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Men, so well read, who confidently wrote, Where moral meaning, or where taste presides,
Their readers could have sworn, were men of note: And wit enlivens but what reason guides :
To pass upon the crowd for great or rare,

Great without swelling, without meanness plain,
Aim not to make them knowing, make them stare. Serious, not silly; sportive, but not vain;
For these blind votaries good Bentley griev'd, On trifies slight, on things of use profound,
Writ English notes-and mankind undeceiv'd: In quoting sober, and in judging sound.
Ia such clear light the serious folly placd,
Ev'n thoa, Browne Willis, thou may'st see the jest.

But what can cure onr vanity of mind,
Deaf to reproof, and to discovery blind?

Let Crooké, a brother scholiast Shakspeare call,
Tibbald, to Hesiod-(ooke returns the ball.

PRESENTED TO THE PRINCE OF ORANGE, ON HIS VISITING So runs the circle still : in th:s, we see

The lackies of the great and learn'd agree.
If Britain's nobles mix in high debate,

Receive, lov'd prince, the tribute of our praise,
Whence Europe, in suspense, attends her fate; This hasty welcome, in unfinish'd lays.
In minie session their grave footmen meet, At best, the pomp of song, the paint of art,
Reduce an army, or equip a fleet:

Display the genius, but not speak the heart; And, rivalling the critic's lotty style,

And oft, as ornament must truth supply, Mere Tom and Dick are Stanhope and Argyll. Are but the splendid colouring of a lie.

Yet those, whom pride and dulness join to blind, | These need not here ; for to a soul like thine, To nartus cares in narrow space confin'd,

Truth, plain and simple, will more lovely shine. Though with big titles each his fellow greets, The truly good but wish the verse sincere: Are but to wits, as scavengers to streets:

They court no flattery, who no censure fear.
The humble black-guards of a Pope or Gay,

Such Nassau is, the fairest, gentlest mind,
To brush off dust, and wipe their spots away. In blooming youth the Titus of mankind,
Or, if not trivial, harmful is their art;

Crowds, who to bail thy wish'd appearance ran, Fume to the head, or poison to the heart.

Forgot the prince, to praise and love the man. Where ancient authors hint at things obscene, Such sense with sweetness, grandeur mix'd with ease! The scholiast speaks out broadly what they mean. Our nobler youth will learn of thee to please: Disclosing each dark vice, well lost to fame, Thy bright example shall our world adorn, And adding fuel to redundant flame,

And charm, in gracious princes, yet unborn. lle, sober pimp to Lechery, explains

Nor deem this verse from venal art proceeds, What Capreæ's Isle, or V—'s Alcove contains : That vice of courts, the soil for baneful weeds. Why Paulus, for his sordid temper known,

Here Candour dwells; here honest truths are taught, Was lavish, to his father's wife alone:

To guide and govern, not disguise, the thought. Why those fond female visits duly paid

See these enlighten'd sages, who preside To tuneful Incuba; and what her trade:

O'er Learning's empire; see the youth they guide: How modern love has made so many martyrs, Behold, all faces are in transport drest! And which keeps oftenest, lady C-, or Chartres. But those most wonder, who discern thee best.

But who the r various follies can explain? At sight of thee, each free-born heart receives The tale is infinite, the task were vain.

A joy, the sight of princes rarely gives; "Twere to read new-year odes in search of thought; From tyrants sprung, and oft themselves design'd, To sum the libels Pryn or Withers wrote;

By Fate, the future Neroes of their kind: To guess, ere one epistle saw the lights,

But though thy blood, we know, transmitted, springs How many dunces met, and club'd their mite; From laurell’d heroes, and from warrior-kings, To vouch for truth what Welsted prints Pope, Through that high series, we, delighted, trace Or from the brother-boobies steal a trope.

