Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will truft, Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the duft.

3BID. P. 193.

HONEST INDIGNATION.

WHAT? arm'd for Virtue when I point the

pen,

Brand the bold front of shameless guilty men;
Dash the proud Gamester in his gilded car;
Bare the mean Heart that lurks beneath a Star;
Can there be wanting, to defend Her cause,
Lights of the Church, or Guardians of the Laws?
Could penfion'd Boileau lafh in honest strain
Flatt'rers and Bigots e'en in Louis' reign?
Could Laureate Dryden Pimp and Fry'r engage,
Yet neither Charles nor James be in a rage?
And I not ftrip the gilding off a Knave,
Unplac'd, unpenfion'd, no man's heir, or flave
I will, or perish in the gen'rous caufe:

Hear this, and tremble! you, who 'fcape the Laws.
Yes, while I live, no rich or noble Knave
Shall walk the world, in credit, to his grave.
To Virtue only and her Friends a Friend,
The World befide may murmur, or commend.

IMITATIONS OF HORACE, V. z. p. 214.

IN

INCONSTANCY OF PROPERTY.

WHAT's Property? dear Swift! you fee it alter From you to me, from me to Peter Walter ; Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's share ; Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir; Or, in pure equity, (the cafe not clear) The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year: At best, it falls to fome ungracious fon,

Who cries," My father's damn'd, and all's my " own."

Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,

Become the portion of a booby Lord.

IBID. p. 230.

FAME.

AND what is Fame the Meanest have their

day;

The Greatest can but blaze, and pass away. Grac'd as thou art with all the pow'r of words, So known, fo honour'd, at the Houfe of Lords; Confpicuous fcene! another yet is nigh,

(More filent far) where Kings and Poets lie; Where Murray (long enough his Country's pride)' Shall be no more than Tully, or than Hyde!

IBID. P. 251.

OLD

OLD ENGLISH MANNERS. TIME was, a fober Englishman would knock His fervants up, and rise by five o'clock ; Inftru&t his Family in ev'ry rule;

And send his Wife to Church, his Son to School.
To worship like his Fathers, was his care;

To teach their frugal Virtues to his Heir;
To prove
that Luxury could never hold;
And place, on good Security, his Gold.

Now times are chang'd, and one Poetic Itch
Has feiz'd the Court and City, poor and rich :
Sons, Sires, and Grandfires, all will wear the bays;
Our Wives read Milton, and our Daughters Plays;
To Theatres, and to Rehearsals throng,

And all our Grace at table is a Song.

IBID. P. 270.

SCALE OF POETICAL PERFECTION. WE conquer'd France, but felt our Captive's charms;

Her Arts victorious triumph'd o'er our Arms;
Britain to foft refinements lefs a foe,

Wit grew polite, and Numbers learn'd to flow.
Waller was fmooth; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full-refounding line,
The long majestic march, and energy divine;
Though ftill fome traces of our ruftic vein
And fplay-foot verfe`remain'd, and will remain.

Late

Late, very late, correctnefs grew our care,
When the tir'd Nation breath'd from civil war.
Exact Racine, and Corneille's noble fire,

Shew'd us that France had fomething to admire.
Not but the Tragic spirit was our own,
And full in Shakespear, fair in Otway shone;
But Otway fail'd to polish or refine,
And fluent Shakespear scarce effac'd a line.
E'en copious Dryden wanted, or forgot,
The last and greatest Art, the Art to blot.
Some doubt, if equal pains, or equal fire,
The humbler Mufe of Comedy require.
But in known Images of life, I guess
The labour greater, as th'indulgence lefs.
Obferve how feldom e'en the best fucceed :
Tell me if Congreve's Fools are Fools indeed!
What pert low Dialogue has Farqu'ar writ!
How Van wants grace, who never wanted wit!
The stage how loofely does Aftræa tread,
Who fairly puts all Characters to bed!
And idle Cibber, how he breaks the laws,
To make poor Pinkey eat with vast applause!
But fill their Purfe, our Poet's work is done,
Alike to them, by Pathos, or by Pun.

IBID. P. 276.

COURAGE IN POVERTY.

In ANNA'S Wars, a Soldier poor and old Had dearly earn'd a little purfe of gold: Tir'd with a tedious march, one luckless night, He flept, poor dog! and loft it, to a doit.

P

This

This put the man in fuch a defp'rate mind,
Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd,
Against the foe, himself, and all mankind,
He leap'd the trenches, fcal'd a Castle-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; (Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter) "Goon, my Friend, (he cry'd) see yonder walls! "Advance and conquer! go where glory calls! "" More honours, more rewards attend the brave.” Don't you remember what reply he gave?

66 D'ye think me, noble Gen'ral, such a Sot? Let him take caftles who has ne'er a groat.

IBID.
b. p. 290.

RECIPROCAL FLATTERY.

THE Temple late two brother Serjeants faw, Who deem'd each other oracles of law; With equal talents, thefe congenial fouls, One lull'd th' Exchequer, and one ftunn'd the Rolls. Each had a gravity would make you split,

And fhook his head at Murray, as a Wit.

'Twas, "Sir, your law" and " law”—and Sir, your eloquence,"

66

"Yours, Cowper's manner-and yours, Talbor's "fenfe."

Thus we difpofe of all poetic merit;

Yours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's fpirit.

Call