills through future times.' These lines are manly, nervous, and poetical.' We were still more pleased with the folowing description of romance, which is full of fancy and spirit.

Hence, ye prophane! I feel a former dread,
A thousand visions float around my head;
Hark! hollow blasts through empty courts refound,
And shadowy forms with staring eyes stalk round;
See! moats and bridges, walls and castles rise,
Ghosts, fairies, dæinons, dance before our eyes ;
Lo! magic verse inscribid on golden gate,
And bloody hand that beckons on to fate::
" And who art thou, thou little page, unfold ?.
Say doth thy lord my Claribel with hold ?
Go tell him ftrait, fir knight, thou must refign
Thy captive queen-for Claribel is mine."?
Away he flies, and now for bloody deeds,
Black suits of armour, masks, and foaming steeds;
The giant falls-his recreant tkroat I feize,
And from his corslet take the mafly keys;
Dukes, lords, and knights in long procession move,
Releas'd from bondage with my virgin love ;-
She comes, she comes in all the charms of youth,
Unequall'd love and unsuspected truth!

« Ah ! happy he who thus in magic tkertes,
O'er worlds bewitch'd, in early rapture dreams,
Where wild enchantment waves her potent wa

wand,
And Fancy's beauties fill her fairy land;
Where doubtful objects strange desires excite,
And fear and ignorance afford delight.

• But lost, for ever lost, to me these joys,
Which Reason scatters, and which Time dettroys;
L 3

Too

IS.

Too dearly bought, maturer Judgment calls
My busy'd mind from tales and madrigals ;
My doughty giants all are slain or fled,
And all my knights, blue, green, and yellow, dead;
No more the midnight fairy tribe I view
All'in the merry moonshine tipling dew;
Ev’n the last lingering fiction of the brain,
The church-yard ghott, is now at rest again;
And all these wayward wanderings of my youth,

Fly Reason's power, and thun the light of Truth.' The reader will meet with many other passages in this poent that will give him pleasure in the perusal. ' It is observable, that the author in his account of all the numerous volumes in every science, has never characterised or entered into the merits of any: particular writer in either of them, though he had so fair an opportunity, from the nature of his subject : this, however, for reasons best known to himself, he has studiously avoided. The Brothers, an Eclogue. By the Hon. Charles John Fieldinga

4to. Walter. At a time when the nobility of this kingdom seem not over anxious of obtaining any character in the world of letters, and are very seldom guilty of publication, we are glad, for the credit of the nation, to fee a promising young man of rank step forth as a volunteer in the service, and make, considering his youth and inexperience, a figure so reļpectable. The little

poem before us, written by the honourable Mr. Charles John Fielding, younger fon to the earl of Denbigh, though not a first rate performance, is by no means destitute of poetical merit. is infcribed to his elder brother, lord viscount Fielding, and recites a conversation that passed between them on their several de Itinations in life, the elder in the military line, the younger (our author) destined probably for the church, and fond of rural amusements. They rally each other on their different taste and difpofitions : Damon is the contemplative youth, and Dorylas the foldier, who thus laughs at the philosopher's tranquillity.

! Indulge thy dream! in indolence reclind,
Wooe the soft waving of the western wind!
To moralizing brooks incline thine ear!
Pipe thy sweet lays to rocks that cannot hear!'-

6 Dream on! -Be mine with martial rage to glow!
To hurl defiance on the trembling foe!
Be mine with this good faulchion to engage,
“Where the fight burns, and where the thickest

rage."
Be mine to force th’astonish'd troops to run

Before this look, like mifls before the sun !!
To this Damon replies :

• Hence to the war! Indulge thy favage ear
With the wild shrieks of comfortless Despair !