The friends of liberty, and human race ! That be the part of persevering Wass",

Oh, born to glad and animate our isle ! With pen of lead; or, Arnall, thine of brass; For thee, our heavens look pleas'd, our seasons smile: A text for Henley, or a gloss for Hearne,

For thee, late object of our tender fears, Who loves to teach, what no man cares to learn. When thy life droop'd, and Britain was in tears,

How little, knowledge reaps from toils like these! All-cheering Health, the goddess rosy-fair, Too doubtful to direct, too poor to please.

Attended by soft suns, and vernal air, [hour, Yet, critics, would your tribe deserve a name, Sought those fam'd springs', where, each afflictive And, fairly useful, rise to honest fame;

Disease, and Age, and Pain, invoke her power: First, from the head, a load of lumber move, She came; and, while to thee the current flows, And, from the volume, all yourselves approve : Pour'd all herself, and in thy cup arose. For patch'd and pilfer'd fragments, give us sense, Hence, to thy cheek, that instant bloom deriv'd : Or leaning, clear from learn'd impertinence, Hence, with thy health, the weeping world reviv'd!

Proceed to emulate thy race divine: See a poem published some time ago under A life of action, and of praise, be thine. that title, said to be the production of several in

Assert the titles genuine to thy blood, genious and prolific heads; one contributing a si- By nature, daring ; but by reason, good. mili, another a character, and a certain gentleman So great, so glorious thy forefathers shone, four shrewd lines wholly made up of asterisks.

No son of theirs must hope to live unknown:

Their deeds will place thy virtue full in sight; 6 See the preface to his edition of Sallust; and Thy vice, if vice thou hast, in stronger light. read, if yon are able, the Scholia of sixteen annotators by him collected, besides his own.

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If to thy fair beginnings nobly true,

These, thy best wealth, with curious choice combin'd, Think what the world may claim, and thou must do: Now treasur'd here, shall form the studious mind: The honours, that already grace thy name, To wits unborn the wanted succours give, Have fix'd thy choice, and force thee into fame. And fire the bard, whom Genius means to live. Ev'n she, bright Anna, whom thy worth has won, “ But, teach thy sons the gentle laws of peace; Inspires thee what to seek and what to shun: Let low Self-love and pedant Discord cease: Rich in all outward grace, th' exalted fair

Their object truth, utility their aim, Makes the soul's beauty her peculiar care.

Ove social spirit reign, in all the same.
O, be your nuptials crownd with glad increase Thus aided arts shall with fresh vigour shoot ;
Of sons, in war renown'd, and great in peace; Their cultur'd blossoms ripen’d into fruit;
Of daughters, fair and faithful, to supply

Thy faded star dispense a brighter ray,
The patriot-race, till Nature's self shall die ! And each glad Muse renew her noblest lay."




When arts and arms, beneath Eliza's smile,
In times long past, ere Wealth was Learning's foe,
And dard despise the worth he would not know;

Spread wide their influence o'er this happy isle ;

A golden reign, uncurst with party rage, Ere mitred Pride, which arts alone had rais’d,

That foe to taste, and tyrant of our age; Those very arts, in others saw, unprais’d;

Ere all our learning in a libel lay, Friend to mankind', a prelate, good and great,

And all our talk, in politics, or play: The Muses courted to this safe retreat:

The statesinan oft would soothe his toils with wit, Fix'd each fair virgin, decent, in her cell, With learned Leisure, and with Peace to dwell.

What Spenser sung, and Nature's Shakspeare writ;

Or to the laurell'd grove, at times, retire, The fabric finish'd, to the sovereign's fame?,

There, woo the Muse, and wake the moving lyre. His own neglecting, he transferred his claim.

As fair examples, like ascending morn, Here, by successive worthies, well was taught

The world at once enlighten and adorn; Whate'er enlightens, or exalts the thought.

From them diffus'd, the gentle arts of peace With labour planted, and improv'd with care,

Shot brightening o'er the land, with swift increase : The various tree of knowledge flourish'd fair:

Rough Nature soften'd into grace and ease;
Soft and serene the kindly seasons rolld,
And Science long enjoy'd her age of gold.

