Because the infult's not on man, but God?

But pray, when others praise him, do I blame? | And each blafphemer quite cfcape the rod,
Call Verres, Wolfey, any odious name?
Why rail they then, if but a wreath of nine,
On all accomplish'd St. John! deck thy thrine?
What! fhall each spur-gall'd hackney of the
day,

When Paxton gives him double pots and pay :
Or each new penfion'd fycophant pretend
To break my windows if I treat a friend;
Then wifely plead, to me they meant no hurt;
But 'twas my gueft at whom they threw the dirt?
Sure, if I fpare the Minifter, no rules
Of honour bind me, not to maul his tools;
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be faid
His faws are toothlefs, and his hatchets lead.
It anger'd Turenne, once upon a day,
To fee a footman kick'd that took his pay:
But when he heard th'affront the fellow gave,
Knew one a man of honour, one a knave;
The prudent Gen'ral turn'd it to a jeft,
And begg'd he'd take the pains to kick the reft:
Which not at prefent having time to do-

F. Hold, Sir, for God's fake! where's the af-
front to you?

Against your worship when had S—k writ?
Or P-ge pour'd forth the torrent of his wit?
Or grant the bard, whofe diftich all commend
(In pow'r a fervant, out of pow'r a friend)
To W-le guilty of fome venial fin;
What's that to you who ne'er was out nor in?
The prieft, whofe flattery bedropt the crown,
How hurt he you? he only ftain'd the gown.
And how did, pray, the florid youth offend,
Whofe fpecch you took, and gave it to a friend?
P. Faith, it imports not much from whom

it came;

Whoever borrow'd could not be to blame,
Since the whole Houfe did afterwards the fame.
Let courtly wits to wits afford fupply,
As hog to hog in huts of Weftphaly;
If one, thro' nature's bounty or his Lord's,
Has what the frugal, dirty foil affords,
From him the next receives it, thick or thin,
As pure a mefs almost as it came in;
The bleffed benefit, not there confin'd,
Drops to the third, who nuzzles clofe behind;
From tail to mouth, they feed and they caroufe:
The laft full fairly gives it to the House.

F. This filthy fimile, this beaftly line
Quite turns my stomach-

P. So does flatt'ry mine:
And all your courtly civit-cats can vent,
Perfume to you, to me is excrement.
But hear me farther, Japhet, 'tis agreed,
Writ not, and Chartres icarce could write or read.
In all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite;
But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot

write;

And muft no cgg in Japhet's face be thrown,
Because the deed he forg'd was not my own?
Muft never patriot then declaim at gin,
Unlefs, good man he has been fairly in?
No zealous paftor blame a failing fpoufe,
Without a ftaring reafon on his brows?

Afk you, what provocation I have had?
The ftrong antipathy of good to bad.
When truth or virtue an affront endures,
Th'affront is mine, my friend, and fhall be your's.
Mine, as a foe profefs'd to falfe pretence,
Who think a coxcomb's honour like his fenfe;
Mine, as a friend to ev'ry worthy mind;
And mine as man, who feel for all mankind.
F. You're ftrangely proud.

P. So proud, I am no flave:
So impudent, I own myself no knave:
So odd, my country's ruin makes me grave.
Yes, I am proud; I must be proud to see
Men not afraid of God, afraid of me:
Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne,
Yet touch'd and fham'd by ridicule alone,

O facred weapon! left for truth's defence;
Sole dread of folly, vice, and infolence!
To all but heav'n-directed hands deny'd;
The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods must guide:
Rev'rent, I touch thee! but with honeft zeal,
To roufe the watchmen of the public weal;
To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,
And goad the prelate flumb'ring in the stall.
Ye tinfel infects! whom a court maintains,
That counts your beauties only by your ftains,
Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!
The Mufe's wing fhall brush you all away:
All his Grace preaches, all his Lordship fings,
All that makes faints of queens, and gods of kings,
All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the press;
Like the laft Gazette, or the last addrefs.

When black ambition stains a public cause,
A monarch's fword when mad vainglory draws,
Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fear,
Not Boileau turn the feather to a star.

Not fo, when diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from Vir tue's fhrine,

Her priestess Muse forbids the good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.
There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than fuch as Anftis cafts into the grave;
Far other ftars than ** and ** wear,
And may defcend to Mordington from Stair;
(Such as on Hough's unfully'd mitre shine,
Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine)
Let Envy howl, while Heav'n's whole chorus
fings,

And baik at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let flatt'ry fick'ning fee the incense rife,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies:
Truth guards the poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal verfe as mean as mine.

