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W An CH Cá Let So
Lo TO Th. Di T! To E.C.
" To facrifice Old England's glory,
is Alas, poor Dean ! his only fcope “ “ And inake her infamous in itory :
“ Was to be held a misanthrope : “ When such a tempest shook the land, “ This into general odium drew him; “ How could unguarded Virtue stand! “ Which if he lik'd, much good may 'do bit.
“ With horror, grief, despair, the Dean “ His zeal was not to lath our crimes, « Beheld the dirc dcftructive scene :
“ But discontent against the times: “ His friends in exile, or the Tower,
“ For, had we made him timely offers “ Himself within the frown of power ;
“ To raise his post, or fill his coffers, “ Pursued by base-invenom'd pens,
Perhaps he might have truckled down, “ Far to the land of land fens;
“ Like other brethren of his gown; “ A servile race in folly nurs'd,
“ For party he would scarce have bled :• Who truckle most when treated worst., “I say no more--because he's dead. " By innocence and resolution,
“What writings has he left behind ?" “ He bore continual perfecution ;
" I hear they're of a different kind: “ While numbers to preferment rose,
“ A few in verse, but most in profe.” “ Whofe merit was to be his focs;
“ Some high-flown pamphlets, I fuppofi: “ When ev'n his own familiar friends,
“ All scribbled in the worst of times, “ Intent upon their private ends,
“ To palliate his friend Oxford's crimes; “ Like renegadocs now he feels
“ To praise Queen Anne; nay more, defend Bea, “ Against him lifting up their heels.
“ As never favouring the Pretender : “The Dean did, hy his pen, defeat
“ Or libels yet conceald from fight, « An infamous destructive cheat ;
“ Againft the court to fhew his ipite : “ Taught fools their interest how to know, “ Perhaps his travels, part the third ; “ And gave them arms to ward the blow. “ A lye at every second word Envy hath own'd it was his doing,
“ Offensive to a loyal ear : ~ To Save that hapless land from ruin; a But not one fermon, you may fwear." • While they who at the steerage stood,
“ He knew an hundred pleasing stories, ". And reap'd thc profit, fought his blood. “ With all the turns of Whigs and Tories: “ To fave them from their cvil fate,
“ Was cheerful to his dying day; • In him was held a crime of state.
“ And friends would let him have his way. “ A wicked monster on the bench,
“ As for his works in verse or prose, “ Whole fury blood could never quench; “I own myself no judge of those. “ As vile and profligate a villain,
“ Nor can I tell what critics thought them; “ As modern Scroggs, or old Treflilian; “ But this I know, all people bought them, “ Who long all justice had ditcarded,
“ As with a moral view delign'd Nor fear'å hc God, nor man regarded ;
“ To please and to reform mankind: • Vow'd on the Dean his rage to vent,
“ And, if he often miss'd his aim, " And make him of his zeal repent.
" The world muft own it, to their shame, " But Heaven his innocence defends,
“ The praise is his, and theirs the blame. “ Thc grateful people stand his friends :
gave the little wealth he had “ Not strains of law, nor judges frowa,
“ To build a house for fools and mad; “ Nor topics brought to pleate the crown, “ To fhew, by one latiric touch, • Nor witness hir'd, nor jury pick'd,
“ No nation wanted it so much. “ Prerail to bring him in conviet.
“ That kingdom he hath left his debtor, " In exile, with a steady heart,
“ I wish it-foon may have a better. “ He spent his life's declining part;
* And, fince you dread no farther lashes, “ Wherc folly, pride, and faction (way, “ Methinks you may forgive his alhes." 6 Remote froin St. John, Pope, and Gay."
EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, AND OTHER LITTLE PIECES.
Blind was the bard that sung Achilles' rage,
beft is whet, So wie is by politencís sharpeit set;
He lung, and begg's, and curs'd th’ungiving at:
If Britain his translated long would breat,
First take the gold-then charm the lift’ning eat;
So Thall thy father Homer smile to see Advice to Mr. Pope, on bis intended Translation of
His penfion paid, tho' late--and paid to thice.
Under the Print of Tom Britton, be afra
Did gentle peace and arts unpurchas'd
Well pleas'd, Apollo thither lcd his train,
Y sickly spouse, with many a figh;
Oft tells me-Billy, I shall die :
I griev'd, but recollected straight
'Tis bootlefs to contend with fate :
Prepar'd me for succeeding ill.
'Twas Heaven's will—to spare my wife. THI’inspiring muses, and the god of love,
Which most should grace the fair Melinda cent
S at Temple a boat,
he would The muses more enrich'd her mind with arts,
[streams Tho' Greece in thining temples heretofore Which way! says the Doctor; why, fool, with the Did Venus and Minerva's pow'rs adore,
To Paul's or to Lambeth'twas all one to him. The ancients thought no single goddess fit To reign at once o'er beauty and o'er wit; On a Prela:e's going out of Church in Time of DiEach was a sep’rate claim ; till now we find vine Service; to wait on the Lord Lieutenant of The diff'rent titles in Melinda join'd.