Sense grew polite, and Science sought to please. Now, dire reverse ! impair’d by lapse of years,

Reliev'd from yon rude scene of party-din, A falling waste the Muses' seat appears.

Where open Baseness vies with secret Sin,

And safe embower'd in Woburn's 3 airy groves, O'er her gray roofs, with baneful ivy bound,

Let us recall the times our taste approves; Time, sure destroyer, walks his hostile round:

Awaken to our aid the mourning Muse; Silent, and slow, and ceaseless in his toil,

Through every bosom te der thought infuse; He mines each wall, he moulders every pile!

Melt angry Faction into moral sense, Ruin hangs hovering o'er the fated place:

And to bis guests a Bedford's soul dispense. And dumb Oblivion comes with mended pace.

And now, wbile Spring extends her smiling reign, Sad Learning's genius, with a father's fear,

Green on the mountain, flowery in the plain; Beheld the total desolation near :

While genial Nature breathes, from hill and dale, Beheld the Muses stretch the wing to fly; And fix'd on Heaven his sorrow-streaming eye!

Health, fragrance, gladness, in the living gale ; From Heaven, in that dark hour, commission's The various softness, stealing through the heart, Mild Charity, ev'n there the foremost name. [came

Impressions sweetly social, will impart.

When sad Eudocia pours her hopeless woe, Swift Pity flew before her, softly bright;

The tear of pity will unbidden Aow ! At whose felt influence, Nature smild with light. "Hear, and rejoice!"—the gracious power begun. Holds up himself, a mirror for mankind;

When erring Phocyas, whom wild passions blind, “Already, fir'd by me, thy favourite son This ruin'd scene remarks with filial eyes;

An equal eye on our own hearts we turn, And, from its fall, bids fairer fabrics rise.

Where frailties lurk, where fond affections burne Ev'n now, behold!'where crumbling fragments gray, We mourn the guilty, while the guilt we blame!

And, conscious, Nature is in all the same,
In dust deep-bury'd, lost to memory lay,
The column swells, the well-knit arches bend,
The round dome widens, and the roofs ascend !
“ Nor ends the bounty thus: by him bestow'd,

Here, Science shall her richest stores unload.
Whate'er, long-hid, Philosophy has found;

Or the Muse sung, with living laurel crown'd;

Or History descry'd, far-looking sage,
In the dark doubtfulness of distant age;

To woman, sure, the most severe a fiction

Is, from these fellows, point-blank contradiction. ' Bishop Elphinstone.

* Calling it King's College, in compliment to 3 The Siege of Damascus was acted at Woburn, James II.

by the duke of Bedford, the earl of Sandwich, and


Our bard, without-I wish he would appear- Guilt's hapless servant sinks into a slave;
Ud! I would give it him—but you shall hear- And Virtue's last sad strugglings cannot save.

Good sir!” quoth I--and curtsey'd as I spoke- “ As such our fair attempt, we hope to see “Our pit, you know, expects and loves a joke- Our judges,- here at least from infuence free: 'Twere fit to humour them: for, right or wrong, One place,-unbiass'd yet by party-rage, True Britons never like the same thing long. Where only Honour votes—the British stage. To day is fair--they strut, huff, swear, harangue:- We ask for justice, for indulgence sue: To morrow's foul-they sneak aside, and hang: Our last best licence must proceed from you." Is there a war-peace! peace! is all their cry: The peace is made—then, blood ! they 'll fight

and die.” Gallants, in talking thus, I meant no treason :

IMPROMPTU, I would have brought, you see, the man to reason.

ON A LADY, WHO HAD PASSED SOME TIME IN PLAYING But with some folks, 'tis labour lost to strive: A reasoning mule will neither lead nor drive. He hummd, and haw'd; then, waking from his Why, on this least of little misses, dream,

Did Celia waste so many kisses? Cry'd, I must preach to you his moral scheme.

