Page images
PDF
EPUB

As well you might weigh Lead against a Feather, As ever jumble Wit and Law together. On Littleton, Coke gravely thus remarks, (Remember this, ye rhyming Temple Sparks!) "In all our Author's Tenures, be it noted, "This is the fourth Time any Verse is quoted." Which, 'gainst the Muse and Verse, may well imply What Lawyers call a Noli Profequi.

Quit then, dear George, O quit the barren Field,
Which neither Profit nor Reward can yield!
What tho' the sprightly Scene, well-acted, draws
From unpack'd Englishmen unbrib'd Applaufe,
Some Monthly Grub, fome Dennis of the Age,
In Print cries fhame on the degen❜rate Stage.*
If haply Churchill ftrive, with generous Aim,
To fan the Sparks of Genius to a Flame;
If all UNASKED, UNKNOWING, AND UNKNOWN,

By noting thy Desert, he prove his own;
Envy fhall ftrait to Hamilton's Repair,

And vent her Spleen, and Gall, and Venom there,

* Alluding to certain difingenuous and illiberal Criticisms in the Critical Review; wherein the Jealous Wife, a Comedy, and the Author of that Play, as well as his Friends, were at different Times attacked, with equal Virulence and Infolence.

Thee

Thee, and thy Works, and all thy Friends decry,'
And boldly print and publish a rank Lie,

wear your own Hand the flatt'ring Likeness drew, Swear your own Breath Fame's partial Trumpet blew.

Well I remember oft your Friends have said,
(Friends whom the fureft Maxims ever led)
Turn Parfon, Colman, that's the Way to thrive ;
Your Parfons are the happiest Men alive.
Judges, there are but Twelve, and never more,
But Stalls untold, and Bifhops, Twenty-four.,
Of Pride and Claret, Sloth and Ven'son full,
Yon Prelate mark, Right Reverend and dull!
He ne'er, good Man, need pensive Vigils keep
To preach his Audience once a Week to fleep;
On rich Preferments battens at his Eafe,
Nor fweats for Tithes, as Lawyers toil for Fees.

Thus they advis'd. I know thee better far;
And cry, ftick clofe, dear Colman, to the Bar!
If Genius warm thee, where can Genius call
For nobler Action than in yonder Hall?
Tis not enough each Morn, on Term's Approach,
To club your legal Threepence for a Coach;
Then at the Hall to take your filent Stand,
With Ink-horn and long Note-book in your Hand,

Marking

Marking grave Serjeants cite each wife Report, And noting down fage Dictums from the Court, With overwhelming Brow, and Law-learn'd Face, The Index of your Book of Common-place.

These are mere Drudges, that can only plod,
And tread the Path their dull Forefathers trod,
Doom'd thro' Law's Maze, without a Clue, to range,
From fecond Vernon down to Second Strange.
Do Thou uplift thine Eyes to happier Wits!
Dulness no longer on the Woolpack fits;
No longer on the drawling dronish Herd.
Are the firft Honours of the Law conferr'd;
But they, whofe Fame Reward's due Tribute draws,
Whofe active Merit challenges Applause,

Like glorious Beacons, are fet high to view,
To mark the Paths which Genius fhou'd perfue.

O for thy Spirit, Mansfield! at thy Name
What Bofom glows not with an active Flame?
Alone from Jargon born to rescue Law,
From Precedent, grave Hum, and formal Saw!
To ftrip Chican'ry of its vain Pretence,
And marry Common Law to Common Senfe!

Pratt! on thy Lips Perfuafion ever hung!
English falls, pure as Manna, from thy Tongue:

On

n thy Voice Truth may reft, and on thy Plea Jnerring Henley found the juft Decree.

Henley! than whom, to Hardwick's well-rais'd Fame,
To worthier fecond Royal GEORGE cou'd name:
No Lawyer of Prerogative: no Tool
Fafhion'd in black Corruption's pliant School;
Form'd, twixt the People and the Crown to ftand,
And hold the Scales of Right with even Hand!

True to our Hopes, and equal to his Birth,
See, see in Yorke the Force of lineal Worth!
But why their fev'ral Merits need I tell?
Why on each honour'd Sage's Praises dwell?
Wilmot how well his Place, or Fofter fills?
Or fhrew'd Senfe beaming from the Eye of Willes?

Such, while thou fee'ft the public Care engage,
Their Fame increafing with increafing Age.
Rais'd by true Genius, bred in Phoebus' School,
Whofe warmth of Soul found Judgment knew to cool;
With fuch illuftrious Proofs before your Eyes,

Think not, my Friend, you've too much Wit to rife: Think of the Bench, the Coif, long Robe, and Fee, And leave the Prefs to

*******

THE

THE

MOUSE and OYSTER.

W

HEN Midnight's fable Veil o'erspread the
Plain,

When Bats and Fairies, Mice and Morpheus reign,
A bold undaunted Moufe that long defy'd
The various Stratagems that Kate had try'd,
His deftin'd Doom receiv'd, for foon or late,
Both Mice and Monarch's must fubmit to Fate.

Oft was the Moon with filver Luftre crown'd,
Since the nocturnal Pirate march'd his Round;
Soon as his Foe, the Sun, had took his Flight,
Trips forth the little Champion of the Night;
With cautious Tread, fecure from fell Mishap,
Of Pufs, of Poison, or tremendous Trap,
Still at the Head of his rapacious Clan,
He skipt from Shelf to Shelf, from Pan to Pan;
With Nofe fagacious fmoak'd the baited Gin,
Wary and confcious of the Snare within:
Now feafts on rich Variety of Meats,

And oft in Cheese his own Apartments eats;

Regales on Floods of Cream, Ragouts, and Cakes, Of all the Dainties of the Day partakes :

Now

« PreviousContinue »