The Poetical Works of Alexander Pope

Such, such emotions should in Britons rise,
When press'd by want and weakness DENNIS lies;
Dennis, who long had warr'd with modern Huns,
Their Quibbles routed, and defy'd their Puns;
A desp'rate Bulwark, sturdy, firm, and fierce
Against the Gothic Sons of frozen verse:
How chang'd from him who made the boxes groan,
And shook the Stage with Thunders all his own!
Stood up to dash each vain PRETENDER'S hope,
Maul the French Tyrant, or pull down the POPE!
If there's a Briton then, true bred and born,
Who holds Dragoons and wooden shoes in scorn:
If there's a Critic of distinguished rage;

If there's a Senior, who contemns this age;

Let him to night his just assistance lend,

And be the Critic's, Briton's, Old Man's Friend.

MACER: A CHARACTER.

[First printed in the Miscellanies of Swift and Pope (1727), and interpreted by Warton to mean James Moore-Smythe (see Dunciad, Bk. II. v. 50). But Bowles thinks it more likely that the character was intended for Ambrose Philips, called 'lean Philips' by Pope (see Farewell to London, p. 472); who 'borrowed' a play from the French, and 'translated' the Persian tales. Mr Carruthers completes the identification by showing a note prefixed to this character on its first publication and speaking of Macer's advertisements for a Miscellany in 1713, to refer to such an advertisement actually issued by Philips in the London Gazette in 1715. As to Philips, see Dunciad, Bk. III. v. 326, et al.]

THEN simple Macer, now of high renown,
First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town,
'Twas all th' Ambition his high soul could feel,
To wear red stockings, and to dine with Steele.
Some Ends of verse his Betters might afford,
And gave the harmless fellow a good word.
Set up with these he ventur'd on the Town,
And with a borrow'd Play, out-did poor Crown2.
There he stopp'd short, nor since has writ a tittle,
But has the wit to make the most of little;
Like stunted hide-bound Trees, that just have got
Sufficient sap at once to bear and rot.
Now he begs Verse, and what he gets commends,
Not of the Wits his foes, but Fools his friends.

[The borrowed play, The Distrest Mother, was, as Carruthers says, from Racine, not, as Bowles says, from Voltaire. It is the Andromaque, and the epilogue was ascribed to Addison.]

ΤΟ

2 [John Crown, who wrote 12 tragedies, 6 comedies, and a masque, in little more than a quarter of a century, died about 1698. As a sample of a borrow'd play, see Geneste's account of Crown's version of Part I. of Henry VI.]

So some coarse Country Wench, almost decay'd,
Trudges to town, and first turns Chambermaid;
Awkward and supple, each devoir to pay;
She flatters her good Lady twice a day;
Thought wond'rous honest, tho' of mean degree,
And strangely lik'd for her Simplicity:
In a translated Suit, then tries the Town,
With borrow'd Pins, and Patches not her own:
But just endur'd the winter she began,
And in four months a batter'd Harridan.
Now nothing left, but wither'd, pale, and shrunk,
To bawd for others, and go shares with Punk.

UMBRA.

[From the Miscellanies. The original of the character has been variously sought in Walter Carey (a F. R. S. and Whig official), Charles Johnson and Ambrose Philips. Umbra' must in no case be confounded with the 'Lord Umbra' of the Satires.]

LOSE to the best known Author Umbra sits,
The constant Index to all Button's Wits1.
"Who's here?" cries Umbra: "only Johnson","—“Oh!
Your Slave," and exit; but returns with Rowe:
"Dear Rowe, let's sit and talk of tragedies:"
Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies.
Then up comes Steele: he turns upon his Heel,
And in a Moment fastens upon Steele;
But cries as soon, "Dear Dick, I must be gone,
For, if I know his Tread, here's Addison.'
Says Addison to Steele, "Tis Time to go;"
Pope to the Closet steps aside with Rowe.
Poor Umbra left in this abandoned Pickle,
E'en sets him down and writes to honest T-3
Fool! 'tis in vain from Wit to Wit to roam;
Know, Sense, like Charity, begins at Home.

TO MR JOHN MOORE, Author of the celebrated Worm-Powder.

[From the

OW much, egregious Moore, are we
Deceiv'd by Shows and Forms!
Whate'er we think, whate'er we see,
All Humankind are Worms.

1 [Button's coffee-house in Covent Garden was the resort of Addison's circle.]

2 [Charles Johnson, a second-rate dramatist.

Miscellanies.]

Man is a very Worm by birth,
Vile, Reptile, weak, and vain!
A While he crawls upon the Earth,
Then shrinks to Earth again.

That Woman is a Worm, we find

E'er since our Grandam's evil;
She first convers'd with her own Kind,
That ancient Worm, the Devil.

The Learn'd themselves we Book-worms name,

The Blockhead is a Slow-worm;

The Nymph whose Tail is all on Flame, Is aptly term'd a Glow-worm:

The Fops are painted Butterflies,

That flutter for a Day;

First from a Worm they take their Rise, And in a Worm decay.

The Flatterer an Ear-wig grows;

Thus Worms suit all Conditions; Misers are Muck - worms, Silk-worms Beaux,

And Death-watches Physicians.

That Statesmen have the Worm, is seen,
By all their winding Play;
Their Conscience is a Worm within,

That gnaws them Night and Day.

Ah Moore! thy Skill were well employ'd,
And greater Gain would rise,
If thou couldst make the Courtier void

The Worm that never dies!

O learned Friend of Abchurch-Lane1,
Who sett'st our entrails free,
Vain is thy Art, thy Powder vain,

Since Worms shall eat ev'n thee.

