O! would you paint his lordship's jerkin o'er
With imps, and fiends (like base inquifitor)
Then boldly hang him out to public view,
The fcorn and laughter of the gaping crew,
How G**A's fons would-
And lift your grateful praises to the sky.
P. Her fons exult? your men of parts and skill
Change, like their dress, their principles at will;
Where Mammon calls, with hafte obfequious run,
And bow like Perfians to the rifing fun.
Too long, alas! o'er Britain's bleeding land
Hath fell corruption wav'd her iron hand,
Too long poffeft a monarch's patient ear,
While all the fons of freedom fhrunk with fear.
Is there then one, whofe breaft religion warms,
And virtue decks with all her brightest charms;
Whose fiery glance the loathfome den pervades,
Where vice, and foul corruption fculk in fhades
True to his king, and to the public juft,
No dupe to paffion, and no slave to luft;
Whom all the good revere, the vile abuse,
A friend to learning, and the gentle mufe ?
Scotchman, or Teague-be this his patriot view,
I'll praife him, love him, friend, and fo fhall you.
Curst be the lines (tho' ev'ry THESPIAN maid
Come uninvoked, and lend her timely aid,
View them, like THETIS, with a mother's eye,
And dip them o'er in dews of CASTALY)
Curft be the lines, that pow'rful vice adorn,
Or treat fair virtue, and her friends with fcorn:
Let 'em cloath candles, wrap up cheese, line trunks;
Or flutt'ring on a rail, 'midft rogues and punks,
Ne'er meet the mild judicious critic's praise,
But die, like those that FANNY fings or fays:
FANNY, dull wight, to whom the ghoft appears
Of murder'd HORACE, pale and wan with tears;
FANNY, dull wight, a Mammon-serving flave,
Half politician, atheift, parfon, knave,
That drunk each night, and liquor'd ev'ry chink,
Dyes his red face in port, and his black foul in ink.
No fly fanatic, no enthusiast wild,
No party tool, beguiling and beguil'd,
No flave to pride, no canting pimp to pow'r,
Nor rigid churchman, nor diffenter four,
No fawning flatterer to the bafe and vain,
No timist vile, or worshipper of gain;
When gay not diffolute, grave not severe,
Tho' learn'd no pedant, civil tho' fincere ;
Nor mean nor haughty, be one preacher's praise
That-if he rife, he rife by manly ways:
Yes, he abhors each fordid selfish view,
And dreads the paths your men of art pursue;
Who truft fome wand'ring meteor's dubious ray,
And fly like owls from truth's meridian day.
F. Alas, alas! I plainly, friend, foresee
In points like these we never fhall agree.
Too fure debarr'd from all the joys of life,
From heav'n's best gifts, a living, and a wife,
Chain'd to a college you must waste your days,
(Wrapt up in monkish indolence, and ease,)
In one dull round of fleeping, eating, drinking,
A foe to care, but more a foe to thinking.
There when ten luftrums are fupinely spent
In ENVIOUS SLOTH, AND MOPISH DISCONTENT;
When not one friend, one comfort more remains ;
But flowly creeps the cold blood thro'
your veins,
And palfy'd hands, and tott'ring knees betray
An helpless state of nature in decay;
While froward youth derides your fqualid age,
And longs to shove you trembling off the stage;
Then, then you'll blame your conduct—but too late,
And curfe your enemies, and friends, and fate.
P. Better be worn with age, with ills oppreft,
Diftreft in fame, in fortune too diftreft;
Better unknown, and unlamented die,
With no kind friend to close the parting eye,
(So all is calm, and undisturb'd within)
Than feel, and fear the biting pangs of fin.
For O! what odds, the curtain once withdrawn,
Betwixt a faint in rags, and rev'rend knave in lawn?
HENCE from my fight, unfeeling fage,
Hence, to thy lonely hermitage !
There far remov'd from joy, and pain,
Supinely flumber life away;
Act o'er dull yesterday again,
And be thy morrow like to-day.
Reft to thy bones!—While to the gale
Happier I spread my festive wing,
And like the wand'ring bee exhale
Fresh odours from life's honey'd spring ;
From bloom to bloom in pleafing rapture ftray,
Where mirth invites, and pleasure points the way.
Hail! heav'n-born virgin fair, and free,
Of language mild, of afpect gay,
Whofe voice the fullen family
Of care and discontent obey!
By thee inspir'd the simplest scenes,
The ruffet cots, the lowly glens,
Mountains, on whose craggy brow
Nature's lawless tenants feed,
Bufhy dells, and streams, that flow
Thro' the vi'let-purpled mead,
Delight; thy breath exalts the rich perfumes,
That brooding o'er embalm the bean-flow'r field,
Beyond Sabean sweets, and all the gums
The fpicy deserts of Arabia yield.
I. 3
When the Attic bird complains
From the still, attentive
grove,
Or the linnet breathes his strains,
Taught by nature, and by love ;
Do thou approve the dulcet airs,
And Harmony's soft, filken chain,
In willing bondage leads our cares,
And binds the giant-sense of pain :
Untun'd by thee, how coarse the long-drawn note,
Spun from the lab'ring eunuch's tortur'd throat !
Harth are the sounds, tho' FARINELLI sings,
Harth are the sounds, tho' Handel wakes the strings.
Untouch'd by thee, see senseless Florio fits,
And ftares, and gapes, and nods, and yawns by fits.
O Pleasure, come !-and far, far hence
Expel that nun, Indifference !
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