Quoth Love, who stood behind and smild,
A scheme, forsooth! to benefit the nation!

“ She kiss'd the father in the child."
Some queer, odd whim of pious propagation'!
Lord! talk so, here-the man must be a widgeon :-
Drury may propagate-but not Religion.
Yet, after all, to give the Devil his due,

Our author's scheme, though strange, is wholly new:
Well, shall the novelty then recommend it ?

If not from liking, from caprice befriend it.
For drums and routs, make him a while your passion,
A little while let virtue be the fashion :

In modern as in ancient days, And, spite of real or imagin'd blunders,

See what the Muses have to brag on: Ev'n let him live, nine days, like other wonders. The player in his own post-chaise;

The poet in a carrier's waggon!





When this decisive night, at length, appears, Nerina's angel-voice delights;
The night of every author's hopes and fears,
What shifts to bribe applause, poor poets try!

Nerina's devil-face affrights:

How whimsical her Strephon's fate,
In all the forms of wit they court and lie:
These meanly beg it, as an alms; and those,

Condemn'd at once to like and hate!

But be she cruel, be she kind, By boastful bluster dazzle and impose.

Love! strike her dumb, or make him blind.
Nor poorly fearful, nor securely vain,
Dars would, by honest ways, that grace obtain ;
Would, as a free-born wit, be fairly try'd:
And then-let Candour, fairly too, decide.

He courts no friend, who blindly comes to praise;
He dreads no foe—but whom his faults may raise.

Indulge a generous pride, that bids him own,
He aims to please, by noble means alone;

DEAR Thomas, didst thou never pop
By what may win the judgment, wake the heart, Thy head into a tinman's shop?
Inspiring Nature, and directiug Art;

There, Thomas, didst thou never see-
By scenes, so wrought, as may applause command 'Tis but by way of simile-
More from the judging head, than thundering hand. A squirrel spend its little rage,
Important is the moral we would teach-

In jumping round a rolling cage ?
Oh may this island practise what we preach- Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes,
Vice in its first approach with care to shun; The foolish creature thinks it climbs;
The wretch, who once engages, is undone,

But here or there, turn wood or wire,
Crimes lead to greater crimes, and link so strait, It never gets two inches higher.
What first was accident, at last is fate:

So fares it with this little peer,

So busy and so bustling here; some other persons of distinction, in the month of For ever flirting up and down, May, 1743.

And frisking round his cage, the town. · The profits arising from this play were intended A world of nothing in his chat, to be given, by the author, to the Society for pro- of who said this, and who did that: pagating Christian Knowledge.

With similies, that never hit; * See the prologue to Sophonisba, a joint pro- Vivacity, that has no wit; duction of Pope and Mallet's, in the twelfth volume Schemes laid this hour, the next forsaken; of this collection,

Advice oft ask'd, but never taken:

Still whirl'd, by every rising whim,

But tosses through the midnight shade, From that to this, from her to him ;

Of death, of life, alike afraid ; And when he hath his circle run,

For ever fied to shady cell,
He ends-just where he first begun.

Where Temperance, where the Muses dwell;
Thou oft art seen, at early dawn,
Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn:

Or on the brow' of mountain high,

In silence feasting ear and eye,

With song and prospect, which abound Still hovering round the fair at sixty-four,

From birds, and woods, and waters round, Unfit to love, unable to give o'er;

But when the Sun, with noontide ray, A flesh-fly, that just flutters on the wing,

Flames forth intolerable day; Awake to buz, but not alive to sting;

While Heat sits fervent on the plain,
Brisk where he cannot, backward where he can; With Thirst and Languor in his train;
The teazing ghost of the departed man.

All nature sickening in the blaze :
Thou, in the wild and woody maze,
That clouds the vale with umbrage deep,

Impendent from the neighbouring steep,
ON I. H., E$2.

Will fiod betimes a calm retreat,

Where breathing Coolness has her seat. The youth bad wit himself, and could afford

There, plung'd amid the shadows brown, A witty neighbour his good word.

