Select Works of the British Poets

Our Will* shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavor; And Dickt with his pepper shall heighten the sa

vor:

Still aiming at honor, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home;
Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none;

Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his

obtain ;

And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain:
Our Garrick's a salad; for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:
To make out the dinner, full certain I am
That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds** is lamb;
That Hickey'stt a capon; and, by the same rule,
Magnanimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool.
At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last?
Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able,
Till all my companions sink under the table;
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.
Here lies the good dean, reunited to earth,
Who mix'd reason with pleasure, and wisdom with
mirth;

If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,
At least in six weeks I could not find them out;
Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em,
That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em.
Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was
such,

We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much;
Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind;
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his
throat

To persuade Tommy Townshend‡‡ to lend him a

vote;

Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,

And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;

Though equal to all things, for all things unfit;
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit;
For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient;
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place,
sir,

To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint,

While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in 't;

The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along,
His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;

own.

Here lies honest Richard,* whose fate I must sigh at;

Alas! that such frolic should now be so quiet:
What spirits were his! what wit and what whim,
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb!
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball!
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all!
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
That we wish'd him full ten times a day at old Nick ;
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish'd to have Dick back again.

Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And Comedy wonders at being so fine:
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out,
Or rather like Tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud;
And coxcombs, alike in their failings, alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own
Say, where has our poet this malady caught?
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?
Say, was it that vainly directing his view
To find out men's virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant re

clines:

When satire and censure encircled his throne;
I fear'd for your safety, I fear'd for my own :
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our Doddst shall be pious, our Kenricks shall
lecture;

Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style;
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile;
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross

over,

No countryman living their tricks to discover;
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the
dark.

Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can,

* Mr. William Burke, Secretary to General Conway, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man: and Member for Bedwin.

† Mr. Richard Burke, Collector of Grenada.

↑ Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West-Indian, Fashionable Lover, The Brothers, and other dramatic pieces.

§ Dr. Douglas, Bishop of Salisbury, who no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes.

David Garrick, Esq.

Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the

Irish bar.

**Sir Joshua Reynolds.

tt An eminent attorney.

tt Mr. T. Townshend, Member for Whitchurch.

As an actor, confest without rival to shine;
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line!
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings-a dupe to his art.

*Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having slightly fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the Doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retributive justice for breaking his jests upon other people.

†The Rev. Dr. Dodd.

Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern, under the title of The School of Shakspeare.

§ James Macpherson, Esq. who, from the mere force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.

Like an ill-judging beauty, his colors he spread,
And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;
'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day:
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick
If they were not his own by finessing and trick:
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleas'd he could whistle them
back.

Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came,
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;
Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,* and Woodfallst so
grave,

What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave!

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you rais'd,

While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were beprais'd!
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,

To act as an angel and mix with the skies:
Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will:
Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant

creature,

And slander itself must allow him good-nature:
He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper:
Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser?
I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser:
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?
His very worst foe can't accuse him of that:
Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And so was too foolishly honest? Ah, no!

* Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, A Word to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c.

† Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle.

Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye,

He was, could he help it? a special attorney.

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind:
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand,
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of
hearing;

When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,

He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.

STANZAS ON WOMAN.

FROM THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.

WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from ev'ry eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom-is, to die.

SONG.

O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain,
To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain;

Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe!
And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.

Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company.

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

SAMUEL JOHNSON, a writer of great eminence, thirteen nights, but has never since appeared on was born in 1709 at Litchfield, in which city his the theatre: Johnson, in fact, found that he was not father was a petty bookseller. After a desultory formed to excel on the stage, and made no further course of school-education, it was proposed to him, trials.

