The feafon, when to come, and when to go,
To fing, or cease to fing, we never know;
And if we will recite nire hours in ten,
You lofe your patience just like other men.
Then too we hurt ourfelves, when, to defend
A fingle verfe, we quarrel with a friend;
Repeat unafk'd; lament, the Wit's too fine
For vulgar eyes, and point out every line;

But moft, when, ftraining with too weak a wing, D

We needs will write Epiftles to the King;

And from the moment we oblige the town,
Expect a place, or Penfion from the Crown;
Or, dubb'd Hiftorians by exprefs command,
T'enroll your triumphs o'er the feas and land,
Be call'd to Court to plan fome work divine,
As once for Louis, Boileau and Racine.
Yet think, great Sir! (fo many Virtues shown)
Ah think, what Poet beft may make them known

Or chufe at leaft fome Minister of Grace,
Fit to bestow the Laureat's weighty place.

EAR Col'nel, Cobham's and your country's
Friend!

You love a Verfe, take fuch as I can fend.
37° A Frenchman comes, prefents you with his Boy,
Eows, and begins-" This Lad, Sir, is of Blois :
"Obferve his fhape how clean! his locks how curl'd!
"My only fon; I'd have him fee the world:
"His French is pure; his Voice too-you shall hear."
Sir, he's your flave, for twenty pound a year.
"Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with eafe,
Your Barber, Cook, Upholfterer, what you pleafe :
"A perfect gen us at an Opera fong-

375

?

To fay too much, might do my honour wrong. 38c Take him with all his virtues, on my word; "His whole ambition was to ferve a Lord: "But, Sir, to you, with what would I not part? 15 " Though faith, I fear, 'twill break his Mother's "heart.

Charles, to late times to be tranfmitted fair,
Affign'd his figure to Bernini's care;
And gat Naffau to Kneller's hand decreed
To fix him graceful on the bounding Steed;
So well in paint and stone they judg'd of merit:
But Kings in Wit may want difcerning Spirit.
The Hero William, and the Martyr Charles,
One knighted Blackmore, and one penfion'd Quarles;
Which made old Ben and furly Dennis fwear,
"No Lord 's anointed, but a Ruffian Bear."

385

390

Not with fuch majefty, fuch bold relief,
The Forms auguft, of King, or conquering Chief,
E'er fwell'd on marble; as in verse have shin'd
(In polifh'd verfe) the manners and the Mind.
Oh! could I mount on the Mæonian wing,
Your Arms, your Actions, your Repofe to fing;
395
What feas you travers'd, and what fields you fought!
Your Country's Peace, how oft, how dearly bought!
How barbarous rage fubfided at your word,

And Nations wonder'd while they dropp'd the

fword i

How, when you nodded, o'er the land and deep, Peace tole her wing, and wrapp'd the world in fleep;

Once (and but once) I caught him in a lie,
"And then unwhipp'd, he had the grace to cry:
The fault he has I fairly shall reveal,

"(Could you o`erlook but that) it is, to steal," 20
If, after this, you took the graceful lad,
Could you complain, my Friend, he prov'd fo bad?
Faith, in such case, if you should profecute,
I think Sir Godfrey fhould decide the fuit ;
Who fent the Thief that ftole the Cash, away, 25
And punifh'd him that put it in his way.

I

Confider then, and judge me in this light; told you when I went, I could not write; you faid the fame; and are you difcontent With laws, to which you gave your own affent? 30 Nay worfe, to afk for Verfe at fuch a time ! D'ye think me good for nothing but to rhyme? In Anna's Wars, a Soldier poor and old Had dearly earn'd a little purfe of gold: Tird with a tedious march, one lucklefs night, 35 He flept, poor dog; and loft it, to a doit. This put the man in fuch a defperate mind, Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd, Againft the foe, himfelf, and all mankind, 495 He leap'd the trenches, fcal'd a Caftle-wall, Tore down a Standard, took the Fort and all. "Prodigious well!" his great Commander cry'd, Gave him much praife, and fome reward befide. Next, pleas'd his Excellence a town to batter 410 (Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter); "Go on, my Friend, (he cry'd) fee yonder walls! "Advance and conquer! go where glory calls! "More honours, more rewards, attend the brave," Don't you remember what reply he gave?

Till earth's extremes your mediation own,
And Afia's Tyrants tremble at your Throne-
But Verfe, alas! your Majefty difdains;
And I'm not us'd to Panegyric strains :
The Zeal of Fools offends at any time,
But most of all, the Zeal of Fools in rhyme.
Befides, a fate attends on all I write,
That when I aim at praife, they fay I bite.
A vile Encomium doubly ridicules:
There 's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.
If true, a woeful likeness; and if lies,
"Praise undeferv'd is scandal in disguise:"
Well may he blush, who gives it, or receives;
And when I flatter, let my dirty leaves
(Like Journals, Odes, and fuch forgotten things
As Eufden, Philips, Settle, writ of Kings)
Clothe fpice, line trunks, or, fluttering in a row,
Befringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho."

