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The Mufes write for glory not for gold, 'Tis far beneath their nature to be fold: The greatest gain is fcorn'd, but as it ferves.. To fpeak a fenfe of what the Muse deserves; The Mufe, which from her Lansdowne fears no wrong,

Best judge, as well as subject, of her fong. Should this great theme allure me farther fill, And I prefume to ufe your patience ill,

The world would plead my caufe, and none but

you

Will take difguft at what I now pursue :

Converse with thofe the deluge fwept away, Or thofe whofe midnight is Britannia's day.

Books not fo much in form, as give confent To those ideas your own thoughts prefent; Your only gain from turning volumes o'er, Is finding caufe to like yourself the more: In Grecian fages you are only taught With more refpect to value your own thought; Great Tully grew immortal, while he drew Thofe precepts we behold alive in you; Your life is fo adjusted to their schools, It makes that history they meant for rules.

A theme that's able to exalt my Mufc.

For who, not void of thought, can Granville

name,

Without a fpark of his immortal flame?
Whether we feek the patriot, or the friend,
Let Bolingbroke, let Anna recommend ;
Whether we choose to love or to admire,
You melt the tender, and th' ambitious fire.
Such native graces without thought abound,
And fuch familiar glories fpread around,
As more incline the ftander-by to raise
His value for himself, than you to praise.
Thus you befriend the most heroic way,
Blefs all,, on none an obligation lay;
So turn'd by nature's hand for all that's well,
'Tis fcarce a virtue when you most excel.

Though fweet your prefence, graceful is your
mien,

You to be happy want not to be seen ;
Though priz'd in public, you can fmile alone,
Nor court an approbation but your own:
In throngs, not confcious of those eyes that gaze
In wonder fix'd, though refolute to please;
You, were all blind, would fill deferve applaufe;
The world's your glory's witnefs, not its cause
That lies beyond the limits of the day,
Angels behold it, and their God obey.

You take delight in others excellence;

A gift, which Nature rarely does difpenfe :
Of all that breathe 'tis you, perhaps, alone
Would be well' pleas'd to fee yourself outdone.
You wish not thofe, who thew your name respect.
So little worth, as might excufe neglect;
Nor are in pain left merit you should know;
Nor fhun the well-deferver as a foe;
A troublesome acquaintance, that will claim
To be well us'd, or dye your cheek with fhame.
You wish your country's good; that told fo well
Your powers are known, th' event I need not tell.
When Neftor fpoke, none ask'd if he prevail'd;
That god of fweet perfuafion never fail'd :
And fuch great fame had Hector's valour wrought
Who meant he conquer'd, only faid he fought.
When you, my lord, to fylvan fcenes retreat,
No crouds around for pleasure, or for state,
You are not caft upon a stranger land,
And wander penfive o'er the barren ftrand;
Nor are you by receiv'd example taught,
In toys to fhun the difcipline of thought;
But unconfin'd by bounds of time and place,
You choose companions from all human race;

Within your breast, and lift you to the skies, When in each learned page that you unfold, You find fome part of your own conduct told!

So pleas'd, and fo furpris'd, Æneas ftood, And fuch triumphant/raptures fir'd his blood, When far from Trojan fhores the hero fpy'd His story shining forth in all its pride; Admir'd himself, and faw his actions stand The praife and wonder of a foreign land.

He knows not half his being, who's confin'd
In converfe, and reflection on mankind:
Your foul, which understands her charter well,
Difdains imprison'd by thofe fkies to dwell;
Ranges Eternity without the leave

Of death, nor waits the paffage of the grave.
When pains eternal, and eternal blifs,
When thefe high cares your weary thoughts dif
mifs,

In heavenly numbers you your foul unbend,
And for your eafe to deathlefs fame defcend.
Ye kings! would ye true greatness understand,
Read Seneca grown rich in Granville's hand *.

Behold the glories of your life compleat!!
Still at a flow, and permanently great;
New moments fhed new pleafures as they fly,
And yet your greatest is, that you must die.

Thus Anna faw, and raised you to the feat
Of honour, and confess'd her fervant great;
Confefs'd, not made him fuch; for faithful Fame
Her trumpet fwell'd long fince with Granville's

name,

Though you in modefty the title wear,
Your name shall be the title of your heir;
Farther than ermin make his glory known,
And caft in shades the favour of a throne.
From thrones the beam of high diftinction springs;
The foul's endowment from the King of kings,
Lo! one great day calls forth ten mighty peers!
Produce ten Granville's in five thousand years;
Anna, be thou content to fix the fate

Of various kingdoms, and control the great;
But O! to bid thy Granville brighter fhine!
To him that great prerogative refign,
Who the fun's height can raise at plea fure higher,
His lamp illumine, fet his flames on fire.

