« EelmineJätka »
But with us rhiming moderns here,
- But you've enough, nor want my preaching Critics are not the only fear ;
And I was never form'd for teaching. The poet's bark meets sharper shocks
Male prudes we know, (thofe driv'ling things) From other sands, and other rocks.
Will have their gibes, and taunts, and flings. Not fuch alone who understand,
How will the fober Cit abuse, Wholc book and memory are at hand,
The Callies of the Culprit muse; Who fcientisic skill profess,
To her and Poet shut the door And are great adepts more or les ;
And whip the beggar, with his whore ! (Whether diftinguish'd by degree,
POET - Fool ! a WRITCH! a KNAVE! They write A. M. or sign M. D.
A mere mechanic dirty Nave ! Or make advances somewhat higher
What is his verse, but cooping sense And take a new degree of 'SQUIRL.)
Within an arbitrary fence ? Who read your authors, Greek and Latin,
At best, but ringing that in rhime, And bring your strange quotations pat in,
Which prose would say in half the time? Asif each sentence grew more terse
Measure and numbers ! what are those From odds and ends, and scraps of verse ;
But artificial chains or profe? Wbu with true poetry dispense,
Which mechanism quaintly joins So social sound juits simple senses
In parallels of see-faw lines.
And when the frisky wanton writes
Th' uneven measure, thort and tall,
Now rhiming twice, now not at all, And therefore, wife and prudent grown.
In curves and angles twirls about, Have no ideas of their own.
Like Chinese railing, in and out. But if the man of Nature fpeak,
Thus when you've labour'd hours on hours, Advance their Bayonets of Greek,
Cull'd all the /weets, culld all the flerur's, And keep plain sense at such a distance,
The churl, whose dull imagination She cannot give a friend affistance.
Is dead to every fine sensation, Not thefe alone in judgment rife,
Too gross to relish nature's bloom, And fhont at genius as it flies,
Or talte her fimple rich perfume, But thofe who cannot spell will TALK,
Shall cast them by as useless stuff, As women'fcold, who cannot walk.
And fly with keenness to his-snuff. Your man of habit, who's wound up
Look round the world, not one in ten, To eat and drink, and dine and sup,
Thinks Poets good, or honest men. But has not either will or pow's
'Tis true their conduct, not o'er nice, To break out of his formal hour;
Sits often loose to easy vice. Who lives by rule, and ne'er outgoes it ;
Perhaps their Temperance will not pass Moves like a clock, and hardly knows it ;
The due rotation of the glass ; Who is a kind of breathing being,
And gravity denies 'em pow'r Which has but half the pow'r of seeing;
T' unpeg their hats at such an hour. Who stands for ever on the brink,
Some vices muft to all appear Yet dare not plunge enough to think,
As conftitutional as FLAR ; Nor has one reason to supply
And every Moralift will find Wherefore he does a thing, or why,
A ruling paffion in the mind: But what he does proceeds so right,
Which, though pent up and barricado' You'd think him always guided by't ;
Like winds, where Æolus bravado 'd; Joins poetry and vice together
Like them, will (ally from their den, Like fun and rain in April weather,
And raise a tempest now and then ; Holds sake and wit as things the same,
Unhinge dame PRUDENCZ from her plan, And all the difference but a NAME.
And ruffle all the world of man. A Rake! Alas! how many wear
Can authors then exemption draw The brow of mirth, with heart of care !
From nature's, or the common law The desperate wretch reflection flies,
They err alike with all mankind, And shuns the way where madness lies,
Yet not the same indulgence find. Dreads each increasing pang of grief,
Their lives are more confpicuous growly And runs to FOLLY for relief,
More talk'd of, pointed at, and thewn, There, 'midst the momentary joys
Till every error seems to rise Of giddy mirth and frantic noise,
To Sins of most gigantic lize. FORGETFULNESS, her eldest born,
Thus fares it still, however hard, Smooths the World's hate, and blockhead's scarn, With every wit, and ev'ry bard. Then PLEASURE wins upon the mind,
His publick writings, private life, Ye CARE&, go whistle to the wind ;
Nay more, his miftress, or his wife, Then welcome frolic, welcome whim!
