Page images

W An CH Cá Let So

[ocr errors]


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."

[ocr errors][merged small]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]


[ocr errors]


[ocr errors][ocr errors]


Blind was the bard that sung Achilles' rage,
AS in smooth oil the razor

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,
Thcir want of edge from their offence is seen,
Buth pain us least when exquisitely keen.

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
THOƯ who, with a happy ,

Small-coal Mar.
Crown'd on thy Windfor's plains with early bays
Bc early wilo, nor trust to barren praise;



Homei, 1714.


[ocr errors]


Did gentle peace and arts unpurchas'd





Well pleas'd, Apollo thither lcd his train,

Y sickly spouse, with many a figh;
And music warbled in her sweetest strain :

Oft tells me-Billy, I shall die :
Cyllenius so, as fables tell, and Jove,

I griev'd, but recollected straight
Came willing guests to poor

Philemon's grove.

'Tis bootlefs to contend with fate :
Let useless pomp behold, and blush to find So resignation to Heaven's will
So low a station, such a lib'ral mind.

Prepar'd me for succeeding ill.
'Twas well it did; for, on my life,

'Twas Heaven's will—to spare my wife. THI’inspiring muses, and the god of love,

Which most should grace the fair Melinda cent

Love arm'at her with his bow and keeneft darts, AThevackraanaga him which

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
To nail our Ears down, but expose our Head. When; told that the Duke was just come to town,

His ftation despising, unaw'd by the place;
UCIA thinks happiness consists in state ;

He flies from his God to attend on his Grace:
She weds an ideot, but she eats in plate.

To the court it was fitter to pay his devotion,
Since God had no Ihare in his lordship's promo:

To tbe Hon. Mrs. Percival, with Hutcheson's
Treatise on Beauty and Order. GRIERSON.


Hum'rous fellow in a tavern late,
TH'internal senses painted

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.
ACK, eating rộtten cheese, did say,
Like Samson, I my thousands Nay :


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,
weapon too.

At once the patron and the poct too.
On God's Omni

» an eminent Modern Preacher:
In crystal walls tħ'admiring waters food;

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;
The rocks relented, and pour’d forth a fea!
What limits can th' Almighty goodness know,

No stubborn finner able to withstand
Since seas can harden, and since rocks can now! Much better pleas'd, fo pious his intent,

The force and reas'ning of his wig and hand:
With five that laugh than fifty who repent :

On moral duties when his tongue refines,
WHEN Chloe's pi&ture was to Chioe shewn, Tully and Plate are his beft divines ;

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;
Well! it is wondrous like !--nay, let me die,

With oftentation does to meekness guide,
The very pouting lip, the killing cye!.

Proud of his periods leveli'd against pride;
Blunt and severe as Manly in the play,

Ambitiously the love of glory Ilights,

And damns the love of fame--for which he writes:
Downright replics--Like, Madam! do you say?
The picture bears this likeness, it is true :
The canvas painted is, and so are you.

THE Latin word for cold, one ask'd his friend;
It is, said he --'tis at my fanger's end,


you do,


WHEN E depois hoft God's chosen tribe pur- POLLIO must needs to prendere vesciare;

Similis fimili gaudet:


The World,

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
The king himself did offet—what, I pray!

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,
Which of their lands maintain d the greatest Give me but one, and burn the other nine.

You send ten bearts; the tythe is only mir: state; The Englishman the Welthman quite confuted,

By Dr. Donxe.
The Welthman yer would not his vaunts abate:
Ten cooks, quoth he, in Wales; one wedding fees. I

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:
On ike Funeral of Vulture Hopkins. One half will never be believ'd,

The other never read.
WHAT num'rous ligkes this wretch's corpsu

atrend, Who, in his life-time, sav'd a candle's end ! To Mr. Thomson, wo bad procured the desea

Bcnefit Nigbe.

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.
Autumn's rich fruits th'instructed reader gaiss,

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;

The Fun.

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;
His word he kepe-in want he ne'er wou'd see him. Yct fae, with graceful air and mien,

Not to be told, or safely seen,

Direets its wanton motions fo,
WHEN nen of to grandeue foar,

That it wounds more than Cupid's bow;
They light a torch to thew their lhame the Gives coolness to the matchless dame,

To ev'ry other breast a flame.
To Henry Purcel.

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 Mr. Pope.

To compass Phæbus' car about,
WHILE malice, Pope, denies thy page Thus empty vapours rise ;
Its own celestial fire;

Each tends his cloud to put him out,
While critics and while bards in rage,

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,
These times tho'many a friend bewail,

And mult to earth return.
These times bewail not I.
But when the world's loud praise is thine,
And spleen no more thall blame ;

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
Devote a wreath to thec :

For that which you deny to all!
That day. (for come it will)--that day
Shall I lament to see.

So much, my Pope, thy English Iliad charms,
Britisi Oeconomiy.

