The Man, who, ftretch'd in Ifis' calm retreat,
To books and ftudy gives feven years complete,
See! ftrow'd with learned duft, his nightcap on,
He walks, an object new beneath the fun!
The boys flock round him, and the people ftare: 120
So ftiff, fo mute! fome ftatue you would swear,
Stepp'd from its Pedestal to take the air!
And here, while town, and court, and city roars,
With mobs, and duns, and foldiers, at their doors;
Shall I, in London, act this idle part?
Compofing fongs, for Fools to get by heart?
m The Temple late two brother Sergeants saw,
Who deem'd each other Oracles of Law;
With equal talents, thefe congenial fouls,
One lull'd th' Exchequer, and one frunn'd the Rolls;
Each had a gravity would make you split,
And shook his head at Murray, as a Wit.
Tu me inter ftrepitus nocturnos atque diurnos
Vis canere, et contracta fequi veftigia vatum?
I Ingenium, fibi quod vacuas defumfit Athenas,
Et ftudiis annos feptem dedit, infenuitque
Libris et curis, ftatua taciturnius exit
Plerumque, et rifu populum quatit; hic ego rerum
Fluctibus in mediis, et tempeftatibus urbis,
Verba lyrae motura fonum connectere digner?
Frater erat Romae confulti rhetor; ut alter
Alterius fermone meros audiret honores :
Gracchus ut hic illi foret, huic ut Mucius ille.
Qui minus argutos vexat furor ifte poetas ?
'Twas, "Sir, your law" and "Sir, your eloquence," "Yours, Cowper's manner-and yours, Talbot's fenfe." Thus we difpose of all poetic merit, 135 Yours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's fpirit. Call Tibbald Shakespeare, and he 'll fwear the Nine, Dear Cibber! never match'd one Ode of thine.
140
Lord! how we strut through Merlin's Cave, to fee No Poets there, but Stephen, you, and me. Walk with refpect behind, while we at ease Weave laurel Crowns, and take what names we pleafe, "My dear Tibullus!" if that will not do, "Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you: "Or, I'm content, allow me Dryden's firains, "And you fhall rife up Otway for your pains." Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in peace This jealous, wafpifh, wrong-head, rhyming race;
"Carmina compono, hic elegos; mirabile vifu,
Caelatumque novem Mufis opus. afpice primum,
Quanto cum faftu, quanto molimine circum-
fpectemus vacuam Romanis vatibus aedem.
Mox etiam (fi forte vacas) fequere, et procul audi,
Quid ferat, et quare fibi nectat uterque coronam.
Caedimur, et totidem plagis confumimus hoftem,
Lento Samnites ad lumina prima duello.
Difcedo Alcaeus puncto illius; ille meo quis?
Quis, nifi Callimachus? fi plus adpofcere vifus:
Fit Mimnermus, et optivo cognomine crefcit.
Multa fero, ut placem genus irritabile vatum,
Cun fcribo, et fupplex populi fuffragia capto:
And much muft flatter, if the whim fhould bite
To court applaufe by printing what I write:
But let the fit pafs o'er, I'm wife enough
To ftop my ears to their confounded stuff.
• In vain, bad Rhymers all mankind reject, They treat themselves with moft profound respect; 'Tis to fmall purpose that you hold your tongue, 155 Each prais'd within, is happy all day long: But how feverely with themfelves proceed
The Men, who write fuch Verfe as we can read?
Their own ftrict Judges, not a word they spare,
That wants or force, or light, or weight, or care, 160
Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place,
Nay though at Court (perhaps) it may find grace:
Such they'll degrade; and fometimes, in its ftead,
In downright charity revive the dead;
Idem, finitis ftudiis, et mente recepta,
Obturem patulas impune legentibus aures.
• Ridentur mala qui componunt carmina: verum
Gaudet fcribentes, et fe venerantur, et ultro,
Si taceas, laudant; quidquid fcripfere, beati.
At qui legitimum cupiet feciffe poema,
Cum tabulis animum cenforis fumet honesti:
Audebit quaecunque parum fplendoris habebunt,
Et fine pondere erunt, et honore indigna ferentur,
Verba movere loco; quamvis invita recedant,
Et verfentur adhuc intra penetralia Veftae:
P Obscurata diu populo bonus eruet, atque
Proferet in lucem fpeciofa vocabula rerum,
165
Mark where a bold, expreffive phrase appears,
Bright through the rubbish of fome hundred years;
Command old words that long have slept, to wake,
Words, that wife Bacon, or brave Rawleigh spake;
Or bid the new be English, ages hence,
(For Ufe will father what 's begot by Senfe)
Pour the full tide of eloquence along,
Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong,
Rich with the treasures of each foreign tongue;
Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine,
But fhow no mercy to an empty line:
Then polish all, with fo much life and ease,
You think 'tis Nature, and a knack to please:
"But eafe in writing flows from Art, not chance;
"As thofe move eafieft who have learn'd to dance."
Quae prifcis memorata Catonibus atque Cethegis,
Nunc fitus informis prèmit et deferta vetuftas;
Adfcifcet nova, quae genitor produxerit ufus:
Vehemens et liquidus, puroque fimillimus amni,
Fundet opes, Latiumque beabit divite lingua:
Luxuriantia compefcet: nimis afpera fano
Levabit cultu, virtute carentia tollet:
Laudentis fpeciem dabit, torquebitur, ut qui
Nunc Satyrum, nunc agreftem Cyclopa movetur.
Praetulerim fcriptor delirus inerfque videri,
Dum mea delectent mala me, vel denique fallant,
Quam fapere, et ringi. Fuit haud ignobilis Argis,
9 If fuch the plague and pains to write by rule, 180 Better (fay I) be pleas'd, and play the fool;
Call
Call, if you will, bad rhyming a disease,
It gives men happiness, or leaves them eafe.
There liv'd in primo Georgii (they record)
A worthy member, no small fool, a Lord;
Who, though the House was up, delighted fate,
Heard, noted, anfwer'd, as in full debate:
In all but this, a man of fober life,
Fond of his Friend, and civil to his Wife;
Not quite a madman, though a pafty fell;
And much too wife to walk into a well.
Him, the damn'd Doctors and his Friends immur'd,
They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd; in fhort, they
cur'd:
Qui fe credebat miros audire tragoedos,
In vacuo laetus feffor plauforque theatro:
Caetera qui vitae fervaret munia recto
More; bonus fane vicinus, amabilis hofpes,
Comis in uxorem ? poffet qui ignofcere fervis,
Et figno laefo non infanire lagenae:
Poffet qui rupem, et puteum vitare patentem.
Hic ubi cognatorum opibus curifque refectus,
Expulit elleboro morbum bilemque meraco,
Et redit ad sese: Pol me occidistis, amici,
Non fervaftis, ait; cui fic extorta voluptas,
Et demptus per vim mentis gratiffimus error.
Whereat the gentleman began to ftare
My Friends! he cry'd, p-x take you for your care! 195
That from a Patriot of distinguish'd note,
Have bled and purg'd me to a fimple Vote.
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