And ev'ry social, dear connection, The world is all alike to him.
Mult bear a critical dissection ; Distress is all in apprehension;
friends connive, and rivals hato, It cafes when 'tis past prevention :
Scoundrels traduce, and blockheads bate. And happiness then presses near,
Perhaps you'll readily admit When nor a hope's left, nor a fear
There's danger from the trading witz
And dunce and fool, and such as those,
From just remarks on earliest time,
Jealous of every puff of fame.
This Bard too has his private clán,
While your good word, or conversation,
Though thousands 'may arrive at fame,
And some, too timid to reveal
Which words are scanty to express, But friends must feel from friends' success, When full of hopes and fears, the Muse, Which every breath of praise pursues, Wou'd open to their free embrace, Meet her with such a blasting face, That all the brave imagination, Which seeks the sun of approbation, No more its early blossoms tries, But curls its tender leaves, and dies.
Is there a man whose genius strong, Rolls like a rapid Atream along, Whose Muse, long hid in chcarful night, Pours on us like a flood of light, Whose acting comprehensive mind Walks fancy's region's, unconfin'd; Whom, nor the surly fense of pride, Nor affection, warps aside ; Who drags no author from his shelf, To talk on with an eye to self ; Careless alike, in conversation, Of censure, or of approbation ; Who freely thinks, and freely speaks, And meets the Wit he never seeks; Whose reason calm, and judgment cool, Can pity, but noctuate a fool; Who can a hearty praise bestow, If merit sparkles in a foe;
Who bold and open, firm and true, Flatters no friends-yet loves them too : CHURCHILL will be the last to know His is the portrait, I would show.
The Dialogues of famous dead *,
Though the fun in its glories decreaft,
Yet he rises with joy from the eaft,
But what can youth's sunshine recall,
Or the blossoms of beauty restore? “ You look down this, and I that line.
When its leaves are beginning to fall, "Here's Pape and Swirt, and STILLE and GAY, It dies, and is heard of so more. “ And CONGREVE, in the modern way. “ Whilft you have those, I cannot speak, The spring-time of love then employ, “ But found moft wonderful in Greek.
'Tis a lesson that's easy to learn, -A Dialogue I should adore it,
For Cupid's a vagrant, a boy, “ With such a show of names before it."
And his seasons will never return. “ Modern, your judgment wanders wide," The antient Rubric trait reply'd.
It grieves me much, indeed, to find “ We never can be of a mind, “ Before one door, and in one ftreet, " Neither ourselves nor thoughts can meet, A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO J. B. ESI " And we, as brother oft with brother, “ Are at a distance from each other. Suppose among the letter'd dead,
HALL I, from worldly friends estrang'd, “ Some author should erect his head,
Embitter'd much, but nothing chang'd “ And starting from his Rubric, pop
In that affection firm and true, “ Directly into Davies' shop,
Which Gratitude excites to You ; “ Turn o'er the leaves, and look about
Shall I indulge the Muse, or ftifle « To find his own opinions out ;
This meditation of a trife? “ D'ye think one author out of ten
But you, perhaps, will kindly take " Would know his sentiments again?
The trifle for the Giver's sake, Thinking, your authors differ less in,
Who only pays his grateful Mite, " Than in their manner of expressing.
The just acknowledgment of Right, « 'Tis file which makes the writer known,
As to the Landlord duly sent “ The mark he sets upon his own.
A pepper-corn shall pass for rent. " Let CONGRIVE speak as CONGREVE writ, Yet Trifes often shew the Man, “ And keep the ball'up of his wit ;
More than his settled Life and Plan : « Let Swift be Swirt, nor e'er demean
There are the starts of inclination; « The sense and humour of the Dean.
Those the mere gloss of EDUCATION, “ E'en let the antients reit in peace,
Which has a wond'rous knack at turning “ Nor bring good folks from Rome or Greece A Blockhead to a man of Learning ; " To give a cause for past transactions,
And, by the help of form and place, “ They never dreamt of in their tions.