Imagination lays him down; Though scandal was his joy, he would not swear: Attentive, in his airy mood, An oath had made the ladies stare;

To every murmur of the wood: At them he duly dress'd, but without passion : The bee in yonder flowery nook ; His only mistress was the fashion.

The chidings of the headlong brook;
His verse with fancy glitter'd, cold and faint; The green leaf shivering in the gale;

His prose, with sense, correctly quaint. The warbling hill, the lowing vale ;
Trifles he lov'd; he tasted arts:

The distant woodman's echoing stroke;
At once a fribble, and a man of parts.

The thunder of the falling oak.
From thought to thought in vision led,
He holds high converse with the dead;

Sages, or poets. See they rise !

And shadowy skim before his eyes.
Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again,

That softens savages to men:
Fair morn ascends: soft zephyr's wing

Lo! Socrates, the sent of Heaven, O’er hill and vale renews the spring:

To whom its moral will was given. Where, sown profusely, herb and flower,

Fathers and friends of human kind, Of balmy smell, of healing power,

They form’d the nations, or refin'd; Their souls in fragrant dews exhale,

With all that mends the head and heart, And breathe fresh life in every gale.

Enlightening truth, adorning art. Here, spreads a green expanse of plains,

While thus I mus'd beneath the shade, Where, sweetly pensive, Silence reigns;

At once the sounding breeze was laid : And there, at utmost stretch of eye,

And Nature, by the unknown law, A mountain fades into the sky;

Shook deep with reverential awe. While winding round, diffus'd and deep,

Dumb Silence grew upon the hour: A river rolls with sounding sweep.

A browner night involv'd the bower: Of human art no traces near,

When, issuing from the inmost wood, I seem alone with Nature here!

Appear'd fair Freedom's genius good. Here are thy walks, O sacred Health !

O Freedom! sovereign boon of Heaven; The monarch's bliss, the beggar's wealth;

Great charter, with our being given; The seasoning of all good below!

For which the patr ot, and the sage, The sovereign friend in joy or woe!

Have plann'd, have bled through every age! O thou, most courted, most despis'd,

High privilege of human race, And but in absence duly priz'd!

Beyond a mortal monarch's grace: Power of the soft and rosy face!

Who could not give, nor can reclaim,
The vivid pulse, the vermil grace,

What but from God immediate came!
The spirits when they gayest shine,
Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine !
O Sun of life! whose heavenly ray
Lights up, and cheers, our various day,
The turbulence of hopes and fears,

The storm of Fate, the cloud of years,

Till Nature, with thy parting light,

Reposes late in Death's calm night:
Fled from the trophy'd roofs of state,

The rising morn, serenely still,
Abodes of splendid Pain and Hate ;

Had brightening spread o'er vale and hill, Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep, Not those loose beams that wanton play, Hot Riot would his anguish steep,

To light the mirth of giddy May;


Nor such red heats as burn the plain,

This morn, that bound their mutual row, Jo ardent Summer's feverish reign:

That blest them first, and blesses now, But rays, all equal, soft and sober,

They grateful hail ! and, from the soul, To suit the second of October;

With thousands o'er both heads may roll; To suit the pair, whose wedding-day

Till, from life's banquet, either guest, This Sun now gilds with annual ray.

Embracing, may retire to rest. Just then, where our good-natur'd Thames is Come then, all raillery laid aside, Some four short miles above St. James's,

Let this their day serenely glide: And deigns, with silver-streaming wave,

With mine thy serious aim unite, Th' abodes of earth-born Pride to lare,

And both some proper guests invite; Aloft in air two gods were soaring;

That not one minute's running sand While Putney-cits beneath lay suoring,

May find their pleasures at a stand.” Plung d deep in dreams of ten per cent.

