A thankful age fhall pay her more,
Than all her troubles hurt before.
See Shame and Scorn await on those
Who poorly dar'd to be her foes,
But will the grateful voice of fame
Sink Truth, and GALILEO's name?
How wilful, obftinate, and blind,
Are the main herd of human kind!
Well faid the Wit, who well had tried
That malice which his Parts defied,
When merit's fun begins to break,
The Dunces ftretch, and ftrive to wake,
And amity of Dunce with Dunce,
Fingers out Genius all at once.
As you may find the honey out,
By feeing all the flies about.
All ugly Women hate a toast;

The goodliest fruit is pick'd the most ;
The ivy winds about the oak,
And to the fairest comes the fmoke.

Efcap'd the dangers of the deep,
When GULLIVER fell faft afsleep,
Stretch'd on the Lilliputian strand,
A Giant in a pigmy Land;
Watchful against impending harms,
All Lilliput cried out, To arms;
The trumpets echoed all around,
The Captain flept exceeding found,
Though crowds of undiftinguish'd fize
Affail'd his body, legs, and thighs,
While clouds of arrows flew apace,
And fell like feathers on his face.

THE WHIM.

Peace to all fuch, if peace can dwell
With those who bear about a hell,
Who blast all worth with envy's breath,
By their own feelings ftung to death.
None but a weak and brainless fool,
Undifciplin'd in fortune's fchool,
Can hope for favours from the wit:
He pleads prefcription to forget,
Unnotic'd let him live or rot,
And, as forgetful, be forgot,
Moft wags, whofe pleasure is to fmoke,
Wou'd rather lofe their friend, than joke;
A man in rags looks fomething queer,
And there's vaft humour in a fneer;
That jeft, alike all witlings fuits,
Which lies no further than the boots.
Give me the man whofe open mind
Means focial good to all mankind;
Who when his friend, from fortune's round,
Is toppled headlong to the ground,
Can meet him with a warm embrace,
And wipe the tear from forrow's face;
Who, not felf-taught and proudly wife,
Seeks more to comfort than advife,
Who lefs intent to shine than please,"
Wears his own mirth with native eafe,
And is from fenfe, from nature's plan,
The jovial gueft, the honeft man;
In fhort, whofe picture, painted true,
In ev'ry point refembles you.

And will my friend for once excufe,
This offering of a lazy muse?
Moft 1 zy,-left you think her not,
I'll draw her picture on the fpot.

A perfect eafe the dame enjoys;

Three chairs her indolence employs:
On one fhe fquats her cushion'd bum,

Which would not rife, though kings fhould come

An arm lolls dangling o'er another,
A leg lies couchant on its brother,
To make her look fupremely wife,

T

HE praife of Genius will offend A foe no doubt, fometimes a friend; But curfe on genius, wit, and parts; The thirft of fcience, love of arts, If inconfiftent with the plan Of focial good from man to man. For me, who will, may wear the bays, I value not fuch idle praife: Let wrangling wits abufe, defame, And quarrel for an empty name, What's in this fhuffling pace of rhyme, Orgrand pas ftride of stiff fublime, That vanity her trump fhould blow, And look with fcorn on folks below? Are wit and folly close ally'd, And match'd like poverty, with pride? When rival bards for fame contend, The poet often spoils the friend; Genius felf-center'd feels alone That merit he esteems his own, And cold, o'er-jealous, and fevere, Hates, like a Turk, a brother near Malice steps in, good nature flies, Polly prevails, and friendship dies

The weed which first by Raleigh brought,
Gives thinking looks instead of thought,
She fmokes, and fmokes; without all feeling,
Save as the eddies climb the cieling,
And waft about their mild perfume,
She marks their paffage round the room,
When pipe forfakes the vacant mouth,
A pot of beer prevents her drought,]
Which with potations pottle deep
Lulls the poor maudlin mufe to fleep.
Her books of which fh'as wond'rous need
But neither pow'r nor will to read,
In featter'd tomes lie all around
Upon the lowest fhelf-the ground.

