And He, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning:
And He, whose fustian's so sublimely bad,
It is not Poetry, but prose run mad:
All these, my modest Satire bad translate,
And own'd that nine such Poets made a Tate.
How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe !
And swear, not ADDISON himself was safe.

190

Peace to all fuch! but were there One whose fires

True Genius kindles, and fair Fame inspires;
Bleft with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease:
Should fuch a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne,
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rife;

195

200

VER. 186. Means not, but blunders round about a meaning:] A ease common both to Poets and Critics of a certain order; only with this difference, that the Poet writes himself out of his own meaning; and the Critic never gets into another man's. Yet both keep going on, and blundering round about their subject, as benighted people are wont to do, who seek for an entrance which they cannot find.

VER. 189. All these, my modest Satire bad translate,] See their works, in the Translations of classical books by several hands.

VER. 190.-nine such Poets, &c.] Alluding, not to the nine Muses, but to nine Taylors.

:

VER. 192. And swear, not ADDISON himself was fafe.] This is an artful preparative for the following transition; and finely obviates what might be thought unfavourably of the feverity of the fatire, by those who were strangers to the provocation.

Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hefitate dislike;
Alike referv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading ev'n fools, by Flatterers befieg'd,
And fo obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd;
Like Cato, give his little Senate laws,
And fit attentive to his own applause;
While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praife-
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be ?
Who would not weep, if ATTICUS were he!

VARIATIONS.

After VER. 28. in MS.

205

210

Who, if two Wits on rival themes contest, Approves of each, but likes the worst the best. Alluding to Mr. P.'s and Tickell's Tranflation of the first Book of the Iliad.

VER. 212. And wonder with a foolish face of praise-] When men, out of flattery, extol what they are conscious they do not understand, as is sometimes the case of men of education, the fear of praifing in the wrong place is likely enough to give a foolish turn to the air of an embarrassed countenance.

VER. 213. Who but must laugh, if fuch a man there be?] While a Character is unapplied, all the various parts of it will be confidered together; and if the afsfemblage of them be as incoherent as in this before us, it cannot fail of being the object of a malignant pleasantry.

VER. 214. Who would not weep, if ATTICUS were be!] But

D

What tho' my name stood rubric on the walls, 215
Or plaister'd posts, with claps, in capitals?
Or smoaking forth, a hundred hawkers load,
On wings of winds came flying all abroad?
I fought no homage from the Race that write;
1 kept, like Afian Monarchs, from their sight: 220
Poems I heeded (now be-rym'd so long)
No more than thou, great GEORGE! a birth-day fong.
I ne'er with wits or witlings pass'd my days,
To spread about the itch of verse and praise;
Nor like a puppy, daggled thro' the town,
To fetch and carry sing-fong up and down;
Nor at Rehearsals sweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd,
With handkerchief and orange at my fide;
But fick of fops, and poetry, and prate,
To Bufo left the whole Castalian state.

225

230

when we come to know it belongs to Atticus, i. e, to one whose more obvious qualities had before gained our love or esteem; then friendship, in spite of ridicule, will make a feparation: our old impressions get the better of our new, or, at least, suffer themselves to be no further impaired than by the admiffion of a mixture of pity and concern.

Ibid. ATTICUS] It was a great falshood, which some of the Libels reported, that this Character was written after the Gentleman's death; which fee refuted in the Teftimonies prefixed to the Dunciad. But the occafion of writing it was such as he would not make public out of regard to his memory: and all that could further be done was to omit the name, in the Edition of his works.

VER. 218. On wings of winds came flying all abroad?] Hopkins, in the civth Pfalm.

P

Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,
Sate full-blown Bufo, puff'd by ev'ry quill;
Fed with soft Dedication all day long,
Horace and he went hand in hand in fong.

His Library, (where busts of Poets dead

And a true Pindar stood without a head)

1

235

Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,
Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place:
Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his feat,
And flatter'd ev'ry day, and some days eat:

Till grown more frugal in his riper days,

240

He paid some bards with port, and some with praise,

To fome a dry rehearsal was assign'd,

And others (harder still) he paid in kind.

Dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh,

245

Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye :

But ftill the Great have kindness in reserve,

He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve.

VARIATIONS,

After VER. 234. in the MS.

To Bards reciting he vouchsaf'd a nod,

And snuff'd their incense like a gracious god.

VER. 236. a true Pindar ftood without a bead] Ridicules the affectation of Antiquaries, who frequently exhibit the headless Trunks and Terms of Statues, for Plato, Homer, Pindar, &c. Vide Fulu. Urfin. &c.

P.

VER. 248.-belp'd to bury] Mr. Dryden, after having liv'd in exigencies, had a magnificent Funeral bestowed upon him by the contribution of several persons of quality.

P.

!

May some choice patron bless each gray goose quill!

May ev'ry Bavius have his Bufo still!

250

So when a Statesman wants a day's defence,
Or Envy holds a whole week's war with Sense,
Or fimple pride for flatt'ry makes demands,
May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands!
Blest be the Great! for those they take away, 255
And those they left me, for they left me GAY;
Left me to see neglected Genius bloom,
Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb :
Of all thy blameless life the fole return

My Verse, and QUEENSB'RY weeping o'er thy urn! 260
Oh let me live my own, and die so too!

(To live and die is all I have to do:)

Maintain a Poet's dignity and ease,

And fee what friends, and read what books I please:

Above a Patron, tho' I condescend

Sometimes to call a Minister my friend.
I was not born for Courts or great affairs;
I pay my debts, believe, and say my pray'rs;

265

VER. 251. So when a Statesman &c.] Notwithstanding this ridicule on the public neceffities of the Great, our Poet was candid enough to confess that they are not always to be imputed to them, as their private may. For (when uninfected by the neighbourhood of Party) he speaks of those distresses much more dif.. passionately.

Our Minifters like Gladiators live,

*Tis half their bus'ness blows to ward, or give;
The good their Virtue would effect, or Senfe,
Dies between Exigents and Self-defence,

MS.