415

D'ye think me, noble General, fuch a Sot? "Let him take caftles who has ne'er a groat."

}

40

Bred up at home, full early I begun
To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' fon.
Befides, my Father taught me from a lad,
The better art to know the good from bad:
(And little fure imported to remove,

55

To hunt for Truth in Maudlin's learned grove.)

But

But knottier points, we knew not half so well,
Depriv'd us foon of our paternal Cell;
And certain Laws, by fufferers though unjust,
Deny'd all posts of profit or of trust:
Hopes after hopes of pious Papists fail'd,
While mighty William's thundering arm
vail'd.

For Right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd,
He stuck to poverty with peace of mind;
And me,
the Mufes help'd to undergo it;
Convict a Papist he, and I a Poet.

But (thanks to Homer fince I live and thrive,
Indebted to no Prince or Peer alive,
Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,
If I fhould fcribble, rather than repose.

Years following Years, fteal fomething
day,

The boys flock round him, and the people ftare:
So ftiff, fo mute! fome ftatue you would fwear,
60 Stepp'd from its Pedestal to take the air!
And here, while town, and court, and city roars,
With mobs, and duns, and foldiers at their doors;
pre-Shall I, in London, act this idle part?
125

Compofing fongs, for Fools to get by heart?
The Temple laté two brother Sergeants faw,
65 Who deem'd each other Oracles of Law;
With equal talents, thefe congenial fouls,
One lull'd th' Exchequer, and one stunn'd the Rolls;
Each had a gravity would make you split, 131
And fhook his head at Murray, as a Wit.
70'Twas, "Sir, your law"-and "Sir, your elo-

quence,"

every" Yours, Cowper's manner-and yours, Talbot's

At last they steal us from ourselves away;
In one our Frolics. one Amusements end,
In one a Mistress drops, in one a Friend:
This fubtle Thief of life, this paltry Time,
What will it leave me, if it snatch my rhyme?
If every wheel of that unweary'd Mill,
That turn'd ten thousand verfes, now ftands still?
But after all, what would you have me do?
When out of twenty I can please not two;
When this Heroics only deigns to praise,
Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays?

One likes the Pheasant's wing, and one the leg;
The vulgar boil, the learn'd roast an egg.
Hard task to hit the palate of such guests,
When Oldfield loves what Dartineuf detefts.

But grant I may relapse, for want of grace,
Again to rhyme: can London be the place?
Who there his Mufe, or felf, or foul attends,
In crouds, and courts, law, butinefs, feafts,

friends?

My counfel fends to execute a deed:
A Poet begs me I will hear him read:
In Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there--

75

fenfe."

80 Weave laurel Crowns, and take what names we

85

please.

"My dear Tibullus!" if that will not do,
"Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you:

"Or I'm content, allow me Dryden's ftrains, 145
"And you fhall rife up Otway for your pains."
Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in peace

This jealous, wafpifh, wrong-head, rhyming race;
And much muft flatter, if the whim should bite
To court applause by printing what I write:
But let the fit pafs o'er, I'm wife enough
and To ftop my ears to their confounded stuff.

99

150

In vain, bad Rhymers, all mankind reject,
They treat themselves with moft profound refpe&t;
'Tis to fmall purpose that you hold your tongue, 155
Each prais'd within, is happy all day long:
But how feverely with themfelves proceed
The Men, who write fuch Verfe as we can read?
Their own ftrict Judges, not a word they spare,
That wants or force, or light, or weight, or care, 169
Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place,↓
100 Nay though at Court (perhaps) it may find grace:
Such they'll degrade; and fometimes, in its ftead,

At ten, for certain, Sir, in Bloomsbury-fquare- 95
Before the Lords at twelve my Caufe comes on-
There's a Rehearsal, Sir, exact at one.—
"Oh but a Wit can ftudy in the streets,
"And raife his mind above the mob he meets."
Not quite fo well however as one ought;
A hackney-coach may chance to spoil a thought;
And then a nodding beam, or pig of lead,
God knows, may hurt the very ableft head..
Have you not feen, at Guildhall's narrow pass,
Two Aldermen difpute it with an Afs?
And peers give way, exalted as they are,
Ev'n to their own S-v--nce in a Car?

In downright charity revive the dead;
Mark where a bofd, expreffive phrase appears, 165
Bright through the rubbish of fome hundred years;
105 Command old words that long have flept, to wake,
Words, that wife Bacon, or brave Rawleigh spake;
Or bid the new be English, ages hence,
(For Ufe will father what's begot by Senfe)
Pour the full tide of eloquence along,

Go, lofty Poet! and in fuch a croud,
Sing thy fonorous verfe-but not aloud.
Alas! to Grottos and to Groves we run,
To cafe and filence, every Mufe's fon :
Blackmore himself, for any grand effort,
Would drink and doze at Tooting or Earl's-Court.
How fhall I rhyme in this eternal roar?
How match the bards whom none e'er match'd

before?

