By SIR RICHARD HILL, BART.

Hail, pious Muse of saintly love,
Unmix’d, unstain’d with earthly dross!
Hail Muse of Methodism, above
The Royal Mews at Charing-cross!
Behold both hands I raise;
Behold both knees I bend;
Behold both eye-balls gaze!
Quick, Muse, descend, descend!
Meek Muse of Madan, thee my soul invokes—
Oh point my pious puns! oh sanctify my jokes!

II.

Descend, and, oh! in mem’ry keep—
There’s a time to wake—a time to sleep—
A time to laugh-a time to cry!
The Bible says so—so do I!—
Then broad awake, oh, come to me!
And thou my Eastern star shalt be!

III.

MILLER, bard of deathless name,
MOSES, wag of merry fame;
Holy, holy, holy pair,
Harken to your vot’ry’s pray’r!
Grant, that like Solomon’s of old,
My faith be still in Proverbs told;
Like his, let my religion be
Conundrums of divinity.
And oh! to mine, let each strong charm belong,
That breathes salacious in the wise man’s song;
And thou, sweet bard, for ever dear
To each impassioned love-fraught ear,
Soft, luxuriant ROCHESTER;
Descend, and ev’ry tint bestow,
That gives to phrase its ardent glow;
From thee, thy willing Hill shall learn
Thoughts that melt, and words that burn:
Then smile, oh, gracious, smile on this petition!
So Solomon, gay Wilmot join’d with thee,
Shall shew the world that such a thing can be
As, strange to tell!—a virtuous Coalition!

IV.

Thou too, thou dread and awful shade
Of dear departed WILL WHITEHEAD,
Look through the blue Ætherial skies,
And view me with propitious eyes!
Whether thou most delight’st to loll
On Sion’s top, or near the Pole!
Bend from thy mountains, and remember still
The wants and wishes of a lesser Hill!
Then, like Elijah, fled to realms above,
To me, thy friend, bequeath my hallow’d cloak,
And by its virtue Richard may improve,
And in thy habit preach, and pun, and joke!
The Lord doth give—The Lord doth take away.—
Then good Lord Sal’sbury attend to me—
Banish these sons of Belial in dismay;
And give the praise to a true Pharisee:
For sure of all the scribes that Israel curst,
These scribes poetic are by far the worst.
To thee, my Samson, unto thee I call——
Exert thy jaw—and straight disperse them all—
So, as in former times, the Philistines shall fall!
Then as ’twas th’ beginning,
So to th’ end ’t shall be;
My Muse will ne’er leave singing
The LORD of SAL’SBURY!!!