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THE SOLILOQUY OF AN AUTHOR.

[JAGO.)

To print, or not to print---that is the question.
Whether 'tis better in a trunk to bury
The quirks and crotchets of outrageous Fancy,
Or send a well-wrote copy to the press,
And, by disclosing, end them. To print, to doubt
No more; and by one act to say we end
The head-ach, and a thousand natural shocks
Of scribbling frenzy-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To print-to beam
From the same shelf with Pope, in calf well bound :
To sleep, perchance, with Quarles-Ay, there's the rub-
For to what class a writer may be doom'd,
When he hath shuffled off some paltry stuff,
Must give us pause. There's the respect that makes
Th' unwilling poet keep his piece nine years.
For who would bear th' impatient thirst of fame,
The pride of conscious merit, and 'bove all,
The tedious importunity of friends,

When as himself might his quietus make

With a bare inkhorn? Who would fardles bear?

To groan and sweat under a load of wit?
But that the tread of steep Parnassus' hill,
That undiscover'd country, with whose bays
Few travellers return, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear to live unknown,
Than run the hazard to be known, and damn'd.
Thus critics do make cowards of us all.
And thus the healthful face of many a poem
Is sicklied o'er with a pale manuscript;
And enterprizers of great fire and spirit,
With this regard from Dodsley turn away,
And lose the name of Authors.

THE PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.

[T. WARTON.]

WHEN now mature in classic knowledge,
The joyful youth is sent to college,
His father comes, a vicar plain,
At Oxford bred-in Anna's reign,
And thus in form of humble suitor,
Bowing, accosts a rev'rend tutor:

• Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine, And this my eldest son of nine;

1

My wife's ambition and my own

Was that this child should wear a gown:
I'll warrant that his good behaviour
Will justify your future favour;

And for his parts, to tell the truth,

My son's a very forward youth;

Has Horace all by heart-you'd wonder-
And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder.

If you'd examine-and admit him,

A scholarship would nicely fit him;
That he succeeds 'tis ten to one;

Your vote and interest, Sir!'-'tis done.

Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated,
Are with a scholarship completed.
A scholarship but half maintains,
And college rules are heavy chains:
In garret dark he smokes and puns,
A prey to discipline and duns;
But now, intent on new designs,
Sighs for a fellowship-and fines.

When nine full tedious winters past,
That utmost wish is crown'd at last:
But the rich prize no sooner got,
Again he quarrels with his lot:

198

THE PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.

[T. WARTON.

These fellowships are pretty things,
We live indeed like petty kings:
But who can bear to waste his whole age
Amid the dulness of a college,

Debar'd the common joys of life,
And that prime bliss a loving wife!
O! what's a table richly spread,
Without a woman at its head!
Would some snug benefice but fall,
Ye feasts, ye dinners! farewell all !
To offices I'd bid adieu,

Of Dean, Vice Præs.-of Bursar too;
Come joys, that rural quiet yields,
Come tythes, and house, and fruitful fields !

Too fond of freedom and of ease
A patron's vanity to please,
Long time he watches, and by stealth,
Each frail incumbent's doubtful health:
At length, and in his fortieth year,
A living drops-two hundred clear!
With breast elate beyond expression,
He hurries down to take possession,
With rapture views the sweet retreat-
• What a convenient house! how neat!
For fuel here's sufficient wood:
Pray God the cellars may be good!

The garden-that must be new plan'dShall these old fashion'd yew trees stand? O'er yonder vacant plot shall rise The flowery shrub of thousand dyes : Yon wall that feels the southern ray, Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay: While thick beneath its aspect warm, O'er well-ranged hives the bees shall swarm, From which, ere long, of golden gleam Metheglin's luscious juice shall stream: This awkward hut, o'er-grown with ivy, We'll alter to a modern privy: Up yon green slope of hazels trim, An avenue so cool and dim Shall to an arbour at the end, In spite of gout, entice a friend. My predecessor lov'd devotionBut of a garden had no notion.'

Continuing this fantastic farce on,
He now commences country parson.
To make his character entire,
He weds a cousin of the 'Squire;
Not over-weighty in the purse,
But many doctors have done worse:
And though she boasts no charms divine,
Yet she can carve, and make birch wine.

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