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Dreamt not of danger ; glad was he
'Tis the dispenses all the graces 'To sell his flock, and put to sea :
Of profits, pensions, honours, placesz The consequence has Æsop told,
And in her light capricious fits He loft his venture, theep and gold.
Makes wits of fools, and fools of wits So fares it with us fons of rhyme,
Gives vices, folly, dullness birth, From doggrel wit, to wit sublime ;
Nay Itamps the currency on worth ; On ink's calm ocean all seems clear,
'Tis the that lends the muse a fpur, No sands aftright, no rocks appear ;
And even Killing goes by Her. No lightnings blast, no thunders roar,
Far in the sea 3 temple stands No surges laik the peaceful shore ;
Built by dame ERROR'S hasty hands, Till, all too vent'rous from the land,
Where in her dome of lucid shells The tempests dah us on the strand :
The visionary goddess dwells, Then the low piratc boards the deck,
Here o'er her subject fons of earth And sons of theft enjoy the wreck.
Regardless or of place, or worth, The harlot muse fo paling gay,
She rules triumphant; and supplies Bewitches only to betray ;
The gaping world with hopes and lies, 'Though for a while, with easy air,
Her throne, which weak and totr’ring seems She smooths the rugged brow of care,
Is built upon the wings of dreams ; And laps the mind in flow'ry dreams,
The fickle winds her altars bear With fancy's transitory gleams.
Which quiver to the shifting air ; Fond of the nothings the bestows,
Hither hath REASON seldom brought We wake at laft to real wocs.
The child of VIRTUE or of THOUGHT, Through ev'ry age, in ev'ry place,
And JUSTICE with her equal face, Consider well the poet's cafe ;
Finds this, alas! no throne of Grace. By turns protected and carefsid,
CAPRICE, OPINION, FASHION wait Defam'd, dependent, and distress'd;
The porters at the temple's gate, The joke of wits, the banc of Naves,
And as the fond adorers press The curse of fools, the butt of knaves ;
Pronounce fantastic happiness ; Too proud to stoop for servile ends,
While Favour with a Syren's smile, To lacquey rogues, or flatter friends ;
Which might ULYSSES' self beguile, With prodigality to give,
Presents the sparkling bright libation, Too careless of the means to live :
The Nectar of intoxication ; The bubble fame intent to gain,
And summoning her ev'ry grace And yet too lazy to maintain ;
Of winning charms, and chearful face, He quits the world he irever priz'd,
Smiles away Reason from his throne, Pigied by few, by more despis:d ;
And makes his votaries her own : And loit to friends, oppress'd by focs,
Instant resounds the voice of fame; Sinks to the nothing whence he rose.
Caught with the whistlings of their name, O glorious trade, for wit's a trade,
The fools grow frantic, in their pride Where men are ruin'd more than made.
Contemning all the world beside Let crazy LEE, neglected Gay,
Pleas'd with the gewgaw toys of pow'r, The shabby OTWAY, DRYDEN grey,
The noisy pageant of an hour, 'Thore tuneful servants of the nine,
Struts forth the statesman, haughty, vain, (Not that I blend their name with mine)
Amidit a supplc fervile train, Repeat their lives, their works, their famey With shrug, grimace, nod, wink, and fart, And teach the world some useful shame.
So proud, he almost treads in air; At first the Poet idly ftrays
While levce-fools, who sue for place, Along the greensward path of praise,
Crouch for cmployment from his Grace, Till on his journies up and down,
And e'en good Bishops, taught to trim, To fee, and to be seen, in town,
Forfake their God to bow to him. What with ill-natur'd Aings and rubs
The Poet in that happy hour,
Imagination in his pow'r,
Enjoys the liberty of mind :
Dupe to the smoke of Aimsy praise, Though it blows stronger after death;
He vomits forth sonorous lays;, Own then, wich MARTIAL, after fate
And, in his fine poctic rage, If glory comes, the comes too late.
Planning, poor soul, a deathless page, For who'd his time and labour give
Indulges pride's fantastic whim, For praise, by which he cannot live ?
And all the Worl.n) must wake to HIM, But in APOLLO's court of fame
A while from fear, from envy free, (In this all courts are much the fame)
He seepaton a pacific fea; By Favour folks must make their wa),
Lethargic ERROR for a while Favour, which lasts, perhaps, a day,
Deceives him with her fpecious smile, And when you've twirl'd yourself about
And Aatt'ring dreams delusive shed To wriggle in, you're wriggled out.
Gay gilded vifions round his head. "Tis from the sunshine of her eyes
When, swift as thought, the goddess lead Bach courily infect lises or dies ;
Shifts the light gale į and temperts sudes
Such as the northern Skies deform,
THE SPIRIT OF CONTRADICTION.
"He very fillieft things in life
Create the most material strifea
What scarce will suffer a debate,
Will oft produce the bitterest hate.