Such eafe no doubt fuits eafy rhyme;
Folks walk about who write SUBLIME,
While RECITATION's pompous found
Drawls words fonorous all around,
And ACTION waves her hand and head,
As thofe who bread and butter fpread.

You bards who feel not fancy's dearth,
Who ftrike the roof, and kick the earth,
Whofe mufe fuperlatively high
Take lodgings always near the sky;
And like the lark with daring flight
Still foars and fings beyond our fight;

May trumpet forth your grand fublime,
And fcorn our lazy lounging rhyme.
Yet though the lark in æther floats,
And trills no doubt diviner notes,
Carelefly perch'd on yonder spray,
The linnet fings a pretty lay.

What horrid, what tremendous fight
Shakes all my fabric with affright!
With ARGUS' hundred eys he marks,
With triple mouth the monster barks;
And while he scatters flaming brands
BRIAREUS lends him all his hands.

Hift! 'tis a CRITIC.-Yes-'tis he
What wou'd your gracelets form with me?
Is it t'upbraid me with the crime
Of spinning unlaborious rhyme,

Of ftringing various thoughts together
In verfe, or profe, or both, or neither?
A vein, which though it must offend
You lofty firs who can't descend,
To fame has often made its way

From BUTLER, PRIOR, SWIFT, and GAY;
Is it for this your brow auftere
Frowns me to ftone for very fear?
Hear my just reason first, and then
Approve me right, or fplit my pen.

I feek not by more labour'd lays
To catch the flipp'ry tail of praife,
Nor will I run a mad career
"Gainft genius which I most revere ;
When Phoebus burfts with genuine fire,
The little stars at once retire;
Who cares a farthing for thofe lays
Which you can neither blame, nor praife?
I cannot match a CHURCHILL'S fkill,
But may be LANGHORNE when I will:

Let the mere mimic, for each feafon bears
Your mimic Bards as well as mimic play'rs.
Creep fervilely along, and with dull pains
Lafh his flow fteed, in whofe enfeebled veins
The cold blood lags, let him with fruitless aim
By borrow'd plumes affume a borrow'd fame,
With ftudied forms th' incautious ear beguile,
And ape the numbers of a CHURCHILL's style.
Slaves may fome fame from imitation hope;
Who'd be PAUL WHITEHEAD, tho' he honours
POPE?

If clinking couplets in one endless chime
Be the fole beauty, and the praife of rhyme;
If found alone an eafy triumph gains,
While fancy bleeds, and fenfe is hung in chains,
Ye happy triflers hail the rifing mode;
See, all Parnaffus is a turnpike road,
Where each may travel in the highway track
On true bred hunter, or on common hack.
For me, who labour with poetic fin,
Who often woo the mufe I cannot win,
Whom pleasure first a willing poet made,
And fully fpoilt by taking up the trade,
Pleas'd I behold fuperior genius fhine,
Nor ting'd with envy with that genius mine.

To CHURCHILL'S mufe can bow with decent awe,
Admire his mode, nor make that mode my law :
Both may, perhaps, have various pow'rs to please:
Be his the STRENGTH of NUMBERS, mine the

EASE,

Eafe that rejects not, but betrays no care: Lefs of the coxcomb than the floven's air,

Your tafte, as mine, all metre must offend When imitation is its only end.

I could perhaps that fervile task purfue,
And copy CHURCHILL as I'd copy you,
But that my flippant mufe, too faucy grown,
Prefers that manner the can call own.

ODE TO GENIUS.

Τ

HOU child of nature, genius ftrong,
Thou matter of the poet's fong,
Before whofe light, Art's dim and feeble ray
Gleams like the taper in the blaze of day:
Thou lov'ft to fteal along the fecret shade,

Where Fancy, bright aerial maid!
Awaits thee with her thousand charms,
And revels in thy wanton arms;

She to thy bed, in days of yore,

The fweetly-warbling Shakspeare bore ; Whom every mufe endow'd with every skill, And dipt him in that facred rill,

Whofe filver ftreams flow mufical along, Where Phoebus' hallow'd mount refounds with raptur'd fong.

