Your friend, your mafter charm;
Revive an ANGLO-SAXON place §,
Let GEORGE's teet your bofom grace,'
Your love will keep them warm.

"Befides the twenty-four officers above deferibed, there were eleven others of confiderable value in the courts of the ancient Princes, the most remarkable of which was, that of the King's feet-bearer; this was a young gentleman, whofe duty it was to fit on the floor, with his back towards the fire, and hold the King's feet in his bofom all the time he fat at table, to keep them warm and comfortable."

Leges Wallica, p, 5S.-Henry's Hiftory of Great Britain, v. 2, p. 275.

ODE

D

E

To SIR ELIJAH IMPEY.

Ali, vetufto nobilis a Lamo,

Quando et priores hinc Lamia ferunt
Denominatos, &c.

ELI-JAH, nobleft of the race

Of+IMPs, from whom the IMPEYs trace,

If common fame fays true,

Their origin; and that they found

Their claim on juft and folid ground,

Refer for proof to you

You, who could poft nine hundred miles,
To fathom an old woman's wiles,

Poffefs'd of dangerous treasure;
Could hurry with a pedlar's pack
Of affidavits at your back,

In queft of health and pleasure.

MILTON makes honourable mention of the founder of the family: "Fit veffel, fittest Imp of Fraud."

Paradife Loft, b. IX.

It may be observed, in proof of the defcent, as well as to the credit of the prefent Reprefentative, that he has not degenerated from the characteriftic" obliquity" of his Ancestor.

And

And all because the jealous Jove †
Of Eastern climes thought fit to prove
The venom of his reign;

On which, to minds of light efteem,
Some few feverities might feem

To leave a tranfient ftain.

To the Tune of “ LET THE SULTAN SALADIN," in

RICHARD COEUR DE LION.

I.

LET great GEORGE his porkers bilk,
And give his maids the four skim-milk;
With her ftores let CERES crown him,
'Till the gracious fweat run down him,
Making butter night and day:

Well! well!

Every King must have his way;

But to my poor way of thinking,
True joy is drinking.

II.

BILLY PITT delights to profe,
'Till admiring Grocers dofe;
Ancient Virgins all adore him,
Not a woman falls before him;
Never kiffing night nor day:

Well! well!

Every child must have its way;
But to my poor way of thinking,
True joy is drinking.

You

III.

You too, HASTINGS, know your trade!
No vile fears your heart invade,
When you rove for EASTERN plunder,
Making Monarchs truckle under,

Slitting windpipes night and day:

Well! well!

Governors will have their way;

But to my poor way of thinking,
True joy is drinking.

A NEW