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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

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


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

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.

Nor one that temperance advance, Cramm'd to the throat with ortolans: Extremely ready to refign

§ 19.

Imitations of Horace. POPE.

EPISTLE VII. Imitated in the manner of Dr. Swift.


IS time, my Lord, I gave my word I would be with you, June the third; Chang'd it to Auguft, and, in fhort, Have kept it as you do at court. You humour me when I ain sick, Why not when I am splenetic ? In town, what objects could I meet? The fhops fhut up in ev'ry ftrect, And fun'rals black'ning all the doors, And yet more melancholy whores! And what a duft in ev'ry place? And a thin court that wants your face, And fevers raging up and down, And W

and H** both in town!

"The dog-days are no more the cafe." 'Tis true, but winter comes apace: Then fouthward let your bard retire, Hold out fome months 'twixt fun and fire, And fhall fee the firft warm weather, you Me and the butterflies together.

My Lord, your favours well I know;
'Tis with diftinction you bestow;
And not to ev'ry one that comes,
Juft as a Scotfman does his plums.

Pray take them, Sir, enough's a feast:
'Eat fome, and pocket up the rest'—
What, rob your boys? thofe pretty rogues!
No, Sir, you'll leave them to the hogs.'
Thus fools with compliments befiege ye,
Contriving never to oblige ye.
Scatter your favours on a fop,
Ingratitude's the certain crop;
And 'tis but juft, I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wife man always is or fhou'd
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a diff'rence in his thought
Betwixt a guinea and a groat.

Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me
A fafe companion, and a free;
But if you'd have me always near-
A word, pray, in your Honour's car:
I hope it is your refolution
To give me back my conftitution!
The fprightly wit, the lively eye,
Th'engaging finile, the gaiety,
That laugh'd down many a fummer fun,
And kept you up fo oft till one:
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda rais'd my ftrain.
A weazel once made fhift to flink
In at a corn-loft thro' a chink;
But having amply stuff'd his fkin,
Could not get out as he got in:
Which one belonging to the house
('Twas not a man, it was a mouse)
Obferving, cry'd, ' You, 'scape not so,
'Lean as you came, Sir, you must go.'
Sir, you may fpare your application,
I'm no fuch beaft, nor his relation;

All that may make me none of mine. South-Sea fubfcriptions take who please, Leave me but liberty and cafe : 'Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child, Who prais'd my modefty, and fmil'd. Give me, I cry'd (enough for me) My bread, and independency! So bought an annual rent or two, And liv'd-juft as you fee I do, Near fifty, and without a wife, I trust that finking fund, my life. Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well, Shrink back to my paternal cell, A little houfe, with trees a row, And, like its master, very low. There dy'd my father, no man's debtor; And there I'll die, nor worse nor better. To fet this matter full before ye, Our old friend Swift will tell his story. "Harley, the nation's great fupport," But you may read it, I flop fhort.

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The first part imitated in the year 1714, by Dr.
Swift; the latter part added afterwards.

I'VE often wifh'd that I had clear
For life, fix hundred pounds a year,
A handfome houfe to lodge a friend,
A river at my garden's end,
A terras-walk, and half a rood
Of land, fet out to plant a wood.
Well, now I have all this and more,
I ask not to increase my store;
'But here a grievance feems to lie,
All this is mine but till I die;

I can't but think 'twould found more clever, "To me and to my heirs for ever."

'If I ne'er got or loft a groat
By any trick or any fault;
And if I pray by reafon's rules,
And not like forty other fools,

As thus: "Vouchfafe, oh gracious Maker!
"To grant me this and t'other acre :
"Or, if it be thy will and pleafure,
"Direct my plough to find a treasure :”
But only what my ftation fits,
And to be kept in my right wits:
Preferve, Almighty Providence!
Juft what you gave me, competence:
And let me in thefe fhades compofe
Something in verfe as true as profe;
Remov'd from all th'ambitious fcene,
Nor puff'd by pride, nor funk by spleen.
In fhort, I'm perfectly content,
Let me but live on this fide Trent;
Nor crofs the Channel twice a year,
To fpend fix months with ftatefinen her

I inuft by all means come to town, 'Tis for the fervice of the Crown. "Lewis, the Dean will be of use; "Send for him up, take no excufe." Q4


The toil, the danger of the feas,
Great Minifters ne'er think of thefe;
Or let it cost five hundred pound,
No matter where the money's found;
It is but fo much more in debt;
And that they ne'er confider'd yet.