LORD Pam in the church (could you think it?) AN
N Opera, like a pill'ry, may be said
His ftation despising, unaw'd by the place;
He flies from his God to attend on his Grace:
To the court it was fitter to pay his devotion,
Hum'rous fellow in a tavern late,
here we fee : Being drunk and valiant, gets a broken pate; They're born in others, but they live in thee. The surgeon, with his instruments and skill, o were our author with thy converte blest, Searches his skull, deeper and deeper still, Could he behold the virtues of thy breast; To feel his brains, and try if they were sound; His needless labours with contempt he'd view, And, as he keeps ado about the wound, And bid the world not read--but copy you.
The fellow cries --Good surgeon, spare your pains,
When I began this brawl I had no brains.
Y fav’ring wit, Mæcenas purchas'd fame, vow, quoth Roger, lo
Virgil's own works immortaliz'd his name: And with the self-fame
A double thare of faine is Dorfet's due,
At once the patron and the poct too.
» an eminent Modern Preacher:
For, , his rich, gloves white; When thro' the dreary wastes they took their way, with what a zeal he labours to be prais'd!
Bchold his notes display'd, his body rais d;
No stubborn finner able to withstand
The force and reas'ning of his wig and hand:
On moral duties when his tongue refines,
Adorn’d with charms and beauty not her own; What Matthew says, or Mark, the proof but finall; Where Hogarth, pitying nature, kindly made What Locke or Clarke afferts, good scripture all: Such lips, luch eyes, as Chloe never had; Ye Gods! The cries, in ecstasy of heart,
Touch'd with each weaknesswhich he doesarraigne How near can nature be exprcss'd by art !
With vanity he talks against the vain;
With oftentation does to meekness guide,
Proud of his periods leveli'd against pride;
Ambitiously the love of glory Ilights,
And damns the love of fame--for which he writes:
THE Latin word for cold, one ask'd his friend;
WHEN E depois hoft God's chosen tribe pur- POLLIO must needs to prendere vesciare;
Similis fimili gaudet:
On the offering made by kirg janies I. & aga; THE world's a book, writ by th' eternal art
Comedy, callca 1 be Mariage of Arts. of the great Author; printed in man's heart: AT Chrift-Church Marriage, plajd before the 'Tis falicly printed, tho' divinely penn'd;
king, And all th crrata will appear at th' end.
Left these learn'd mates should want an offering
He offer 3, twice or thrice, to go away. On the Battle of ibe Books. SWIFT for the ancients has argued fo well, A Country Parson's Answer to a rouz Lata 'Tis apparent from thence that the moderns fert bim ber Compliments on tbé Tez of Hez. excel.
YOUR Compliments, dear Lady, pray fers
Old Englith services are more fincere.
Welshman and an Englishman disputed,
You send ten bearts; the tythe is only mir: state; The Englishman the Welthman quite confuted,
By Dr. Donxe.
AM unable, yonder beggar cries,
To stand or go; if he lays true, he lyes. Ay, quoth the other, cach man toaits his chocfe.
MOORE always smiles whenever he recizes: From ibe Lasin.
He finiles, you think, approving whar ke 'UNHAPPY, Dido, was thy fate,
And yet in this no vanity is shewn; (uris. In firit and second wedded state!
A modeft man may like what's not his own. Oic husbind caus'd thy flight by dying, Thy death the other caue'd by tlying.
FRIEND, in your Epitaphs I'm griev'd,
So very much is laid:
The other never read.
atrend, Who, in his life-time, sav'd a candle's end ! To Mr. Thomson, wo bad procured the desea
DESNIS. The Himmorrift. Imitated from Martial. REfecting on thy worth, merhinks I had
Thy various seasons in their author's mat IN all thy humours, whether grave or mellow,
Thou’rt fuch a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow, spring opes her blossoms, various as thy muk; Haft to much wit, and inirtli, and splcen, about And, like thy soft compaffion, sheds her devi!
Summer's hot drought in thy expression glons, thee, There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
And o'er each page a tawney ripenefs turons.
Who taftes the meaning purpose of thy tirass. A
Haughty courtier meeting in the streets Winsor-but that no Temblance takes from thes;
A icholar, bin thus infolently greets : That hoary season yields a type of me. Bale men to take the wall I ne'er permit. Shatter'd by Tine's bleak storms I with'ring la, The scholar fail, I do; and gave him it. Leatiess, and whit'ning in a cold decay !
Yet thall my propless ivy, pale and bent, TIIUS with kind words Sir Edward cheer'd his Bless the short funtine which thy pity lent.
friend : Dear Dick! thou on my friendship mayît depend;
ATTERBURY. I know thy fortune is but very scant; FL
FLAVIA thc Icast and frightest roy But, be affur'd, I'll ne'er fee Dick in wart.