With

It

With eager joy drink in the widow's cry!
Feast on the frantic mother's agony !
Hark! hark! “ My son! my murder'd fon!” she calls,
Then fainting o'er the bleeding body falls.
“ My blooming hero shall not die," (the cries)
And strains hiin to her breast-her hero dies.
Enjoy her pangs! with rapture see her tear
The rev'rend honours of her silver hair!
Enjoy her pangs! and let each bursting groan,

That heaves her heart with madness, footh thy own.' These lines, though the sentiments are common and familiar, are smooth and harmonious. The expresfion to run before a look, and to drink in the widow's cry, with a few others to be met with in this poem, we could wish to see expunged. A first essay, how-, ever, should be always treated with indulgence; and to exercise the severity of criticism on the efforts of fo young a muse as Mr. Fielding's, would be inhumanity. From this specimen of our honourable writer's genius and abilities, we have reason to hope that he will hereafter produce fomething well deserving of the public approbation. It would be injustice not to add, that the tenderness and fraternal affection running through this poem, the indisputable inarks of a good and well-disposed mind, mult palliate its defects, and give a lustre to its beauties, in the opinion of every feeling and intelligent reader. Poems for, the Vase at Bath Easton, &c. By a Derbyshire High

lander. 4to. 25. 6d. Rivington. These

poems were written, as we are informed in the titlepage, for the vale at lady Miller's. The production, we suppose, of lome unsuccessful candidate for the myrtle wreath, who has taken this method of arraigning the taste of the Bath Eallon judges, and made his appeal to the public, who, we are afraid, will confirm their decree, and once more consign his verses to oblivion. They seem to be the hasty effusion of a cold and incorrect writer, who throws out his undigefted thoughts on any fubject, without judgment or selection, and clothes them in very slovenly and profaic numbers. In the verses on speculation, the theme given out at Bath Easton, in 17-9, and which our author absurdly calls an epigran (of ten pages), he gives his readers this agreeable promise :

* Hail speculation! hail thou theme sublime, Thou best of parents to the fons of rhime ! Descend to earth, and visit my poor cell,

Where flow-placed hebetude and dullness dwell.' From these habitations of hebetude and dullness we cannot ex. pe&t much entertainment, and are not therefore furprited to meet, a little farther on, with the following specimen of our author's wit and humour :

Make

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Make way-the lawyer comes with formal face!
Screw'd

up

and wrinkled like his knotted case;
With tainted bag, that holds volcanic flame
To burn our happiness, and raise our shame;
To fright mankind, and aggravate their fears,
And set the world together by the ears:
Full on his head, his patch as black as sin,
Shews the dark grumous state his brain is in
Or perhaps denotes, his pleading by command,
That there the devil lays his ebon hand !
This harpy's plan is only to embroil,

And nurture itrife, and speculate for spoil, This is equalled, if nor excelled, by his description of the doctor :

Look here again! the doctor now appears,
His pompous wig envelopes both his ears;
Seize his fine cane to gaurantee my pate,
And I will all his mummery relate.
Burn first his wig-this robó him of his strength ;
Then make him

write his nonsense at full length :
As Dalilah poor Samson erst did shave,
Shave close this puffing, peruke-pared knave;
Condemn laud. liq. merc. dulc. and cort. peru.
Bid him prescribe a phyfic that is new:
If he refuse, then recipe the tote,

And, to a scruple, pour them down his throat. The rest of the poems are of a piece with this : the author talks of yesty tides, abluent waves, daisy-dappled ground, dædal scenes, Sugared notes, rubified blood, &c. &c. &c. We will not therefore trouble our readers with any more quotations ; but will conclude with our author's own opinion of this work, in a letter to his bookseller, Mr. Roome of Derby, prefixed to the poems :- I blush exceedingly (says he) at the very thought of your ushering into a world, that has now acquired the most correct and just taste for every thing that is elegant in the arts and sciences, c parcel of rhimes which are very much below mediocrity.' With this opinion of E. B. L. the Derbyshire Highlander, who must certainly best know the merit of his own works, we entirely coincide, and hope that no future vafes at Bath, or elsewhere, may lead him into the like temptation, or induce him to send any more works to Mr. Roome, p either as a subitratum for applepies, or for a facrifice to Sterquilinus, or Cloacina.', An Elay on Prejudice; a Poetical Epistle to the Hon. C, J. Fox.

4to.

Faulder. Prejudice, in the proper fignification of the word, undoubtedly means a hasty determination in any point, without previous exa

IS.

† See the prefạtory letter to Mr. Roome.

amination,

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