At this severe and sad rebuke, On sums to their dear country lent :

Enough to make a coxcomb puke; Two gods of no inferior fame,

Poor Cupid, blushing, shrugg'd and winc'd, Whom ancient wits with reverence name;

Not yet consenting, though convinc'd : Though wiser moderns much disparage

For 'tis your witling's greatest terrour, I mean the gods of love and marriage.

Ev'n when he feels, to own, his errour. 1 But Cupid first, his wit to show,

Yet, with a look of arch grimace, Assuming a mere modern beau,

He took his penitential face: Whose utmost aim is idie mirtb,

Said, “ 'twas, perhaps, the surer play, Lookd-just as coxcombs look on Earth :

To give your grave good souls their way: Then rais'd his chin, then cock'd his hat,

That, as true humour was grown scarce, To grace this common-place chit-chat.

He chose to see a sober farce; “ How ! on the wing, by break of dawn!

For, of all cattle and all fowl, | Dear brother"—there he forc'd a yawn

Your solemn-looking ass and owl “ To tell men, sunk in sleep profound,

Rais'd much more mirth, he durst aver it, They must, ere night, be gag'd and bound! Than those jack-paddings, pug and parrot.” Who, having once put on thy chain,

He said, and eastward spread his wing, 'Tis odds, may ne'er sleep sound again.

From London some few friends to bring. So say the wits: but wiser folks

His brother too, with sober cheer, Still marry, and contemn their jokes :

For the same end did westward steer: They know, each better bliss is thine,

But first, a pensive Love forlorn, Pure nectar, genuine from the vine !

Who three long weeping years has borne And Love's own hand tbat nectar pours,

His torch revers'd, and all around, Which never fails, nor ever sours;

Where once it flam'd, with cypress bound, Well, be it so: yet there are fools,

Sent off, to call a neighbouring friend, Who dare demur to former rules;

On whom the mournful train attend : Who laugh profanely at their betters,

And bid him, this one day, at least, And find no freedom plac'd in fetters;

For such a pair, at such a feast, But, well or ill, jog on through life

Strip off the sable veil, and wear Without that sovereign bliss, a wife.

His once-gay look and happier air. Leave these at least, these sad dogs free,

But Hymen, speeding forward still, To stroll with Bacchus and with me;

Observ'd a man' on Richmond-hill, And sup, in Middlesex, or Surrey,

Who now first tries a country life; On coarse cold beef, and Fanny Murray."

Perhaps, to fit him for a wife. Thus Cupid -and with such a leer,

But, though not much on this he reckon'd, You would have sworn 'twas Ligonier.

The passing god look'd in and beckond: While Hymen soberly reply'd,

He knows him rich in social merit, Yet with an air of conscious pride :

With independent taste and spirit; “ Just come from yonder wretched scene, Though he will laugh with men of whim, Where all is venal, false, and mean,"

For fear such men should laugh at him. (Looking on London as he spoke)

But lo, already on his way, " ( marvel not at thy dull joke;

In due observance of the day, Nor, in such cant to hear thee vapour,

A friend and favourite of the Nine, Thy quiver lin'd with South-sea paper;

Who can, but seldom cares to shine, Thine arrows featherd, at the tail,

And one sole virtue would arrive at With India-bonds, for hearts on sale ;

To keep his many virtues private : Their other ends too, as is meet,

Who tends, well pleas'd, yet as by stealth, Tipp'd with gold points from Lombard-street. His lov'd companion's ease and health: But could'st thou for a moment quit

Or in his garden, barring out These airs of fashionable wit,

The noise of every neighbouring rout, And re-assume thy nobler name

At pensive hour of eve and prime, Look that way, where I turn my flame

Marks how the various hand of Time He said, and held his torch inclin'd,

Now feeds and rears, now starves and slaughters, Which, pointed so, still brighter shin'd

His vegetable sons and daughters.
“ Behold yon couple, arm in arm,
Whom I, eight years, have known to charm;
And, while they wear my willing chains,

1 A. Mitchell, esq. minister at the court of A god dare swear that neither feigus.



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