It is, you say ; I say 'tis nato
Why you grow warm and you are hot.
Thus each alike with passion glows,
And words come first, and, after, blowsa
Friend JERKIN has an income clear,
Some fifteen pounds, or more, a year,
And rented, on the farming plan,
Grounds at much greater sums per ann.
A man of consequence, no doubt,
'Mongst all his neighbours round about ;
He was of frank and open mind,
Too honeft to be much refin'd,
Would smoke his pipe, and tell his tale,
Sing a good song, and drink his ale.
His wife was of another mould ;
Her age was neither young nor old ;
Her features Itrong, but somewhat plain ;
Her air not bad, but rather vain ;
Her temper neither new nor strange,
A woman's, very apt to change ;
What the most hated was conviction,
What she most lov'd, flat CONTRADICTION,
A charming housewife ne'ertheless;
Tell me a thing she could not dress,
Soups, hashes, pickles, puddings, pies,
Nought came amiss—she was so wife,
For she, bred twenty miles from town,
Had brought a world of breeding down,
And Cumberland had seldom seen
A farmer's wife with such a mein :
She could not bear the sound of Dame;
-No-Mistress JERKIN was her name.
She could barangue with wond'rous grace
gowns and mobs, and caps and lace ;
But though ihe ne'er adornd his brows,
She had a vast contempt for spouse,
As being one who took no pride,
And was a deal too countrified.
Such were our couple, man and wife;
Such were their means and ways of life,
Once on a time, the reason fair
For exercise and cheartul air,
It happen’d in his morning's roam,
He kill'd his birds and brought them home.
Here, CICELY, take away my gun.
How shall we have these starlings done ?
Done! what my luve? Your wits are wild ,
Starlings, my dear; they're thrushes child,
Nay now but look, consider, wife,
They're starlings--No-pon my life: * These two last lines were added by Mr. Kenrick; Sure I can judge as well as you,
I know a thrush and starling too.
Who was it shot them, you or 1 ?
It ought to make a husband blush,
If the moon rises and goes down, To treat a wife so 'bout a thrush.
And changes as the docs in town ; 'Thrush, Cicely !-Yesma ítarling -No,
If you've returns of night and day, The lie again, and then a blow.
And seasons varying roll away; Blows carry strong and quick conviction,
Whether your mind exalted woves And mar the pow'rs of contradiction.
Th' embraces of a serious mufe ; Peace soon ensued, and all was well :
Or if you write, as I do now, It were imprudence to rebel,
The knows what, the L-d knows how... Or keep the ball up of debate
These, and a thousand things like these, Against these arguments of weight,
The friendly heart are sure to pleafc. A year rollid on in perfect eale,
Now will my friend turn up his eyes, 'Twas as you like, and what you please,
And look superlatively wise ; 'Till in its course and order due,
Wonder what all this stuff's about, Came March the twentieth, fifty-two.
And how the plague I found him out! Quoth Cicely, this is charming life,
When he had taken so much pains, No tumults now, no blows, no ftrife.
In order to regale his brains What fools we were this day last year!
With privacy and country air, Lord, how you beat me then, my dear!
To go, no soul alive knew where ! -Sure it was idie and ablurd
Besides, 'tis folly to suppose To wrangle fo about a bird ;
That any person breathing goes A bird not worth a single ruh
On such a scheme, with a delign A starling-no, my love, a thruh,
To write or read fuch stuff as mine, That I'll maintain--that I'll deny.
And idly waste his precious time - You're wrong, good husband-wife, you lie, In all th' impertinence of rhyme. Again the self fame wrangle rose,
My good, wise, venerable fir! Again the lye, again the blows.
Why about nonsense all this itir! Thus every year (true man and wife)
Is it, that you would stand alonc, Ensues the same domeftic strife.
And read no nonsense but your own; Thus every year their quarrel ends,
Though you're (to tell you, by and bye) They argue, fight, and buss, and friends ;
Not half so great a fool as I;
Being a fool, to have come sense ?
And most unconscionably teize her
Or toss up a poetic olio,
Should I recite what now is doing,
Or what for future times is brewing, HAT, three months gone, and never send or triumph that the poor French see all letter to a friend ?
Their hopes defeated at Montreal, In that time, sure, we might have known
Or should I your attention carry
To Fred'rick, Ferdinand, or Harry,
Of Aying Ruffian, daftard Swede,
And baffled Austria let you read ;
The youthful Henry pass'd the Rhine ?
Or should I shake my, empty head, (With all due rev'rence to his grace)
And tell you that the king is dead, Took much more pains himself to keep,
Observe what changes will ensue, Than to instruct and feed his sheep;
What will be what, and who'll be who, At what hour of the day you dine ;
Or leaving these things to my betters, Whether
drink beer, punch, or wine ; Before you set the face of letters ! Whether you hunt, or shoot, or ride ;
Or should I tell domestic jars, Or, by some muddy ditch's side,
How author against author wars, Which you, in visionary dream,
How both with mutual envy rankling, Call bubbling rill, or purling ttream,
Fr-kndamns M-Ip-y, Mrp-y Frok? Sigh for some aukward country lats,
Or will it more your mind engage Who must of consequence furpass
To talk of actors and the stage, All that is beautiful and bright,
To tell, if any words could tell, As much as day surfasses night;
What GARRICK acts still, and how well,
That SHERIDAN with all his care.