Forfake not thou the vocal choir,
Their breafts revifit with thy genial fire,
Elfe vain the ftudied founds of mimic art,
Tickle the ear but come not near the heart.
Vain every phrafe in curious order fet,
On each fide leaning on the [ftop-gap]-epithet.
Vain the quick rhyme ftill tinkling in the clofe,
While pure defcription shines in measur'd profe,

Thou bear'ft aloof, and look'ft with high dif
dain,

Upon the dull mechanic train;
Whofe nervelefs ftrains flag on in languid tone.
Lifelefs and lumpish as the bagpipe's drowzy drone.

No longer now thy altars blaze,
No poet offers up his lays;
Infpired with energy divine,
To worship at thy facred fhrine.
Since tafte' with abfolute domain,
Extending wide her leaden reign,
Kills with her melancholy shade
The blooming fcyons of fair fancy's tree;
Which erft full wantonly have ftray'd
In many a wreath of richest poefie.

For when the oak denies her stay,
The creeping ivy winds her humble way;

No more fhe twifts her branches round,
But drags her feebie ftem along the barren ground.

The breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn,

The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built fhed, The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

No more fhall roufe them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth fhall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lifp their fire's return,

Or climb his knees the envied kifs to share.

Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield,

Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke ! How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy ftroke!

Let not ambition mock their useful toil,

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear with a difdainful fmile,
The short and fimple annals of the poor.

The boaft of heraldry the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour:

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,

If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault The pealing anthem fwells the note of praife.

IN CAMETERIO RUSTICO COMPOSITUM.

A

Udiftin! quam lenta fonans campana per agros; Erato occiduam nuntiat ore diem. Armenta impellunt crebris mugitibus auras, Laffatufque domum rufticus urget iter. Solus ego in tenebris moror, & veftigia folus Compono tacitâ nocte, vacoque mihi.

Omnia pallefcunt jam decedentia vifu,

Et terra & cœlum, quà patet, omne filet. Cuneta filent, nifi mufca fuam fub vefpere fera Raucifonans pigram quà rotat orbe fugam; Cuncta filent, nifi quà faciles campanula fomnos Allicit, et lento murmure mulcet oves.

Quàque hedera antiquas focia complectitur umbra
Turres, feralis lugubre cantat avis ;

Et ftrepit ad lunam, fi quis fub nocte vagetur
Imperium violans, Cynthia Diva, tuum.

Has propter veteres ulmos, taxique fed umbra
Qua putris multo cefpite turget humus,
Dormit, in æternum dormit, gens prifca colonûm,
Quifque fuâ anguftâ conditus ufque domo.

Hos nec mane novum, Zephyrique fragrantior aura,
Nec gallus vigili qui vocat ore diem,
Nec circumvolitans quæ ftridula garrit hirundo
Stramineumque altâ fub trabe figit opus,
Undique nec cornu vox ingeminata fonantis
Æterno elicient hos, repetentque toro.

Amplius his nunquam conjux bene fida marito
Ingeret ardenti grandia ligna foco;
Nec reditum expectans domini fub vefpere sero
Excoquet agreftes officiofa dapes ;
Nec curret raptim genitoris ad ofcula proles,
Nec reducem agnofcent æmula turba patrem.

Quam fæpe Hi raftris glebam fregere feracem?
Sæpe horum cecidit falce refecta Leges.
Quam læti egerunt ftridentia plauftra per agros,
Et ftimulis tardos increpuere boves!
Horum fylva vetus quam concidit icta bipenni,
Quàque ruit latè vi tremefecit humum!

Ne tamen Ambitio rifu male læta maligno

Sortemve, aut lufus, aut rude temnat opus! Nec fronte excipiat ventofa Superbia torvâ Pauperis annales, hiftoriafque breves!

Et generis jactatus honos, dominatio regum, Quicquid opes, quicquid forma dedêre boni. Supremam fimul hanc expectant omnia noctem a Scilicet ad lethum ducit honoris iter.

Nolite hos humiles culpæ infimulare, Superbi, Quod domini oftendant nulla trophæa decus, Quà canit amiffum longo ordine turba patronum Clarofque ingeminant clauftra profunda fonos.