by Mr. Corbet, a neighboring gentleman, that he

His periodical paper, entitled "The Rambler," should accompany his own son to Oxford as his appeared in March 1750, and was continued till companion; accordingly, in his nineteenth year, he March 1752. The solemnity of this paper prewas elected a commoner of Pembroke College. vented it at first from attaining an extensive cirFrom young Corbet's departure, he was left to culation; but after it was collected into volumes, it struggle with penury till he had completed a resi- continually rose in the public esteem, and the author dence of three years, when he quitted Oxford had the satisfaction of seeing a tenth edition. The without taking a degree. His father died, in very Adventurer," conducted by Dr. Hawkesworth, narrow circumstances, soon after his return from the succeeded the Rambler, and Johnson contributed university; and for some time he attempted to gain several papers of his own writing. In 1755, the a maintenance by some literary projects. At length, first edition of his "Dictionary" made its appearin 1735, he thought proper to marry a widow twice ance. It was received by the public with general his own age, and far from attractive, either in her applause, and its author was ranked among the person or manners. By the aid of her fortune he greatest benefactors of his native tongue. Modern was enabled to set up a school for instruction in Latin accuracy, however, has given an insight into its and Greek, but the plan did not succeed; and after defects; and though it still stands as the capital. a year's experiment, he resolved to try his fortune work of the kind in the language, its authority as a in the great metropolis. Garrick, afterwards the standard is somewhat depreciated. Upon the last celebrated actor, had been one of his pupils, accom- illness of his aged mother, in 1759, for the purpose panied by whom he arrived in London; Johnson of paying her a visit, and defraying the expense of having in his pocket his unfinished tragedy of Irene. her funeral, he wrote his romance of Rasselas, The first notice which he drew from the judges Prince of Abyssinia," one of his most splendid perof literary merit, was by the publication of " London, formances, elegant in language, rich in imagery, a Poem," in imitation of Juvenal's third satire. and weighty in sentiment. Its views of human life The manly vigor, and strong painting, of this per- are, indeed, deeply tinged with the gloom that overformance, placed it high among works of its kind, shadowed the author's mind; nor can it be praised though it must be allowed, that its censure is coarse for moral effect. and exaggerated, and that it ranks rather as a party, than as a moral poem. It was published in 1738. For some years Johnson is chiefly to be traced in the pages of the Gentleman's Magazine, then conducted by Cave; and it was for this work that he gratified the public with some extraordinary pieces of eloquence which he composed under the disguise of debates in the senate of Liliput, meaning the British parliament. He likewise wrote various biographical articles for the same miscellany, of which the principal and most admired was "The Life of Savage."

Soon after the accession of George III., a grant of a pension of 300l. per annum was made him by His Majesty during the ministry of Lord Bute. A short struggle of repugnance to accept a favor from the House of Hanover was overcome by a sense of the honor and substantial benefit conferred by it, and he became that character, a pensioner, on which he had bestowed a sarcastic definition in his Dictionary. Much obloquy attended this circumstance of his life, which was enhanced when he published, in several of his productions, arguments which seemed directly to oppose the rising spirit of liberty.

The plan of his English Dictionary was laid before the public in a letter addressed to Lord Ches- A long-promised edition of Shakspeare appeared terfield in 1747. In the same year he furnished in 1765; but though ushered in by a preface writGarrick with a prologue on the opening of Drury- ten with all the powers of his masterly pen, the lane theatre, which in sense and poetry has not a edition itself disappointed those who expected much competitor among compositions of this class, except- from his ability to elucidate the obscurities of the ing Pope's prologue to Cato. Another imitation great dramatist. A tour to the Western Islands of of Juvenal, entitled "The Vanity of Human Scotland in 1773, in which he was attended by his Wishes," was printed in 1749, and may be said to enthusiastic, admirer and obsequious friend, James reach the sublime of ethical poetry, and to stand at Boswell, Esq. was a remarkable incident of his life, the head of classical imitations. The same year. considering that a strong antipathy to the natives of under the auspices of Garrick, brought on the stage that country had long been conspicuous in his conof Drury-lane his tragedy of "Irene." It ran versation. But when, two years afterwards, he