Yet fill one blifs, one glory, I forbear,
A darling friend whom near your heart you wear;
That lovely youth, my lord, whom you must blame
That I grow thus familiar with your name,

* See bis Lardfbip's Tragedy intitle" Heraic Love."

YOUNG.

He's

He's friendly, oren, in his conduct nice,
Nor ferve thefe virtues to atone for vice:
Vice he has none, or fuch as none with lefs,
But friends indeed, good-nature in excess.
You cannot boaft the merit of a choice,
In making him your own, 'twas nature's voice,
Which call'd too lond by man to be withstood,
Pleading a tye far nearer than of blood;
Similitude of manners, fuch a mind,

As makes you lefs the wonder of mankind.
Such eafe his common converfe recommends,
As he ne'er felt a paffion, but his friend's;
Yet fix'd his principles, beyond the force
Of all beneath the fun, to bend his courfe *.
Thus the tall cedar, beautiful and fair,
Flatters the motions of the wanton air;
Salutes each paffing breeze with head reclin'd;
The pliant branches dance in every wind:
But fix'd the ftem her upright state maintains,
And all the fury of the North difdains.

How are you bless'd in fuch a matchless friend!
Alas! with me the joys of friendship end;
O Harrison! I muft, I will complain;
Tears footh the foul's diftrefs, though shed in vain ;
Didft thou return, and bless thy native shore
With welcome peace, and is my friend no more?-
Thy talk was early done, and I must own
Death kind to thee, but ah! to thee alone,,
But 'tis in me a vanity to mourn,
The forrows of the great thy tomb adorn;
Strafford and Bolingbroke the lofs perceive,
They grieve, and make thee envy'd in thy grave.
With aching heart, and a foreboding mind,
I night to day in painful journey join'd,
When first inform'd of his approaching fate;
But reach'd the partner of my foul too late:
'Twas paft, his cheek was cold, that tuneful
tongue,

Which is charmed with its melodious fong,
Now languifh'd, wanted ftrength to fpeak his
pain,

Scarce rais'd a feeble groan, and funk again :
Each art of life, in which he bore a part,
Shot like an arrow through my bleeding heart.
To what ferv'd all his promis'd wealth and
power,

But more to load that most unhappy hour?

Yet fill prevail'd the greatnefs of his mind;
That, not in health, or life itself confin'd,
Felt through his mortal pangs Britannia's peace,
Mounted to joy, and fmil'd in death's embrace.
His fpirit now just ready to reign,
No longer now his own, no longer mine,
He gaps my hand, his fwimming eye-balls
roll,

My hand he grafps, and enters in my foul;
Then with a groan-fupport me, O! beware
Of holding worth, however great, too dear t

Pardon, my lord, the privilege of grief, That in untimely freedom feeks relief; To better fate your love I recommend, O! may you never lofe fo dear a friend! May nothing interrupt your happy hours; Enjoy the bleffings peace on Europe fhowers: Nor yet difdain thofe bleffings to adorn; To make the Mufe immortal, you was born. Sing; and in latest time, when flory's dark, This period your furviving fame hall mark; Save from the gulph of years this glorious age, And thus illuftrate their hiftorian's page,

The crown of Spain in doubtful balance hung, And Anna Britain fway'd, when Granville fung That noted year Europa fheath'd her fword, When this great man was first faluted lord,

Or turn the volumes of the wife and good,
Our fenate meets; at parties, parties bawl,
And pamphlets fun the streets, and load the stall;
So rushing tides bring things obscene to light,
Foul wrecks emerge, and dead dogs fwim in fight;
The civil torrent foams, the tumult reigns,
And Codrus' profe works up, and Lico's ftrains.
Lo! what from cellars rife, what rush from bigb,
Where speculation roofted near the sky;
Letters, Effays, Sock, Bufkin, Satire, Song,
And all the Garret thunders on the throng!

O Pope! I burst; nor can, nor will, refrain;
I'll write; let others, in their turn, complain :
Truce, truce, ye Vandals! my tormented ear
Lefs dreads a pillory than a pamphleteer;
I've heard myself to death; and, plagu'd each
hour,

Shan't I return the vengeance in my power? For who can write the true abfurd like me?Thy pardon, Codrys! who, I mean, but thee?

Pope if like mine, or Codrus', were thy flyle, The blood of vipers had not ftain'd thy file; Merit lefs folid, lefs defpite had bred; They had not bit, and then they had not bled. Fame is a public miftiefs, none enjoys, But, more or lefs, his rival's peace destroys; With fame, in just proportion, envy grows; The man that makes a character, makes foes Slight, peevish infects round a genius rife, As a bright day awakes the world of flies; With hearty malice, but with feeble wing, (To fhew they live) they flutter, and they fting:

But as by depredations wafps proclaim
The fairest fruit, so these the fairest fame.