"Good Mr. Dean, go change your gown, "Let my Lord know you're come to town." I hurry me in hafte away, Not thinking it is levee-day; And find his Honour in a pound, Hemm'd by a triple circle round, Chequer'd with ribbons blue and green: How fhould I thruft myfelf between ? Some wag obferves me thus perplex'd, And, fmiling, whispers to the next, "I thought the Dean had been too proud "To juftie here among a crowd.” Another, in a furly fit,

Tells me I have more zeal than wit:
"So eager to exprefs your love,
"You ne'er confider whom you fhove,
"Put rudely prefs before a Duke.”
I own I'm pleas'd with this rebuke,
And take it kindly, meant to thow
What I defire the world fhould know,
I get a whisper, and withdraw;
When twenty fools I never faw
Come with petitions fairly penn'd,
Defiring I would stand their friend.

This humbly offers me his cafe-
That begs my int'reft for a place--
A hundred other mens affairs,
Like bees, are humming in my cars.

To-morrow my appeal comes on;
"Without your help the caufe is gone"
The Duke expects my Lord and you
About fome great affairs, at two-


Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind, "To get my warrant quickly fign'd: • Confider, 'tis my fuft requeft."Be fatisfy'd, I'll do my beft: Then prefently he falls to teize, "You may for certain, if you pleafe; "I doubt not, if his Lordfhip knew"And, Mr Dean, one word from you-" 'Tis (let me fee) three years and more, (October next it will be four) Since Harley Lid me firft attend, And chofe me for an humble friend; Would take ine in his coach to chat, And queftion me of this and that;

As, What's o'clock?' and, How's the wind?'
Whofe chariot's that we left behind '

Or gravely try to read the lines
Writ underneath the country figns;
Or, "Have you nothing new to-day

"From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay?” Such tattle often entertains

My Lord and me as far as Stains;
As once a week we travel down

To Windfor, and again to Town;
Where all that paflès inter nos
Might be proclaim'd at Claring-Crofs.

Yet fome I know with envy fwell, Becaufe they fee me us'd fo well: "How think you of our friend the Dean? "I wonder what fome people mean; "My Lord and he are grown fo great, Always together tete-a-tete.

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"What, they admire him for his jokes-
"See but the fortune of fome folks!"
There flies about a strange report
Of fome exprefs arriv'd at court:
I'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet,
And catechis'd in ev'ry street.
"You, Mr. Dean, frequent the great;
"Inform us, will the Emp'ror treat?
"Or do the prints and papers lie?"
Faith, Sir, you know as much as I.
"Ah, Doctor, how you love to jest?
"Tis now no fecret"-I proteft
'Tis one to inc-" Then tell us, pray,
"When are the troops to have their pay "
And, tho' I folemnly declare

I know no more than my Lord Mayor,
They ftand amaz'd, and think me grown
The clofeft mortal ever known.

Thus, in a fea of folly toft,
My choiceft hours of life are loft;
Yet always withing to retreat,
Oh, could I fee my country-feat!
There leaning near a gentle brook,
Sleep, or perufe fome ancient book;
And there in fweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town,
O charming noons, and nights divine!
Or when I fup, or when I dine,
My friends above, my folks below,
Chatting and laughing all a-row;
The beans and bacon fet before 'em,
The grace-cup ferv'd with all decorum:
Each willing to be pleas'd, and pleafe,
And ev'n the very dogs at eafe!
Here no man prates of idle things,
How this or that Italian fings,

A neighbour's madnefs, or his spouse's,
Or what's in either of the houses:
But fomething much more our concern,
And quite a fcandal not to learn:
Which is the happier, or the wifer,
A man of merit, or a mifer?
Whether we ought to choose our friends
For their own worth, or our own ends?
What good, or better, we may call?
And what, the very best of all›

'Our friend Dan Prior told (you know)
A tale extremely a-propos :
Name a town-life, and in a trice,
He had a ftory of two mice.-
Once on a time, fo runs the fable,
A country moufe, right hofpitable,
Receiv'd a town moufe at his board,
Just as a farmer might a lord.
A frugal moufe, upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his friend, and had a foul;

Knew what was handtome, and would do't,

On juft occafion, coute qui coute.


