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that the Chaplain and Servants rush into the Hall,' and interrupt the Banquet of the Mice.

The Room had Palladian Walls; the folding Doors are clapt-to; and then,

The Cat comes bouncing on the Floor.

6

No doubt the dropped from the Cieling; but for what Purpose does not appear, fince the fortunate Mice make their Efcape, tho' your damn'd Stucco has no Chink.' All is effected (as the Poet tells us) by Providence, or miraculously. Any Machine (how miraculous foever) which tends to ridicule a particular Providence, is fure to be applauded.

Pope has borrowed his Moon from Cowley, who tells us, that the Mice arrived in the City,

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About the Hour that Cynthia's filver Light
Had touch'd the pale Meridies of the Night.

But the Cat feems to be his own.

'You durft not have cenfured any of Mr. Pope's Writings (it may be faid) in his Life-time.' True. However, this Objection may be answered in the Words of Mr. Shenftone: A Writer furrounded with all his Fame, engaging with another that is hardly known, is a Man in Armour attacking another in his Night Gown and Slippers.'

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Tum rufticus, &c.] This Moral is excellent; and it is not without Reason that the Emperor M. Antoninus recommends this Fable to our ferious Meditation, in the eighth Book of his Moral Reflections. Tov pov,

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&c.

Think often (fays he) of the Fable of the City and Country Moufe; of the Terror of the latter, his Flight,' &c. to teach us to contemn Riches, and the tumultuous Pleasures of the Town; and to imitate the Prudence of the Field Moufe, who prefers his Beans and Vetches to all the good Cheer of the City Mouse.

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Me fylva cavufque, &c.]

Give me again my hollow Tree,

A Crust of Bread and Liberty.

POPE.

This, at first Glance, looks like an Imitation of the

two following Lines in Cowley,

For

1

For the few Hours of Life allotted Me,

Give me, great God! but Bread and Liberty.

But it must not be fuppofed, that Mr. Pope would imitate this forgotten Author; fince he asks, Who now 'reads Cowley?'

The wishing for a Cruft of Bread is not furely fo natural for a Field Moufe, as the Vetches of Horace.

In Corley, Bread and Liberty are his own With, and not applied to a Mouse.

The SAME SATIRE Imitated. By EDWARD BURNABY GREENE, Efq; and Mr. FAWKES,

In the Character of a COURT PER.

"ES, oft I panted, in a rural Seat,

To tafte the milder Bleffings of Retreat; Faft by the Murmurs of a Stream to rove, The blushing Garden, or embowering Grove. Far greater Blifs indulgent Heaven has fent: 'Tis well-my thankful Tribute be Content! Be mine, to Tumults of the World unknown, Through Life, to feel thefe Bleffings for my own! If never Luxury confum'd my Store, Nor mean, dishonest Avarice made it more; If I dare love, unenvious of his Pelf, The Man of Worth, though richer than myself; Nor fay, like fome, "The Beauties of my Seat "The Ruins of that Abbey would complete!

"Thefe

"These frightful Elbows to a Field I hate-
"Oh! could I find a Mine on my Estate!"
I'd grafp the Treafure with enraptur'd Soul,
Greater than Lowther with his Mines of Coal.
If what I have I gratefully enjoy,

This Prayer alone, Oh! give me to employ ;
Fat be my Fields with Corn, with Milk my Kine,
But light and easy flow the Mufic of my Line!
Blefs'd in Retreat, fpontaneous Fancy wooes
Familiar Verfe, and SATIRE is my Mufe;
Still, ftill fhe fmiles, where nought my Peace
destroys,

Nor palls Ambition, nor Disease annoys;
In noxious Autumn as in Spring I thrive,
And, fpite of Doctors, ftill through her survive.

Let worldly Souls, immers'd in public Cares, For profperous Fortune breathe their ardent Prayers;

Thou, facred Mufe, with true celeftial Fire
Thy Bard enliven, and his Lays inspire !

But, 'mid the Noife of Town, canVerse prevail? A Friend diftrefs'd demands me for his Bail; Away, 'tis Duty prompts you, you must go Through howling Tempefts, and through drifted

Snow;

'Nor Cold, norWinds, nor Footpads must delay, 6 Though Night's thick Gloom adds Horror to

the Way,'

Thus

Thus through the wond'ring Press I haste along, Rave at my Lot, and juftle through the Throng. The Rabble ply me with their polifh'd Strain, "Go, go to Bedlam with your frantic Brain; "Whence all thisRout?-You run at fuch a Rate! "No doubt to meet fome Minister of State." With Joy I hear the vulgar Torrent roll ; 'Tis, I confefs, a Cordial to my Soul.

Ev'n when, retir'd, I breathe the rural Air, The Town I fly, but cannot fly from Care; At eight, by fartheft, fummon'd, I refort, By Law fubpoena'd, to a Cause in Court; Prefs'd on a Bill, the Commons I attend, And aid by Vote the Intereft of a Friend; "Take (cries a third) this Paper to his Grace; "From You 'twill gain a Penfion or a Place." • Sir, truft me, all my Interest I fhall try.' "Oh! do but urge, they never will deny."

Of old I liv'd unknowing and unknown, Till gracious Sandwich mark'd me for his own; From Granta's Fogs would take me in his Chair, To breathe, at Hinchingbrook, a purer Air; With trifling Chit-chat he amus'd the Way, His Theme, a Race, a Cock-match, or a Play; Anon, o'er Raillery, or a Catch would sport, But not a fingle Syllable of Court: Such are his Secrets, that he need not fear Ev'n to confide them to a Kidgell's Ear.

As

As thus in Fortune's Smiles my Moments roll, Malignant Envy plagues me to the Soul; "See! how he ftruts, familiar in the State! "He's always feen in public with the Great." Should any Lyes be rumour'd in the Street, Or buzz'd on 'Change, each Citizen I meet Afks fifty idle Queftions-" As you tower, "A happy Fav'rite with the Sons of Power, "Does Spain Manilla's Ranfom still contest? "Has France" "How you

'I know not'.

love to jest!"

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I know not, on my Life'-" Has France, I fay, "Agreed the Bills of Canada to pay?"

'I swear I'm ignorant of all'"'Tis well-
"You know their Secrets if you chofe to tell."
Thus teas'd and harrass'd with unceafing Strife,
All Comfort flies me in my Noon of Life:
To rural Scenes, Oh! when shall I repair,
Sooth'd with the foft Forgetfulness of Care?
Perufe the facred Dead, reclin'd at Ease,
And idly fleep, or scribble as I please;
The Pythagorean Treat my happier Lot,
And all the fimpler Dainties of the Cot?
Oh! Nights, Oh! Suppers, better far than wait
To load in Palaces the pamper'd Great?
Such healthy Fare my fmiling Board attends,
And chears alike my Servants and my Friends;
Curs'd with no flavish Rules, our darling Plan.
Is ftill to be as happy as we can;

Each

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