JENKY, pursue Ambition's task,
The King will give whate'er you ask,
Nor heed the frowns of PITT;
Tho' proud, he'll truckle to disgrace,
By feudal meanness keep his place *,
And turn the royal spit.

With saintly HILL divide your glory †,
No true King's friend, on such a Tory
The peerage door will shut;

Canting, he'll serve both Church and Throne,
And make the Reverend Bench your own,

By piety and smut.

BANKS at his side, demure and sly,

Will aptly tell a specious lye,

Then speed the royal summons:
He's no raw novice in the trade,
His honour's now a batter'd jade-
PITT flung it to the Commons.

*FINCHFIELD. CO. ESSEX.

JOHN CAMPES held this manor of

King EDWARD III, by the service of turning the spit at his coronation Camden's Britannia-article Essex.

The King magnanimously refused to create either Sir RICHARD HILL, or Mr. BANKS, Peers, that the singular honour bestowed solely by his Majesty might be more conspicuous, and that Mr. PITT's humiliation might no longer be problematic. Sir RICHARD had composed a beautiful sacred cantata on the occasion, dedicated to his brother, the Rev RowLAND HILL. The first stanza alludes, by an apt quotation from the 68th Psalm, to the elevation and dignities of the family:

"Why hop so high, ye little HILLS?"

With joy, the Lord's anointed fills;

Let's pray with one accord!

In sleepless visions of the night,

NORTH'S cheek I smote with all my might,

For which I'm made a Lord, &c. &c.

While THURLOw damns these cold delays,
Mysterious diamonds vainly blaze,
The impending vote to check;
K.B. and Peer, let HASTINGS shine,
IMPEY, with pride, will closely twine
The collar round his neck.

Ennobling thus the mean and base,
Our gracious S's art we trace,
Assail'd' by factions bold;

So prest, great FREDERICK rose in fame,
On pots de chambre stamp'd his name *,
And pewter pass'd for gold.

Should restive SYDNEY keep the seal,
JENKY, still shew official zeal,

Your friend, your master, charm;
Revive an ANGLO-SAXON place †,
Let GEORGE's feet your bosom grace,
Your love will keep them warm.

*The King of PRUSSIA replenished his exhausted treasury in the war of 1756, by a coinage of pewter ducats.

"Besides the twenty-four officers above described, there were eleveu others of considerable 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, whose duty it was to sit on the floor, with his back towards the fire, and hold the King's feet in his bosom all the time he sat at table, to keep them warm and comfortable."

Leges Wallica, p. 58.-Henry's History of Great Britain, v. 2. f. 275.

ODE

To SIR ELIJAH IMPEY.

Æli, vetusto nobilis a Lamo,

Quando et priores hinc Lamia ferunt
Denominatos, &c.

ELI-JAH, noblest of the race

Of IMPS, from whom the IMPEYS trace,

If common fame says true,

Their origin; and that they found

Their claim on just and solid ground,

Refer for proof to you

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

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

In quest of health and pleasure.

And all because the jealous JOVE †
Of Eastern climes thought fit to prove

*MILTON makes honourable mention of the founder of the family:

"Fit vessel, fittest Imp of Fraud."

Paradise Lost, b. IX.

It may be observed, in proof of the descent, as well as to the credit of the present Representative, that he has not degenerated from the charac teristic

obliquity" of his Ancestor.

+ Late Tyrannus.

SONG.

To the Tune of "LET THE SULTAN SALADIN," in RICHARD CŒUR DE LION.

I.

LET great GEORGE his porkers bilk,
And give his maids the sour skim-milk;
With her stores let CERES crown him,
"Till the gracious sweat 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 prose,
'Till admiring Grocers dose;
Ancient Virgins all adore him,
Not a woman falls before him;

Never kissing night nor day:
Well! well!

Every child must have its way;

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