published the account of his tour, under the title of symptoms, followed; and such was the tenacity with "A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland," which he clung to life, that he expressed a great more candor and impartiality were found in it. desire to seek for amendment in the climate of than had been expected. In 1775, he was gratified, Italy. Still unable to reconcile himself to the through the interest of Lord North, with the degree thought of dying, he said to the surgeon who was of Doctor of Laws, from the University of Oxford. making slight scarifications in his swollen legs, He had some years before received the same honor" Deeper! deeper! I want length of life, and you from Dublin, but did not then choose to assume the are afraid of giving me pain, which I do not title. His last literary undertaking was the con- value." The closing scene took place on Decem sequence of a request from the London booksellers, ber 13, 1785, in the 76th year of his age. His re who had engaged in an edition of the principal mains, attended by a respectable concourse of English poets, and wished to prefix to each a bio- friends, were interred in Westminster Abbey; and a graphical and critical preface from his hand. This monumental statue has since been placed to his he undertook; and though he will generally be memory in St. Paul's cathedral. His works were thought to have labored under strong prejudices published collectively in eleven volumes, 8vo., with in composing the work, its style will be found, in a copious life of the author, by Sir John Hawkins. great measure, free from the stiffness and turgidity A new edition, in twelve volumes, with a life, was which marked his earlier compositions. given by Arthur Murphy. Of the conversations.

The concluding portion of Dr. Johnson's life and oral dictates of Johnson, a most copious colwas saddened by a progressive decline of health, lection has been published in the very entertaining and by the prospect of approaching death, which volumes of Mr. Boswell. Upon the whole, it may neither his religion nor his philosophy had taught him be said, that at the time of his death, he was unto bear with even decent composure. A paralytic doubtedly the most conspicuous literary character stroke first gave the alarm; asthma, and dropsical of his country.

LONDON:

A POEM.

Behold her cross triumphant on the main,

The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain,
Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd,
Or English honor grew a standing jest.

A transient calm the happy scenes bestow,

IN IMITATION OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL. And for a moment lull the sense of woe.

-Quis ineptæ

Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se ?-Juv.

THOUGH grief and fondness in my breast rebel,
When injur'd Thales bids the town farewell,
Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend,
I praise the hermit, but regret the friend,
Resolv'd at length from vice and London far
To breathe in distant fields a purer air,
And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore,
Give to St. David one true Briton more.

For who would leave, unbrib'd, Hibernia's land,
Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand?
There none are swept by sudden fate away,
But all, whom hunger spares, with age decay:
Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire;
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey;
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And here a female atheist talks you dead.

While Thales waits the wherry that contains
Of dissipated wealth the small remains,
On Thames's banks, in silent thought, we stood
Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood;
Struck with the seat that gave Eliza* birth,
We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth;
In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew,
And call Britannia's glories back to view;

* Queen Elizabeth, born at Greenwich.

At length awaking, with contemptuous frown,
Indignant Thales eyes the neighb'ring town.

Since worth, he cries, in these degenerate days
Wants even the cheap reward of empty praise;
In those curs'd walls, devote to vice and gain,
Since unrewarded science toils in vain;
Since hope but soothes to double my distress,
And every moment leaves my little less;
While yet my steady steps no staff sustains,
And life still vig'rous revels in my veins;
Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier place
Where honesty and sense are no disgrace;

Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers play,
Some peaceful vale with Nature's paintings gay;
Where once the harass'd Briton found repose,
And safe in poverty defied his foes;
Some secret cell, ye pow'rs, indulgent give,
Let
live here, for has learn'd to live.
Here let those reign, whom pensions can incite
To vote a patriot black, a courtier white;
Explain their country's dear-bought rights away,
And plead for pirates in the face of day;
With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth,
And lend a lie the confidence of truth.

Let such raise palaces, and manors buy,
Collect a tax, or farm a lottery;
With warbling eunuchs fill our silenc'd stage,
And lull to servitude a thoughtless age.

Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold?
What check restrain your thirst of pow'r and gold?
Behold rebellious virtue quite o'erthrown,
Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives your own

To such, the plunder of a land is giv'n, When public crimes inflame the wrath of Heaven: But what, my friend, what hope remains for me, Who start at theft, and blush at perjury?