As picy melts us, or as paltion warms,

That after ages thall with wonder seck
IN merry old England it once was a rule,

Who 'twas translated Homer into Greek,
The King had his poct, and also his fool :
But now we're to frugal, I'd have you to know it,
Poor Cibber must serve both for fool and for poet.


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
Thou seek'st the tender tear;
From thee in vain with pangs they flow,

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,
To publish it to all the nation.
Sure John and I are more than quit.

A poet, when he would describe his mind,
Is, as in language, so in fame, confin'd:

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.
VDULGENT nature to cach kind bestows
A secret instinct to discern its foes :

The goose, a filly bird, avoids the fox; THY nags, the leanest things alive,
Lambs fly from wolves, and sailors ftver from rocks:

So very hard thou lov'st to drive,
A rogue the gallows as his fate forcfees,

I heard thy anxious coachman say,
And bears the like antipathy to trees.

It cost the more in whips than hay.
Good Muf, and bad Dancers.

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.



[ocr errors]

u 3


On some Snow which melted in a Lady's Breaft. Written on the Bed-chamber Door of Charles II.

THE envious snow comes down in haste
To prove thy breast less fair;


lies our forereign lord the King,
But grieves to see itself surpast,

Whose word no man relies on;
And melts into a tear.

He never says a foolish thing,

Nor ever does a wise one.

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]


[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]


The French Poet.
WHEN old Elijah, as the scriptures say, THAT little patch upon your face
Triumphant mounted to the realm of day,

Would seem a foil on one less fair;
His spirit doubled, and his cloak beside, On you it hides a killing grace,
He gave Elisha, by long service tried.

And you in pity plac'd it there.
Triitan from hence would fain example take
For honest Quinault, his disciple's fake :
But this, alas ? injurious fate denied,

By Prior.
For Tristan poorer than a prophet died. AS afternoon one fummer's day,
To Quinault thus the bard expiring spoke:

Venus stood bathing in a river ;
My wit I leave thee-but I have no cloak.”

Cupid a lhooting went that way,
New frung his bow, new fill'd his quirer.

With skill he chose his sharpest dart ;
N Grace, Free-wvill, and Myft'ries high, With all his might his bow he drew:
Two wits harangu'd the table;

Swift to his beauteous parent's heart
Bly believes he knows not why,

The too well guided arrow flew.
N. -th swears 'tis all a fable.

I faint! I die! the goddess cried:
Peace, ideots, peace ! and both agrce;

O cruel! couldst thou find none other
Nah, kiss thy empty brother ;

To wreak thy spleen on, parricide?
Religion laughs at foes like thee,

Like Nero, thod haft flain thy mother.
But dreads a friend like t'other,

Poor Cupid, sobbing, scarce could speak;
Indeed, Mama, I did not know ye :

Alas ! how easy my mistake!
PoXon't. quoth Time to Thomas Hearne,

I took
Whatever I forget you learn.


Answered by Mr. WEST.
Dit, quoth Hearne, in furious fret,

From tbe Greek. PRIOR.
Whate'er I learn you soon forget.

VENUS, take my votive glass :

Since I am not what I was;
Dr. ALDRICH's Five Reasons for Drinking.

What from this day I shall be,

Venus, let me never see!
GOOD wine; a friend; or, being dry;

Or, lest we should be by and by;
Or, any other reason why.

Written on a Glass, by a Gentleman cvás kerroranti

the Earl of Chejferfield's Diamond Pexci.

ACCEPT a miracle, instead of wit;
THYRSIS, a vouth of the inspired train,

Sce two dull lines by Stanhope's pencil uzit
Fair Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain :
Like Phæbus sung the no less am'rous boy;
Like Daphne she, as lovely and as coy.

On Lady Mancbrfier.
With numbers he the Aying nymph pursues,
With numbers such as Phæbus' self inight use;
All but the nymph who should redress his wrong, In native charms divinely fair

Beheld this beauteous stranger there,
Artend his pailion, and approve his song :
Like Phæbus thus acquiring unsought praise,

Confusion in their looks they shew'd,
He catch'd at love, and hill'd his arins with bays.

And with unusual blushes glow'd.

[ocr errors]

your likeness, Chloc.

WHILST haughty Gallia's dames, that spread

O'er the pale checks an artful red,



WHEN all the blandishments of lite are gone,

The coward sneaks to death, the brave liveom.

By PRIOR. his death-bed


Simon lies,
His 1pouse is in despair :
With frequent fobs and mutual cries

They both express their care.
A diff'rent caufi, says Parson Sly,

The same effect may give;
Poor Simon fears that he thall dic,

His vifc--that he may live.

By Banks.
YOUNG Courtly takes me for a dunce;

For all night long I spoke not once :
On better grounds I think him such :
He spoke but once, yct once too much.

« PreviousContinue »