Can with resistless art employ : Dick's foon sopfin'd-his friend, no doubt, would This Fan in meaner hands would prove free him :
An engine of small force in love;
Not to be told, or safely seen,
Direets its wanton motions fo,
That it wounds more than Cupid's bow;
To ev'ry other breast a flame.
To the Author of an Epitapb on Dr. Mezi. Ovou a tribute from cach muse is due ;
; Tor surely none but you, with equal café,'.
MEAD's not dead then, you say, only sleepik
a little; Could add to David, and make D'C'rrey płcafe. Why, egad! Sir, you're hit it off there to atink:
Yet, friend, his awaking I very much doubt
YE little wits, that gleam'd awhile, Pluto knows who he's got, and will nc'er let him While Pope vouchsaf'd a ray;
Alas ! depriv'd of his kind sinile,
How toon ye fade away!
To compass Phæbus' car about,
Each tends his cloud to put him out,
Thar rear'd him to the skies. Adiniring, won't admire :
Alas! these skies are not your sphere; While wayward pens thy worth affail,
There he shall ever burn: And envious tongues decry;
Weep, weep, and fall; for earth ye were,
And mult to earth return.
Written in a Lady's Prayer-Book. LANSDOWNER When with thy Homer thou shalt thine
IN vain, Clarinda, night and day In one establish'd faine :
For mercy to the Gods you pray: When none thall rail, and ev'ry lay
What arrogance, on Heaven to call
For that which you deny to all!
So much, my Pope, thy English Iliad charms,
As picy melts us, or as paltion warms,
That after ages thall with wonder seck
Who 'twas translated Homer into Greek,
THE golden hair that Galla wcars, Fourd fiuck on the Statue of the Moor which sup- Is hers: who would have thought it?
poris the Sun Dial in Clements-Inn. She swears, 'tis hers; and true The swears, IN vain, poor fable son of woe,
For I know where she bought
To Lady Isabella Tbynne, cutting Trees in Paper. For mercy dwells not here.
WALLER. From cannibals thou Hed'st in vain;
AIR hand, that can on virgin paper write, Lawyers less quarter give;
Yet from the stain of ink preserve it white; The first won't eat you till you're llain,
Whole travel o'er that filver field does shew The last will do't alive.
Like tracks of leverets in morning snow :
Love's image thus in purest minds is wrought, By HACKETT.
Without a Ipot or bleinilh to the thought. WHEN Jack was poorthe lad was frank and free; Strange, that your fingers should the pencil foil,
Of late he's grown brimfulof pride and pelf; You wonder that he donc remember me;
Without the help of colours or of oil ! W'hy fo? You fce he has forgot himself.
For tho' a painter boughs and leaves can make, 'Tis yours alove to makc them bend and shake;
Whose breath falutes your new-created grove, BY PRIOR.
Like southern winds, and makes it gently more. To John I ow'd great obligation, But John unhappily thought fit
Orpheus could make the forest dance, but you
Can make the motion and the forest too,
A poet, when he would describe his mind,
Your works are read wherever there are men : On the Burser of St. Jobn's College in Oxford cut. So far the scillars goes beyond the pen.
ting dozun is fine Rozu of Trees. EVANS.
So very hard thou lov'st to drive,
I heard thy anxious coachman say,
It cost the more in whips than hay.
A Cure for Poetry,
OW ill the motiony with the music suits, SEVEN wealthy towns contend for Homer dea!, Sd Orpheus play'd, and like them danc'd the Thro' which the living Homer begg'd liis brutcs.
On some Snow which melted in a Lady's Breaft. Written on the Bed-chamber Door of Charles II.
lies our forereign lord the King,
Whose word no man relies on;
He never says a foolish thing,
Nor ever does a wise one.
The French Poet.
Would seem a foil on one less fair;
And you in pity plac'd it there.
Venus stood bathing in a river ;
Cupid a lhooting went that way,
With skill he chose his sharpest dart ;
Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
The too well guided arrow flew.
I faint! I die! the goddess cried:
O cruel! couldst thou find none other
To wreak thy spleen on, parricide?
Like Nero, thod haft flain thy mother.
Poor Cupid, sobbing, scarce could speak;
Alas ! how easy my mistake!
From tbe Greek. PRIOR.
VENUS, take my votive glass :
Since I am not what I was;
What from this day I shall be,
Venus, let me never see!
Or, lest we should be by and by;
Written on a Glass, by a Gentleman cvás kerroranti
the Earl of Chejferfield's Diamond Pexci.
ACCEPT a miracle, instead of wit;
Sce two dull lines by Stanhope's pencil uzit
On Lady Mancbrfier.
Beheld this beauteous stranger there,
Confusion in their looks they shew'd,
And with unusual blushes glow'd.
your likeness, Chloc.
O'er the pale checks an artful red,
The coward sneaks to death, the brave liveom.
By PRIOR. his death-bed
They both express their care.
The same effect may give;
His vifc--that he may live.
For all night long I spoke not once :