How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe! And swear, not Addison himself was safe. 195 200 Peace to all fuch! but were there one whofe fires True Genius kindles, and fair Fame infpires; Bleft with each talent and each art to please, 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 jealous eyes, And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise; 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 hesitate diflike; Alike referv'd to blame, or to commend, A timorous foe, and a fufpicious friend; Dreading ev'n fools, by Flatterers besieg'd, And fo obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd; Like Cato, give his little Senate laws, And fit attentive to his own applause; While Wits and Templars every fentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praiseWho but muft laugh, if fuch a man there be? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he! VARIATION. After ver. 208, in the MS. Who, if two Wits on rival themes conteft, Approves of each, but likes the worst the best. 205 210 Alluding to Mr. Pope's and Tickell's Tranflation of the firft Book of the Iliad.. What 220 What though my name flood rubric on the walls, 215 Or plaister'd pofts, with claps, in capitals? Or fmoaking forth, a hundred hawkers load, On wings of winds came flying all abroad? I fought no homage from the race that write; I kept, like Afian Monarchs, from their fight: Poems I heeded (now berhym'd fo long) No more than thou, great George! a birth-day fong. I ne'er with wits or witlings pafs'd my days, To spread about the itch of verse and praise; Nor, like a puppy, daggled through the town, To fetch and carry fing-fong up and down; Nor at Rehearsals fweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd, With handkerchief and orange at my fide; But, fick of fops, and poetry, and prate, To Bufo left the whole Caftalian ftate. Proud as Apollo on his forked hill, Sate full-blown Bufo, puff'd by every quill; Fed with foft Dedication all day long, 225 230 Horace and he went hand and hand in fong. 235 Who firft his judgment afk'd, and then a place; VARIATION. After ver. 234, in the MS. To Bards reciting he vouchfaf'd a nod, Much Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his feat, 240 He paid fome bards with port, and fome with praise, And others (harder still) he paid in kind. 245 May fome choice patron blefs each grey goofe quill! May every Bavius have his Bufo ftill! 250 So when a Statesman wants a day's defence, Or Envy holds a whole week's war with Sense, May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands! Of all thy blameless life the fole return 255 My Verfe, and Queensberry weeping o'er thy urn! 260 Oh let me live my own, and die fo too! (To live and die is all I have to do :) Maintain a Poet's dignity and ease, And fee what friends, and read what books I please: Above a Patron, though I condefcend Sometimes to call a Minifter my friend. 265 I was not born for Courts or great affairs: Can Can fleep without a Poem in my head, Why am I afk'd what next fhall fee the light? 66 (Cries prating Balbus) something will come out." 'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will. "No, fuch a Genius never can lie ftill;" Poor, guiltlefs I! and can I chufe but smile, 270 280 VARIATIONS. After ver. 270, in the MS. Friendships from youth I fought, and feek them ftill: After ver. 282, in the MS. P. What if I fing Auguftus, great and good? Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound, Curft Why Curft be the verfe, how well foe'er it flow, Or from the foft-ey'd Virgin fteal a Tear! 285 290 295 300 And fees at Cannons what was never there; Satire of fenfe, alas! can Sporus feel? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? VARIATION. Why write at all?-A. Yes, filence if you keep, VOL. XLVI. M P. Yet |