170

175

110 Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong,
Rich with the treasures of each foreign tongue;
Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine,
But fhew no mercy to an empty line:
Then polish all, with fo much life and ease,
You think 'tis nature, and a knack to please:
"But eafe in writing flows from Art, not chance;
"As thofe move eafieft who have learned to
dance,"

115

The man, who, ftretch'd in Ifis' calm retreat,
To books and ftudy gives feven years complete,
See! ftrow'd with learned duft, his night-cap on,
He walks, an object new beneath the fun!

If fuch the plague and pains to write by rule, 180
Better (fay 1) be pleafed, and play the fool;

Call

1

In power, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd
Behind the foremost, and before the laft.

305

"But why all this of Avarice? I have none." I wish you joy, Sir of a Tyrant gone; But does no other lord it at this hour, As wild and mad? the Avarice of power? Does neither Rage inflame, nor Fear appall? Not the black fear of death, that faddens all? With terrors round, cah Reaton hold her throne, 310 Defpife the known, nor tremble at th' unknown? Survey both worlds, intrep'd and entire, In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire? Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind, And count each Birth-day with a grateful 315

mind?

Has life no fournefs, drawn fo near its end;
Canft thou endure a foe, forgive a friend?
Has age but melted the rough parts away,
As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay?
Or will you think, my friend, your bufine's
done,
320

When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one?
Learn to live will, or fairly make your will;
You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, and drank your
fill:

Walk fober off; before a sprightlier age
Comes tittering on, and fhoves you from the
stage:

Leave fuch to trifle with more grace and eafe,
Whom Folly pleafes, and whole Follies pleafe.

10

15

Thofe write becaufe ali write, and to have still
Excure for writing, and for writing ill.

Wretched indeed! but far mole wretched yet
Is he who makes his meal on others wit: 30
'Tis chang'd, no doubt, from what it was before;
His rank digestion makes it wit no more:
Senfe, paft through him, no longer is the fame;
For food digefted takes another name.

I pafs o'er all thofe Confeffors and Martyrs, 35
Who live like S--tt--n, or who die like Chartres,
Out-cant old Eldras, or out-drink his heir,
Out-ufure Jews, or Irifhmen out-swear;
Wicked as Pages, who in early years
Act fins which Prifca's Confeffor scarce hears. 40
Ev'n thofe I pardon, for whole finful fake
Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make ;
Of whofe ftrange crimes no Canonift can tell
In what Commandment's large contents they

dwell.

One, one man only breeds my just offence : 45 Whom crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave Impudence:

50

Time, that at last matures a clap to pox,
Whofe gentle progreis makes a calf an ox,
And brings all natural events to pafs,
Hath made him an Attorney of an Afs.
No young divine, new-benefice'd, can be
More pert, more proud, more pofitive, than he,
What further cold I wifh the fop to do,
But turn a wit, and fcribble verses too?
Pierce the foft labyrinth of a Lady's Ear
With rhymes of this per cent. and that per year:
Or court aWife, fpread out his wily parts,
Like nets or lime-twigs, for rich Widows' hearts,
Call himself Barrister to every wench,

55

And wooe in language of the Pleas and Bench? 60
Language, which Boreas might to Aufter hold
Mere rough than forty Germans when they scold.

65

Curs'd be the wretch, fo venal and so vain:
Paltry and proud, as drabs in Drury-lane.
'Tis fuch a bounty as was never known,
IPETER deigns to help you to your own!
What thanks, what praise, if Peter but fupplies!
And what a felemn face, if he denies !
Grave, as when prifoners fhake the head and fwear
'Twas only Suretifhip that brought them there. 7
His Office keeps your Parchment fates entire,
Be ftarves with cold to fave them from the fire:
For you he walks the streets through rain or
duft,

75

80

But that the cure is ftarving, all allow.
Yet like the Papift's, is the Poet's ftate,
Poor and difarm'd, and hardly worth your hate! For not in Chariots Peter puts his truft;
Here a lean Bard, whofe wit could never give For you he fweats and labours at the laws,
Him!elf a dinner, makes an Actor live:
Takes God to witnefs he affects your cause,
The Thief condemn'd, in law already dead, And lies to every Lord in every thing,
So prompts, and faves a rogue who cannot read. Like a King's Favourite---or like a King.
Thus as the pipes of some carv'd Organ move, These are the talents that adorn them all,
The gilded puppets dance and mount above. From wicked Waters ev'n to godly **
Heav'd by the breath th' infpiring bellows blow: Not more of Simony beneath black gowns,
Th' infpiring bellows lie and pant below. 20 Not more of baftardy in heirs to Crowns.
One fings the Fair: but fongs no longer move; In fhillings and in pence at first they deal;
No rat is rhym'd to death, nor maid to love: And fteal fo little, few perceive they fteal;
In love's, in nature's fpite, the fiege they hold, Till, like the Sea, they compafs all the land, 85
And fcorn the fiefh, the devil, and all but gold. From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover
Thele write to Lords, fome mean reward to
ftrand:
get,

As needy beggars fing at doors for meat.