Yes, the laft pen for freedom let me draw,
When truth ftands trembling on the edge of law;
Here, laft of Britons! let your names be read;
Are none, none living? let me praise the dead;
And, for that caufe which made your fathers
Fall by the votes of their degen'rate line. [thine,
F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began,
And write next winter more Efays on Man.
Imitations

20. The Traveller ; or, a Proßelt of Swiety *. And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find Inscribed to the Rev. Mr. H. Goldsmith.

Some spot to real happiness conlign'd;

Where my worn foul, each wand'ring hope at rex, By Dr. GOLDSMITH.

May gather bliss to see iny fellows bless'd. REMOTE; unfriended, melancholy: now: but where to find that happiest fpot below,

Or by the lazy Scheld, or wand'ring Po; Who can direct, when all pretend to know? Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor The shuud'ring tenant of the frigid zone Against the houseless ftranger Thuts the door; Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, Extols the treasures of his storiny seas, A weary waste expanding to the skies;

And his long nights of revelry and ease : Where'er I roam, whatever realıns to see, The naked negro, panting at the line, My heart untravell’d, fondly turns to thee : Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine; Still to my brother tums, with ccafeless pain, Basks in the glare, or steins the tepid wave, And drags, at each remove, a length’ning chain. And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.

Eternal bletings crown my carliest friend, Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam; And round his dwelling guardian saints attend; His first, best country, ever is at home. B!css'd bc that (pot where cheerful guests retire; And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,

To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; And estinate the blessings which they thare, Bless'd that abode where want and pain rcpair, Tho' patriots flatter, still Mall wisdoin find And ev'ry stranger finds a ready chair:

An equal portion dealt to all mankind; Bless'd be those feasts, with simple plenty crown'd, As difl're

rent good, by art or nature given, Where all the ruddy family around

To diff'rent nations, makes their blessings even. Laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail, Nature, a mother kind alike to all, Or figh with pitv at fome mournful tale; Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call; Or press the bathful stranger to his food, With food as well the peasant is fupply'd And learn the luxury of dung good!

On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy lide; But me, not destin'd such delights to share, And tho' the rocky-crcstcd fummits froin, My prime of life in wand'ring spent, and care : These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. Impellid, with steps unceasing, to pursue From art morc various are the bleilings fent; Some fleeting good that inocks me with the view; Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content. That, like the circle, bounding earth and skics, Yet these each other's pow's so strong contest, Allures from far, yet as I follow, flies;

That either seeins destructive of the rest. [fails; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment And find no spot of all the world my own. And honour finks where commerce long prevails.

Ev'n now, where Alpine folitudes ascend, Hence ev'ry state, to one lov'd blessing prone, I lit me down a pensive hour to spend;

Conforms and models life to that alone. And plac'd on high, above the form's career, Each to the fav’rite happiness attends, Look downward where an hundred realms appear; And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide, Till carried to excess in cach domain, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. This fav’rite good begets peculiar pain.

When thus Creation's charms around combine, But let us try these truths with closer eyes, Amidít the store, should thankless pride repine? And trace them thro' the prospect as it lies : Say, should the philofophic mind disdain [vain ? Here for a while, my proper cares relign'd; That good which makes each humbler bofom Here let me fit in forrow for mankind; Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, Like yon neglected thrub at random cast, These little things are great to little man ; That shades the steep, and fighs at ev'ry blast, And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind

Far to the right, where Apennine afcends,
Exults in all the good of all mankind. (crown'd; Bright as the summer, Italy extends ;
Ye glittring towns, with wealth and splendor Its uplands floping, deck the mountain's side,
Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round; Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ;
Ye lakes, whose vesels catch the busy gale; Whilcoft some temple's mould'ring tops between,
Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale, With vencrable grandeur mark the fiene.
For me your tributary stores combinc :

Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast,
Creation's heir ! the world, the world is mine! The sons of Italy were furely bleft.
As some lone miser, visiting his store,

Whatever fruits in different climes are found, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground; Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, Whatever blooms in torrid tracts

appear, Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : Whose bright succession decks the varied year; Thus to my breast alternate passions risc, Whatever Iweets salute the northern iky Pleas'd with cach good that Heav'n to man sup- With rernal leaves, that blossom but to die, Yor oft a figh prevails, and sorrows fall, [plics; Thesc, here disporting, own the kindred soil, To see the hoard of human bliss so small; Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil;

* The Reader is not in be informed that chronological order is not intended; but fuck a commixture of caries and later Poems as may furnith the most agrecable variety.