Well may they venture on the mimic's art, Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part; Practis'd their master's notions to embrace, Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face;

Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he sing, With ev'ry wild absurdity comply,

To pluck a titled poet's borrow'd wing;
A statesman's logic unconvinc'd can hear,
And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer;
Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd,
And strive in vain to laugh at Clodio's jest.
Others with softer smiles, and subtle art,
Can sap the principles, or taint the heart;
With more address a lover's note convey,
Or bribe a virgin's innocence away:

Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic tongue
Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong,
Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy,
Live unregarded, unlamented die.

For what but social guilt the friend endears?
Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortune shares.
But thou, should tempting villany present
All Marlb'rough hoarded, or all Villiers spent,
Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful eye,
Nor sell for gold, what gold could never buy,
The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,
Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay.

The cheated nation's happy fav'rites, see! Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me! London! the needy villain's gen'ral home, The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome; With eager thirst, by folly or by fate, Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. Forgive my transports on a theme like this, I cannot bear a French metropolis.

Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day,
The land of heroes and of saints survey;
Nor hope the British lineaments to trace,
The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace;
But, lost in thoughtless ease and empty show,
Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau;
Sense, freedom, piety, refin'd away,
Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey.
All that at home no more can beg or steal,
Or like a gibbet better than a wheel:
Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court,
Their air, their dress, their politics, import;
Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay,

On Britain's fond credulity they prey.
No gainful trade their industry can 'scape,

They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure

clap:

All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows,
And, bid him go to Hell, to Hell he goes.

Ah! what avails it, that, from slav'ry far,
I drew the breath of life in English air;
Was early taught a Briton's right to prize,
And lisp the tale of Henry's victories;
If the gull'd conqueror receives the chain,
And flattery prevails when arms are vain?
Studious to please, and ready to submit;
The supple Gaul was born a parasite:
Still to his int'rest true, where'er he goes,
Wit, brav'ry, worth, his lavish tongue bestows:
In ev'ry face a thousand graces shine,
From ev'ry tongue flows harmony divine.
These arts in vain our rugged natives try,
Strain out with falt'ring diffidence a lie,
And get a kick for awkward flattery.

Besides, with justice, this discerning age Admires their wondrous talents for the stage:

And view each object with another's eye;
To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear,
To pour at will the counterfeited tear;
And, as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.

How, when competitors like these contend,
Can surly virtue hope to fix a friend;
Slaves that with serious impudence beguile,
And lie without a blush, without a smile:
Exalt each trifle, ev'ry vice adore,
Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore;
Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear
He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air.

For arts like these preferr'd, admir'd, caress'd, They first invade your table, then your breast; Explore your secrets with insidious art, Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart Then soon your ill-plac'd confidence repay, Commence your lords, and govern or betray.

By numbers here from shame or censure free,
All crimes are safe but hated poverty.
This, only this, the rigid law pursues,
This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse.
The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak
Wakes from his dream, and labors for a joke;
With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest;
Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart,
Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.
Has Heaven reserv'd, in pity to the poor,
No pathless waste, or undiscover'd shore?
No secret island in the boundless main?
No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?
Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore,
And bear oppression's insolence no more.
This mournful truth is everywhere confess'd,
Slow rises worth by poverty depress'd:

But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold,
Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are sold:
Where won by bribes, by flatteries implor'd,
The groom retails the favors of his lord.

But hark! th' affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries Roll through the streets, and thunder to the skies: Rais'd from some pleasing dream of wealth and pow'r,

Some pompous palace or some blissful bower,
Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight
Sustain th' approaching fire's tremendous light;
Swift from pursuing horrors take your way,
And leave your little all to flames a prey;
Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam
For where can starving merit find a home?
In vain your mournful narrative disclose,
While all neglect, and most insult your woes.
Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth con.

found,

And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o'er the land the dismal rumor flies,
And public mournings pacify the skies;
The laureate tribe in venal verse relate,
How virtue wars with persecuting fate;
With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band
Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.

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Select Works of the British Poets: In a Chronological Series from Ben Jonson ...