The child of Sin to babe of Grace. “ I can't help quibbling, brother port,
Not that it alters Nature quite, « 'Twere better we should lay the ghost,
And sets perverted Reason right, But 'twere a task of real merit
But, like Hypocrisy, conceals « Could we contrive to raise their Spirit.
The very passions which the feels ; “ Peace, brother, peace, though what you say, And claps a Vizor on his face, so I own has reason in his way,
To hide us from the World's disgrace, « On Dialogues to bear so hard,
Which, as the first Appearance ftrikess “ Is playing with a dangerous card ;
Approves of all things, or disikes. « Writers of rank are sacred things,
Like the fond fool with eager glee, “ And crush like arbitrary kings.
Who fold his all, and put to fea, “ Perhaps your sentiment is right,
Lur'd by the calm which seemed to sleep !! Heav'n grant we may not suffer by't.
On the smooth surface of the Deep; "* For should friend DAVIES Overhear,
Nor dreamt its waves could proudly risey • He'll publith ours another year."
And toss up mountains at the skies.
APPEARANCE is the only thing,
A King's a Wretch, a Wretch a King,
-Bless me! they fit you to a hair.
The robes his Majesty had on.
And now, D WORLD, so wond'rous wile,
Who fee with such discerning eyes,
Put observation to the Stretch, And nature rejoices in Spring.
Come which is King, and which is Wretch?
To cheat this World, the hardest talk
What need to dwell on topics ftale ?
Wretches like these, my Soul disdains,
But youth must often pay its court,
These may perhaps as Scholars shine,
What need your nothings thus to save ?
Yet idle folly often deems
Mark yon round Parson, fat and neck,
The world, obsequious to his nod,
“ This Curate, say you, learn'd and wife! “Why does not then this Curate rise ?"
This Curate then, at forty-thee,
Thinking in this uncommon Mode,
Such was the Priest, so strangely wise !
Aye, now indeed the Matter's clear,
On them your ev'ry Hope depends, " Be prudent, Tom, get ufeful Friends ; 66 And therefore like a spider wait, 66 And spin your Web about the great.
Lord's Genius wants supplies, Why-You must make his Exercise. ". Let the young Marquis take your Place, ". And bear a whipping for his Grace. " Suppose (such Things may happen once) " The Nobles wits, and You the Dunce, " Improve the means of Education; "And learn commodious Adulation, "Your Master scarcely holds it fin, " He chucks his Lordship on the Chin, " And would not for the World rebuke, " Beyond a pat, the school-boy Duke. « The Pastor there, ofbowliat's the Place ? " With smiles eternal in his Face, “ With dimpling cheek, and snowy hand, * That Thames the whiteness of his band ; " Wbrie mincing Dialect abounds " In Hums and Hahs, and half form'd sounds ; " Whore Elocution, fine and chaste, “ Lays his commands with judgment vaift; " And left the Company should hear, “ Whispers his Nothings in your Ear ; • Think you 'twas Zeal, or Virtue's Care “ That placed the fmiirking Doctor there? « Nom'twas Connections form’d at School " With fome rich Wit, or noble Fool, " Obsequious Flattery, and Attendance, " A wilful, useful, base dependance; “ A supple bowing of the Knees « To any human God you please. 66 (For true good-breeding's so polite, « 'Twould call the very Devil white) " 'Twas watching others' shifting Will, " And veering to and fro with skill : “ These were the meanis that made him rire, " Mind your conneftions, and be wise."
Methinks I hear son Tom reply, I'll be a Bishop by and by.
Connections at a public School
To bring him Credit, or to save;
The Strength of public Education
When tir'd of Friendship and alliance,
Is all their aim, and all their Cry,
Though neither fide can tell you why.
What Inkihed springs from Altercation !
Your desperate lovers wan and pale,
And all the progress purely this
In a Itage-coach, with lumber cramm'd,
When tiffs arise, and words of itrife
Observe yon downy bed to make it,
But authors' wranglings will create
-Oh ! had it pleas'd my wiser betters