How instinct varies in the grovelling swine, Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine!

'Twixt that and reason, what a nice barrier, Forever separate, yet forever near ! Remembrance and reflection how allied; 225 What thin partitions sense from thought divide:

And middle natures, how they long to join,
Yet never pass th' insuperable line!
Without this just gradation, could they be
Subjected, these to those, or all to thee? 230
The powers of all subdued by thee alone,
Is not thy reason all these powers in one?

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body nature is, and God the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the

same;

Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame; 2 Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 271 Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent,

Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; 276 As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. X. Cease then, nor order imperfection

name:

3

281

P. Shut, shut the door, good John !1 fatigued,
I said?

Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The Dog-star rages! nay, 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam,2 or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, 5
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?

They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide;

By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.

ΙΟ

No place is sacred, not the church is free; E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme,

Happy to catch me just at dinner-time.

Is there a parson, much bemused in beer,15 A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross, Who pens a stanza, when he should engross? Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls

With desperate charcoal round his darkened walls?

All fly to Twit'nam and in humble strain 21 Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the

If wrong, I smiled; if right, I kissed the rod. Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense. Commas and points they set exactly right, 161 And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite; Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel graced these ribalds,

From slashing Bentley down to piddling Tibbalds.

Each wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells, 165

Each word-catcher, that lives on syllables, E'en such small critics some regard may claim, Preserved in Milton's or in Shakespeare's

Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there.

Were others angry: I excused them too; Well might they rage, I gave them but their due.

A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find; 175 But each man's secret standard in his mind, That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, This, who can gratify? for who can guess? The bard whom pilfered Pastorals renown, Who turns a Persian tale for half a crown, 180 Just writes to make his barrenness appear, And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines

a year;

He, who still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left;

And he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, 185 Means not, but blunders round about a meaning;

And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad,

It is not poetry, but prose run mad:
All these, my modest satire bade translate, 189
And owned that nine such poets made a Tate.
How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and
chafe!

And swear, not Addison himself was safe.

Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires

True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blessed with each talent and each art to please,

195

And born to write, converse, and live with

ease:

Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the

1

verses

2 poetry

throne,

198

View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend, 205
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged,
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged;
Like Cato, give his little senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause;
While wits and Templars every sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he!

THE DUNCIAD

FROM BOOK IV

210

630

In vain, in vain the all-composing hour Resistless falls: the Muse obeys the power. She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold Of Night primeval and of Chaos old! Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain,1 635 The sickening stars fade off th' ethereal plain; As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppressed, Closed one by one to everlasting rest: 2 Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, Art after art goes out, and all is night. See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of casuistry heaped o'er her head! Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.

640

1 Cf. the incantations of Medea, as told by Gower. 2 See the story in Gayley, pp. 92-94.

560

care, Not that alone, but all the works of war. How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd,

And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,

Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame?
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to th' embattled plains:
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father's glories and my own.
Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates,
(How my heart trembles while my tongue
relates!)

571

The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,

And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.
And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,
Not Priam's hoary hairs defil'd with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore,
As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread:
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led,
In Argive1 looms our battles to design,
And woes of which so large a part was thine!
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring!
There, while you groan beneath the load of
life,

580

They cry, 'Behold the mighty Hector's wife !' Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to

see,

Embitters all thy woes by naming me.

1 Grecian

The thoughts of glory past and present shame,
A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name!
May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 590
Press'd with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapp'd in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee
weep."

Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of
Troy

Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,
Scar'd at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child;
The glittr'ing terrors from his brows unbound,
And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in
air,

599

Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's pray'r:

"O thou! whose glory fills th' ethereal throne,

And all ye deathless pow'rs! protect my son!
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Against his country's foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age!
So when, triumphant from successful toils, 610
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deserv'd
acclaim,

And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame':

While pleas'd, amidst the gen'ral shouts of Troy,

His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy."

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, Restor'd the pleasing burthen to her arms; Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd. The troubled pleasure soon chastis'd by fear, She mingled with the smile a tender tear. 621 The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd,

And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:

"Andromache! my soul's far better part, Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?

No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth,
And such the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then resist, no flight can save;
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. 631

No more
but hasten to thy tasks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom;
Me glory summons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men.
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger as the first in fame."

JOHN GAY (1685-1732)

THE HARE WITH MANY FRIENDS
Friendship, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendship; who depend
On many rarely find a friend.

A Hare, who, in a civil way,
Complied with everything, like Gay,
Was known by all the bestial train,
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.
Her care was, never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles, to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round:
Till, fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the Horse appeared in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight;
To friendship every burden's light.'
The Horse replied: "Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus;
Be comforted; relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear."

She next the stately Bull implored;
And thus replied the mighty lord,
"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend,
To take the freedom of a friend;
Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow:
And when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.

6

I 2

18

24

32

38

To leave you thus might seem unkind; But see, the Goat is just behind."

The Goat remarked her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye; "My back," says he, "may do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.' The Sheep was feeble, and complained His sides a load of wool sustained: Said he was slow, confessed his fears, For hounds eat sheep as well as hares. She now the trotting Calf addressed, To save from death a friend distressed. “Shall I,” says he, “of tender age, In this important care engage? Older and abler passed you by; How strong are those, how weak am I ! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then. You know my heart. But dearest friends, alas, must part! How shall we all lament! Adieu! For see, the hounds are just in view."

BLACK-EYED SUSAN

All in the Downs1 the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When Black-eyed Susan came aboard,

"Oh! where shall I my true love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, If my sweet William sails among the crew?'

William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sighed, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands

ΙΟ