V. Oh! for the pencil of a Claud Lorrain, Apelles, Austin, Sayer, or Luke the saint-- What glowing scenes;--but ah! the grant were vain, I know not how to paint---- Hail! Royal Park! what various charms are thine-- Thy patent lamps pale Cynthia's rays outshine-- Thy limes and elms with grace majestic grow, All in a row; Thy Mall's smooth walk, and sacred road beside, Where Treasury Lords by Royal Mandate ride. Hark! the merry fife and drum: Hark! of beaus the busy hum; While in the gloom of evening shade, Gay wood-nymphs ply their wanton trade; Ah! nymphs too kind, each vain pursuit give o'er-- If Death should call--you then can walk no more! See the children rang'd on benches; See the pretty nursery wenches; The cows, secur'd by halters, stand, Courting the ruddy milk-maid's hand. Ill-fated cows, when all your milk they've ta'en, At Smithfield sold, you'll fatten'd be and slain.--
VI. Muse, raise thine eyes and quick behold, The Treasury-office fill'd with gold; Where Elliot, Pitt, and I, each day } The tedious moments pass away, } In business now, and now in play---- } The gay Horse-guards, whose clock of mighty fame, Directs the dinner of each careful dame, Where soldiers with red coats equipp'd, Are sometimes march'd, and sometimes whipp'd. Let them not doubt---- 'Twas heav'n's eternal plan That perfect bliss should ne'er be known to man. Thus Ministers, are in--are out, Turn and turn about---- Even Pitt himself may lose his place, } Or thou, Delpini, sovereign of grimace, } Thou, too, by some false step, may'st meet disgrace. }
VII. Ye feather'd choristers, your voices tune, 'Tis now, or near the fourth of June; All nature smiles--the day of Brunswick's birth Destroy'd the iron-age, and made an heav'n on earth. Men and beasts his name repeating, Courtiers talking, calves a-bleating; Horses neighing, Asses braying, Sheep, hogs, and geese, with tuneful voices sing, All praise their King, George the Third, the Great, the Good. France and Spain his anger rue; Americans, he conquer'd you, Or would have done it if he cou'd. And 'midst the general loyal note, Shall not his _gosling_ tune his throat; Then let me join the jocund hand, Crown'd with laurel let me stand; My grateful voice shall their's as far exceed, As the two-legg'd excels the base four-footed breed.