25

And when rank Widows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a Duke to Janffen punts at White's,

95

Or City Heir in mortgage melts away;
Satan himself feels far lefs joy than they.
Piecemeal they win this acre first, then that,
Glean on, and gather up the whole eftate.
Then ftrongly fencing ill-got wealth by law,
Indentures, Covenants, Articles they draw,
Large as the fields themfelves, and larger far
Than Civil Codes, with all their Gloffes, are;
So vaft, our new Divines, we must confefs,
Are Fathers of the Church for writing lefs.
But let them write for you, each rogue impairs
The deeds, and dextroufly omits, fes heires: 100
No Commentator can more flily pafs
Over a learn'd, unintelligible place:
Or, in quotation, fhrewd Divines leave out
Those words that would against them clear the
doubt.

So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long, 105
When doom'd to fay his beads and Even-tong;
But having caft his cowl, and left thofe laws,
Adds to Chrift's prayer the Power and Glory
glaufe.

The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods, that fhaded all the ground?

110

Wa fee no new-built palaces afpire,
No kitchens emulate the vestal fire,
Where are those troops of poor that throng'd
of yore

The good old landlord's hofpitable door?
Well, I could wifh, that ftill in lordly domes 115
Some beafts were kill'd, though not whole heca-

tombs;

That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,
Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals;
And all mankind might that juft Mean obferve,
In which none e'er could furfeit, none could
ftarve.

These as good works, 'tis true, we all allow,
But oh! these works are not in fashion now:
Like rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare,
Extremely fine, but what no man will wear.
Thus much I've fald, I truft, without of-
fence;

Let no Court Sycophant pervert my fenfe,
Nor fly informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of Treafon, or the Law.

IV.

SATIRE WELL, if it be my time to quit the stage, "Adieu to all the follies of the age!

125

5

I die in charity with fool and knave,
Secure of peace at least beyond the grave.
I've had my Purgatory here betimes,
And paid for all my fatires, all my rhymes.
The Poet's hell, its tortures, fiends, and flames,
To this were trifles, toys, and empty names.
With foolish pride my heart was never fir'd,
Nor the vain itch t' admire, or be admir'd;
I hop'd for no commiffion from his Grace;
bought no benefice, I begg'd no place:
Had no new verses, nor new fuit to fhow;
Yet went to Court!---the Devil would have it fo.
But, asthe Fool that in reforming days
Would go to Mafs in jeft (as ftory fays)

15

Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd defign of ferving God;
So was I punifh'd, as if full as proud,

As

20

prone to ill, as negligent of good,
As deep in debt, without a thought to pay,
As vain, as idle, and as falfe, as they
Who live at Court, for going once that way!
Scarce was I enter'd. when behold! there came
A thing which Adam had been pos'd to name; 25
Noah had refus'd it lodging in his Ark,
Where all the Race of Reptiles might embark:
A verier monster, than on Afric's fhore
The fun e'er got, or flimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloane or Woodward's wondrous fhelves
contain,

Nay, all that lying Travellers can feign.
The watch would hardly let him pafs at noon,
At night would fwear him dropp'd out of the

Moon.

35

One, whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, fhall for a Jefuit také,
And the wife Juftice starting from his chair
Cry, By your Priesthood tell me what you are?
Such was the wight: Th' apparel on his back,
Though coarfe, was reverend, and though bare,
was black :

The fuit, if by the fafhion one might guefs, 40
Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bef;,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So Time, that changes all things, had ordain'd!
Our fons fhall fee it leifurely decay,
Firft turn plain rafh, then vanish quite away. 45
This thing has travell'd, and speaks language

too,

And knows what's fit for every state to do;
Of whole beft phrafe and courtly accent join'd,
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd,
Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Motteux I knew, 50
Henly himself I've heard, and Budgel too.
The Doctor's wormwood ftyle, the Hafh of
'tongues

A Pedant makes, the ftorm of Gonfon's lungs,
The whole Artillery of the terms of War,
And (all thofe Plagues in one) the bawling Bar; 55
Thefe I could bear; but not a rogue fo civil,
Whole tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue, that can cheat Widows, caneel fcores,
Make Scots fpeak treafon, cozen fubtleft whores,
With royal Favourites in flattery vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

60