Shall we not cenfure all the motley train,
Whether with ale irriguous, or champaign?
Whether they tread the vale of profe, or climb,
And whet their appetites on cliffs of rhyme;
The college floven, or embroider'd spark;
The purple prelate, or the parish clerk ;
The quiet Quidnunc, or demanding prig;
The plaintiff Tory, or defendant Whig;

Whether extremely witty, or quite mad
Profoundly dull, or fhallowly polite;
Men that read well, or men that only write;
Whether peers, porters, taylors, tune the reeds,
And measuring words to meafuring shapes fuc-
cceds;

For bankrupts write, when ruin'd fhops are thut,
As maggos crawl from out a perish'd nut. ·
His hammer this, and that his trowel quits,
And, wanting feufe for tradefmen, ferve for wits.
Bthriving men fubfifts each other trade;
Of every broken craft a writer's made :
Thus his material, Paper, takes its birth
From tatter'd rags of all the stuff on earth.
Hail, fruitful ile! to thee alone belong
Millions of wits, and brokers in old song;
Thee well a land of liberty we name,
Where all are free to fcandal aud to shame ;-
Thy fons, by print, may fet their hearts at eafe,
And be mankind's contempt, whene'er they
please ;

Like trodden filth, their vile and abject sense
Is unperceiv'd, but when it gives offence:
This heavy profę our injur'd reafon tires ;
Their verfe immortal indles loofe defires :
Our age they puzzle, and corrupt our prime,
Our fport and pity, punishment and crime.

What glorious motives urge our Authors on,
Thus to undo, and thus to be undone !
One lotes his estate, and down he fits,
To fhew (in vain !) he still retains his wits:
Another marries, and his dear proves keen;
He writes as an Hypnotic for the spleen :
Some write, confin'd by phyfic; fome, by debt ;
Some, for 'tis Sunday; fome, fome becaufe 'tis

wet;

Through private pique fome do the public right,
And love their king and country out of spight:
Another writes because his father writ,

And proves himself a baftard by his wit.
Has Lico learning, humour, thought profound?
Neither why write then? He wants twenty
pound:

His belly, not his brains, this impulse give:
He'll grow immortal; for he cannot live :-
He rubs his awful front, and takes his ream,
With no provifion made, but of his theme;
Perhaps a title has his fancy fmit,

Or a quaint motto, which he thinks has wit:
He writes, in inspiration puts his truft,
Though wrong his thoughts, the gods will make
them juft;

Genius directly from the gods descends,

And who by labour would distrust his friends ?

: Clodio drefs'd, danc'd, drank, vifited, (the whole

And great concern of an immortal foul!)
Oft have I faid, “ Awake! exift! and strive
"For birth nor think to loiter is to live f
As oft I overheard the damon Tay,
Who daily met the loiterer in his way,
"I'll meet thee youth, at White's :" the youth
replies.

"I'll meet thee there," and falls his facrifice;
His fortune fquander'd, leaves his virtue bare
To every bribe, and blind to every fnare:
Clodio for bread his indolence muft quit,
Or turn a foldier, or commence a wit.
Such heroes have we! all, but life, they ftake;
How muit Spain tremble, and the German
fhake!

Such writers have we! all, but fenfe, they print;
Ey'n George's praife is dated from the Mint.
In arms contemptible, in arts profane,
Such fwords, fuch pens, difgrace a monarch's
reign.

Reform your lives before you thus afpire,
And fleal (for you can fleal) cœleftial fire.

O the just contraft! O! the beauteous ftrife!" 'Twixt their cool writings, and pindaric life: They write with phlegm, but then they live with fire;

They cheat the lender, and their works the buyer. I reverence misfortune, not deride;

I pity poverty, but laugh at pride :

For who to fad, but muft fome mirth confefs
At gay Caftruchio's miscellaneous dress?
Though there's but one of the dull works he
wrote,

There 's ten editions of his old lac'd coat.'

Thefe, nature's commoners, who want a home, Claim the wide world for their majeflic dome; They make a private study of the street; And, looking full on every man they meet, Run foufe against his chaps; who ftands amaz'd To find they did not fee, but only gaz'd. How muft thefe bards be rapt into the fkies? You need not read, you feel your ecftafies.

Will they perfift? 'Tis madnefs;' Lintot, run, See them confin'd" O, that 's already done." Moft, as by leafes, by the works they print, Have took, for life, poffeffion of the Mint." If you mistake, and pity thefe poor men, Eft ulubris, they cry, and write again.

Such wits their nuifance manfully expofe, And then pronounce juft judges learning's foes g O frail conclufion; the reverfe is true;

If foes to learning, they 'd be friends to you:

Treat