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Low-covering, step by step; at last attains
His proper distance; there he stops at once,
And points with his instructive nose upon
The trembling prey. On wings of wind upborne,
The floating net unfolded flies, then drops,
And the poor fluttering captives rise in vain.
Or haply on some river's cooling bank,
Patiently musing, all intent I stand

To hook the scaly glutton. See! down sinks
My cork, that faithful monitor; his weight
My taper angle bends; surprised, amazed,
He glitters in the sun, and struggling, pants
For liberty, till in the purer air

He breathes no more. Such are our pleasing cares
And sweet amusements; such each busy drudge
Envious must wish, and all the wise enjoy.

Thus, most illustrious Prince! have I presumed,
In my obscure sojourn, to sing at ease
Rural delights, the joy and sweet repast
Of every noble mind; and now perchance
Untimely sing, since from yon neighbouring shore
The grumbling thunder rolls; calm Peace alarm’d
Starts from her couch, and the rude din of war
Sounds harsh in every ear. But, righteous Heaven!
Britain deserted, friendless, and alone,

Will not as yet despair: shine but in arms,
O Prince! beloved by all; patron profess'd
Of liberty; with every virtue crown'd;

Millions shall crowd her strand, and her white cliffs,
As Teneriffe or Atlas firm, defy

The break of seas, and malice of her foes,
Nor the proud Gaul prevail where Cæsar fail'd.

GREEN.

THE SPLEEN.

AN EPISTLE

TO MR. CUTHBERT JACKSON.

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THIS motley piece to you I send,
Who always were a faithful friend;
Who, if disputes should happen hence,
Can best explain the author's sense;
And, anxious for the public weal,
Do, what I sing, so often feel.

The want of method pray excuse,

Allowing for a vapour'd Muse;
Nor to a narrow path confined,
Hedge in by rules a roving mind.

The child is genuine, you may trace
Throughout the sire's transmitted face.
Nothing is stolen: my Muse, though mean,
Draws from the spring she finds within;
Nor vainly buys what Gildon1 sells,
Poetic buckets for dry wells.

School-helps I want, to climb on high, Where all the ancient treasures lie,

1 Gildon published a Complete Art of Poetry.

And there unseen commit a theft

On wealth, in Greek exchequers left.
Then where? from whom? what can I steal,
Who only with the moderns deal?
This were attempting to put on
Raiment from naked bodies won :'
They safely sing before a thief,
They cannot give who want relief;
Some few excepted, names well known,
And justly laurell'd with renown,

Whose stamp of genius marks their ware,
And theft detects of theft beware;
From More so lash'd, example fit,
Shun petty larceny in wit.

First know, my friend, I do not mean
To write a treatise on the Spleen;
Nor to prescribe when nerves convulse;
Nor mend the alarum watch, your pulse.
If I am right, your question lay,
What course I take to drive away

The day-mare Spleen, by whose false pleas
Men prove inere suicides in ease;
And how I do myself deinean,

In stormy world to live serene.

When by its magic-lantern Spleen
With frightful figures spreads life's scene,
And threatening prospects urged my fears,
A stranger to the luck of heirs ;

A painted vest Prince Vortiger had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won.'

HOWARD'S British Princes.

2 James More Smith, Esq. See Dunciad, B. ii. 1. 50. and the notes, where the circumstances of the transaction here alluded to are very fully explained.

Reason, some quiet to restore,

Show'd part was substance, shadow more;
With Spleen's dead weight though heavy grown,
In life's rough tide I sunk not down,
But swam, till Fortune threw a rope,
Buoyant on bladders fill'd with hope.

I always choose the plainest food
To mend viscidity of blood.
Hail! water-gruel, healing power,
Of easy access to the poor;

Thy help love's confessors implore,
And doctors secretly adore;

To thee I fly, by thee dilute

Through veins my blood doth quicker shoot,
And, by swift current, throws off clean
Prolific particles of Spleen.

I never sick by drinking grow,

Nor keep myself a cup too low,
And seldom Chloe's lodgings haunt,
Thrifty of spirits which I want.

Hunting I reckon very good

To brace the nerves, and stir the blood;
But after no field honours itch,

Achieved by leaping hedge and ditch.
While Spleen lies soft relax'd in bed,
Or o'er coal-fires inclines the head,
Hygeia's sons with hound and horn,
And jovial cry, awake the morn.
These see her from the dusky plight,
Smear'd by the embraces of the night,
With roral wash redeem her face,
And prove herself of Titan's race,
And, mounting in loose robes the skies,
Shed light and fragrance as she flies.

1

I

Then horse and hound fierce joy display,
Exulting at the hark-away,

And in pursuit o'er tainted ground,
From lungs robust field-notes resound.
Then, as St. George the dragon slew,
Spleen pierced, trod down, and dying view
While all their spirits are on wing,
And woods, and hills, and valleys ring.
To cure the mind's wrong bias, Spleen,
Some recommend the bowling-green;
Some, hilly walks; all, exercise;
Fling but a stone, the giant dies.
Laugh and be well. Monkeys have been
Extreme good doctors for the Spleen;
And kitten, if the humour hit,
Has harlequin'd away the fit.

;

Since mirth is good in this behalf,
At some particulars let us laugh.
Witlings, brisk fools, cursed with half sense,
That stimulates their impotence;

Who buzz in rhyme, and, like blind flies,
Err with their wings, for want of eyes;
Poor authors worshipping a calf,
Deep tragedies that make us laugh,
A strict dissenter saying grace,
A lecturer preaching for a place,
Folks, things prophetic to dispense,
Making the past the future tense,
The popish dubbing of a priest,
Fine epitaphs on knaves deceased,
Green-apron'd Pythonissa's rage,
Great Esculapius on his stage,
A miser starving to be rich,

The prior of Newgate's dying speech,

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