Commas and points they fet exactly right;
And 'twere a fin to rob them of their mite :
Yet ne'er one fprig of laurel grac'd those ribalds,
From flashing Bentley down to piddling Tibalds,
Who thinks he reads, when he but scans and
Spells;
A word-catcher, that lives on fyllables.
Yet ev❜n this creature may fome notice claim, Wrapt round and fanctify'd with Shakespear's
Pretty in amber to obferve the forms
Of hairs, or ftraws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! 20
The thing, we know, is neither rich nor rare;
And wonder how the devil it got there.
Are others angry? I excuse them too:
Well may they rage; I give them but their due.
Each man's true merit 'tis not hard to find; 25
But each man's fecret ftandard is his mind,
That cafting-weight pride adds to emptinefs,
This who can gratify? for who can guess?
The wretch whom pilfer'd paftorals renown,
Who turns a Perfian tale for half a crown,
Juft writes to make his barrenness appear,
And ftrains from hard-bound brains fix lines a
In fenfe ftill wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, fpends little, yet has nothing left ;; † Johnson, who now to fenfe, now nonsense leaning, 35
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning ::
Philips.. Author of the Victim,, and. Cobler. of. Preston..
And he whofe fuftian's so fublimely bad,
It is not poetry, but profe run mad:
Should modeft fatire bid all these translate,
And own that nine fuch poets make a Tate; 40
How would they fume, and ftamp, and roar, and
chafe!
How would they fwear not Congreve's felf was fafe!
Peace to all fuch! but were there one whofe fires
Apollo kindled, and fair fame inspires;
Blefs'd with each talent and each art to please, 45
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 fcornful, yet with fearful eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise; 50
Damn with faint praise, affent with civil leer,
And without fneering, teach the reft to fneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Juft hint a fault, and hefitate diflike;
Alike referv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a fufpicious friend;
Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers befieg'd,
And fo obliging that he ne'er oblig'd;
Who, if two wits on rival themes conteft,
Approves of each, but likes the worft the beft; 60
Like Cato, gives his little fenate laws,
And fits attentive to his own applaufe;
While wits and templars ev'ry fentence raife,
And wonder with a foolish face of praife-
What pity, heav'n! if fuch a man there be? 65
Who would not weep, if Addison were he!
* MACER.
7HEN fimple Macer, now of high renown, First fought a poet's fortune in the town; 'Twas all th' ambition his great foul could feel, To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele. Some ends of verfe his betters might afford, 5 And gave the harmless fellow a good word. Set up with thefe, he ventur'd on the town, And in a borrow'd play outdid poor Crown. There he ftopt fhort, nor fince has writ a tittle, But has the wit to make the moft of little; Like ftunted hide-bound trees, that juft have got Sufficient fap at once to bear and rot.
Now he begs verfe, and what he gets commends, Not of the wits his foes, but fools his friends. So fome coarse country-wench, almost decay'd, Trudges to town, and firft turns chambermaid: Awkward, and fupple each devoir to pay, She flatters her good lady twice a-day ;Thought wondrous honeft, though of mean degree, And ftrangely lik'd for her fimplicity:
In a tranflated fuit then tries the town,
With borrow'd pins, and patches not her own;
But just endur'd the winter fhe began,
And in four months a batter'd harridan.
Now nothing's left, but wither'd, pale, and
To bawd for others, and go fhares with punk. * SYLVIA;
He requested, by public advertifements, the aid of the in
genious, to make up a mifcellany, in 1713.
YLVIA my heart in wondrous wife alarm'd,
Aw'd without fenfe, and without beauty
charm'd:
But fome odd graces and fine flights she had,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad:
Her tongue ftill run on credit from her eyes,
More pert than witty, more a wit than wife :
Good-nature, fhe declar'd it, was her scorn,
Though 'twas by that alone fhe could be born:
Affronting all, yet fond of a good name ;
A fool to pleasure, yet a flave to fame :
Now coy, and fludious in no point to fall,
Now all agog for D——y at a ball:
Now deep in Taylor, and the book of martyrs,
Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres.
Men, fome to bus'nefs, fome to pleasure take; 15
But ev'ry woman's in her foul a rake.
Frail, fev'rish sex! their fit now chills, now burns:
Atheism and fuperftition rule by turns;
And the mere Heathen in her carnal part
Is ftill a fad good Chriftian at her heart.
Hough Artemifia talks, by fits,
Of councils, claffics, fathers, wits
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
Yet in fome things, methinks, fhe fails;
"Twere well, if fhe would pare her nails,
And wear a cleaner fmock.
Haughty, and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such naftiness and so much pride
Are oddly join'd by fate:
On her large fquab you find her spread,
Like a fat corpfe upon a bed,
That lies and ftinks in ftate.
She wears no colours (fign of grace)
On any part, except her face;
All white and black befide:
Dauntless her look, her gefture proud,
Her voice theatrically loud,
And mafculine her ftride.
So have I feen, in black and white,
A prating thing, a magpie hight,
Majestically stalk;
A ftately, worthless animal,
That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
All flutter, pride, and talk.
HRYNE had talents for mankind :
Open fhe was, and unconfin'd,
Like fome free port of trade:
Merchants unloaded here their freight,
And agents from each foreign state
Here first their entry made.
Her learning and good breeding fuch,
Whether th' Italian or the Dutch,
|