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v yield, God knows, to ftrong temptation. they come, thro' thick and thin,

To a ta'l houfe near Lincoln's Inn:
was on the night of a debate,
When all their lordships had fat late.

Rubord the place, where if a poet
Shind in defcription, he might show it;
Tell how the moon-beam trembling falls,
And tips with filver all the walls;
Palladian walls, Venetian doors,
Grotefco roofs, and ftucco floors:
But let it, in a word, be faid,
The moon was up, and men a-bed,
The napkins white, the carpet red:
The guests withdrawn, had left the treat,
And down the mice fat, tete-a-tete.

Our courtier walks from difh to dish, Taftes for his friend of fowl and fifh; Tells all their names, lays down the law, "Que ca eft bon! Ah goutez ca! "That jelly's rich, this malmfey healing; "Pray dip your whifkers and your tail in." Was ever fuch a happy fwain

He ftuffs and fwills, and stuffs again.
"I'm quite afham'd-'tis mighty rude
"To cat fo much-but all's fo good!
"I have a thousand thanks to give-

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My lord alone knows how to live." No fooner faid, but from the hall Ruth chaplain, butler, dogs and all : "A rat! a rat! clap too the door."The cat comes bouncing on the floor! O for the heart of Homer's mice, Or gods to fave them in a trice!

(It was by Providence they think,

For your damn'd Stucco has no chink.)


An't please your honour," quoth the peasant,

"This fame defert is not fo pleasant :

"A crust of bread, and liberty !”

“Give me again my hollow tree,

ODE I. Book IV.
To Venus.

AGAIN, new tumults in my breast? Ah fpare me, Venus! let me, let me rest! I am not now, alas! the man

As in the gentle reign of my queen Anne.

Ah found no more thy foft alarms,
Nor circle fober fifty with thy charms!
Mother too fierce of dear defires'
Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires.
To number five direct your doves, [loves;
There fpread round Murray all your blooming
Noble and young, who ftrikes the heart
With ev'ry fprightly, ev'ry decent part;
Equal, the injur'd to defend,

To charm the miftrefs, or to fix the friend.
He, with a hundred arts refin'd,

Shall ftretch thy conquefts over half the kind:
To him each rival fhall fubmit,
Make but his riches equal to his wit.

Then fhall thy form the marble grace (Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face: His houfe embofom'd in the grove,

Sacred to focial life and focial love,

Shall glitter o'er the pendent green, Where Thames reflects the vifionary scene: Thither the filver founding lyres

Shall call the fmiling loves and young defires; There, ev'ry grace and mufe thall throng, Exalt the dance, or animate the fong;

There youths and nymphs, in confort gay, Shall hail the rifing, clofe the parting day. With me, alas! thofe joys are o'er; For me the vernal garlands bloom no more. Adieu, fond hope of mutual fire! The ftill-believing, ftill-renew'd defire; Adieu the heart-expanding bowl, And all the kind deceivers of the foul! But why? Ah tell me, ah too dear! Steals down my cheek th'involuntary tear? Why words fo flowing, thoughts so free, Stop, or turn nonfenfe, at one glance of thee? Thee, dreft in fancy's airy beam, Abfent I follow thro' th'extended dream; Now, now I ceafe, I clafp thy charms, And now you burft (ah cruel!) from my arms; And swiftly fhoot along the inall,

Or foftly glide by the canal;


Now thown by Cynthia's filver And now on rolling waters fnatch'd away.

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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.

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