Will always be a labour'd play'r,
And that his acting at the best The men have hmads, the women hearts
'Is all but art, and art confeft ;
W A single letter to a friend
That BRIDE*, if reason may presume
Yet wars and tumults will commence, To judge by things past, things to come,
For Rogues hate virtue, Blockheads sense. In future times will tread the ftage,
Believe me, Opposition grows Equally form'd for love and rage,
Not always from our real foes, Whilft Pope for comic humour fam'd,
But (where it feldom ever ends) Shall live when CLIVE no more is nam'd.
From our more dangerous feeming friends. Your wisdom I suppose can't bear
I hate not foes, for they declare, About dull pantomime to hear ;
'Tis War for War, and dare who dare ; Nor would you have a single word
But your sy, sneaking, worming owls, Of Harlequin, and wooden sword,
Whom FRIENDSHIP (corns and FEAR.controuls, Of dumb Thew, fools tricks, and wry faces, Who praise, support, and help by halves, And wit which lies all in grimaces,
Like Heifers, neither Bulls, nor Calves ; Nor should I any thing advance
Who, in Hypocrisy's disguise, Of new invented comic dance.
Are truly as the Serpent wife, Callous, perhaps, to things like there,
But cannot ALL the precept love, Would it your worship better please,
And be as harmless as the Dove. That I, more loaden than the camels,
Who bold each charitable meeting, Should crawl in philosophic trammels?
To mean no more than good sound eating, Should I attack the stars, and stray
While each becomes a hearty fellow In triumph o'er the milky way,
According as he waxes mellow, And like the TITANS try to move
And kindly helps the main design, From seat of empire royal Jove,
By drinking its success in wine ; Then spread my terrors all around,
And when his feet and senses reel, And his Satellites confound,
Totters with correspondent zeal ; Teach the war far and wide to rage,
Nay; would appear a patron wise, And ev'ry star by turns engage?
But that his wisdom's in disguise, The danger we should share between us,
And would harangue, but that his mouth,
Which ever hates the fin of drought,
Catching the full perpetual glass,
Cannot afford a word to pass. Centric, excentric, epicycle,
Such, who like true Churchwardens eat, Fine words che vulgar ears to tickle !
Because th: Parish pays the treat, A vacuum, plenum, gravitation,
And of their bellyful secure, i And other words of like relation,
O'ersee, or over-look the poor ; Which may agree with studious men,
Who would no doubt be wond'rous just, But hurt my teeth, and gag my pen ;
And faithful Guardians of their trust, Things of such grave and serious kind
But think the deed might run more clever Puzzle my head and plague my mind;
To them and to their Heirs for ever, Besides in writing to a friend
That Charity, too apt to roam, A man may any nonsense send,
Might end, where she begins, at home; And the chief merit's to impart,
Who make all public good a trade, The honcft feelings of his heart.
Benevolence a mere parade,
And Charity a cloak for fin,
With hypocritic, knavish art,
Tell you what wond'rous things they're doing,
Such, or of low or high eitate,
To speak the honest truth, I hate :
I'view their tricks with indignation,
And loath each fulsom protestation,
As I would loath a whore's embrace,
Who smiles, and smirks, and strokes my face, Is universal good your plan?
And all so tender, fond, and kind, God may perhaps your project bless
As free of body, as of mind,
Affects the softness of the Dove,
And p-xes me to shew her Love.
Thc Maiden wither’d, wrinkled, pale, Where CHARYT Y o'er all presides,
Whose charms, tho' strong, are rather state,
Will use that weapon callid a tongue, And SENSE approves what VIRTUE guides,
To wound the beauteous and the young. * Miss Bride an Actress then of Drury-Lane The-1--What, Delia handsome !well ! - overen
I'm either blind or stupid grown. atre, who foon after quitted the Stage. Scc her cha- | -The girl is well enough to passy Bacter in the Rofciad.
A rosy, simple, ruftic tafs,
But there's no meaning in her face,
Thus fcandal, like a false quotation,
Thus Excellence of every kind,
But thanks to nature, which ordains
From her dark Cave, though Envy rise
Though prejudice in narrow I
See Bigod, Monks in Spain prevail,
And out of zeal pervert the Bible,
O BIGOTRY! whole frantic rage
Go, kick the prostituted whores, The nine stale virgins out of doors ;
For let the Abbess beat her drum,
As ever Saint or Poet knew.
No matter of what shape or size,
Thus his own eyes the Bigot blinds,