Our Fate thou only canst adjourn
Some few short years, no more!
Ev'n Button's Wits to Worms shall turn,
Who Maggots were before.

SANDYS' GHOST;

A PROPER NEW BALLAD ON THE NEW OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

AS IT WAS INTENDED TO BE TRANSLATED BY PERSONS OF QUALITY.

[From the Miscellanies. It is obviously not by Gay (see St. 13). Sir Walter Scott, quoted by Roscoe, explains the ballad to refer to a translation of the Metamorphoses published by Sir Samuel Garth (and written by several hands, of which Pope's was one), to supersede the old translation of George Sandys, who died in 1643.]

VE Lords and Commons, Men of Hear how a Ghost in dead of Night, Wit,

And Pleasure about Town; Read this ere you translate one Bit Of Books of high Renown.

Beware of Latin Authors all!

Nor think your Verses Sterling, Though with a Golden Pen you scrawl, And scribble in a Berlin:

For not the Desk with silver Nails,
Nor Bureau of Expense,
Nor Standish well japann'd avails
To writing of good Sense.

With saucer Eyes of Fire, In woeful wise did sore affright

A Wit and courtly 'Squire.

Rare Imp of Phœbus, hopeful Youth
Like Puppy tame that uses
To fetch and carry, in his Mouth,
The Works of all the Muses.

Ah! why did he write Poetry,

That hereto was so civil; And sell his soul for vanity,

To Rhyming and the Devil?

1 [Abchurch (properly Upchurch) Lane, Lombard Street.]

A Desk he had of curious Work,
With glittering Studs about;
Within the same did Sandys lurk,
Though Ovid lay without.

Now as he scratch'd to fetch up Thought,
Forth popp'd the Sprite so thin;
And from the Key-hole bolted out,
All upright as a Pin.

With Whiskers, Band, and Pantaloon,
And Ruff composed most duly;
This 'Squire he dropp'd his Pen full soon,
While as the Light burnt bluely.

"What Fenton will not do, nor Gay,

Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan,
Tom B-t or Tom D'Urfey may,
John Dunton, Steele, or any one.
"If Justice Philips' costive head
Some frigid Rhymes disburses;
They shall like Persian Tales be read,
And glad both Babes and Nurses.

"Let W-rw-k's Muse with Ash-t join?,
And Ozell's with Lord Hervey's:
Tickell and Addison combine,
And P-pe translate with Jervas.
himself, that lively Lord 3,
Who bows to every Lady,
Shall join with F- -9 in one Accord,
And be like Tate and Brady.

"Ho! Master Sam," quoth Sandys' sprite,"
"Write on, nor let me scare ye;
Forsooth, if Rhymes fall in not right,
To Budgell1 seek, or Carey.

"I hear the Beat of Jacob's Drums3,
Poor Ovid finds no Quarter!

See first the merry P

comes 4

In Haste, without his Garter.

"Then Lords and Lordlings, 'Squires and Knights,

Wits, Witlings, Prigs, and Peers! Garth at St James's, and at White's, Beats up for Volunteers.

"Ye Ladies too draw forth your pen,
I where can the hurt lie?
pray
Since you have Brains as well as Men,
As witness Lady W—1—y1o.

"Now, Tonson, list thy Forces all,
Review them, and tell Noses;
For to poor Ovid shall befal
A strange Metamorphosis.

"A Metamorphosis more strange
Than all his Books can vapour;"

To what' (quoth 'squire) 'shall Ovid change?'
Quoth Sandys: "To waste paper."

THE TRANSLATOR.

Egbert SangeR served his apprenticeship with Jacob Tonson, and succeeded Bernard Lintot in his shop at Middle Temple Gate, Fleet Street. Lintot printed Ozell's translation of Perrault's Characters, and Sanger his translation of Boileau's Lutrin, recommended by Rowe, in 1709. Warton.

ZELL11, at Sanger's call, invoked his Muse-
For who to sing for Sanger could refuse?

His numbers such as Sanger's self might use.
Reviving Perrault, murdering Boileau, he
Slander'd the ancients first, then Wycherley;
Which yet not much that old bard's anger raised,
Since those were slander'd most, whom Ozell praised.
Nor had the gentle satire caus'd complaining,
Had not sage Rowe pronounc'd it entertaining:
How great must be the judgment of that writer
Who the Plain-dealer1 damns, and prints the Biter 2!

ΤΟ

THE THREE GENTLE SHEPHERDS.

F gentle Philips will I ever sing,

With gentle Philips shall the valleys ring.
My numbers too for ever will I vary,
With gentle Budgell and with gentle Carey3.
Or if in ranging of the names I judge ill,
With gentle Carey and with gentle Budgell4:
Oh! may all gentle bards together place ye,
Men of good hearts, and men of delicacy.
May satire ne'er befool ye, or beknave ye,

And from all wits that have a knack, God save ye3.

ΤΟ

LINES

WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST.

[LETTER to a Lady (Martha Blount) in Bowles, dated by Carruthers,
September, 1717.]

LL hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade!

ALL

Scene of my youthful loves and happier hours!
Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,

And gently press'd my hand, and said "Be ours!-
Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:

At Court thou may'st be liked, but nothing gain:
Stock thou may'st buy and sell, but always lose,
And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain."

4 [These four lines seem to have suggested Canning's well-known epigram on Hiley and Bragge.]

5 Curll said, that in prose he was equal to Pope; but that in verse Pope had merely a particular knack. Bowles.

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