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A voice there is that whispers in my ear, (Tis Reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear) [breath, "Friend Pope! be prudent, let your Muse take "And never gallop Pegasus to death; "Lest stiff and stately, void of fire or force, "You limp, like Blackmore, on a Lord Mayor's horse."
Farewel then, verse, and love, and ev'ry toy, The rhymes and rattles of the man or boy; What right, what true, what fit we justly call, Let this be all my care-for this is all: To lay this harvest up, and hoard with haste, That ev'ry day will want, and most the last. But ask not to what Doctors I apply; Sworn to no master, of no sect am 1: As drives the storm, at any door I knock; And house with Montaigne now, or now with Locke.
Sometimes a patriot, active in debate,
Long as to him who works for debt the day,|| Long as the night to her whose love's away, Long as the year's dull circle seems to run When the brisk minor pants for twenty-one; So slow th' unprofitable moments roll, That lock up all the functions of my soul; That keep me from myself, and still delay Life's instant business to a future day: That task, which as we follow or despise, The eldest is a fool, the youngest wise: Which done, the poorest can no wants endure; And, which not done, the richest must be poor. Late as it is, I put myself to school, And feel some comfort not to be a fool. Weak tho' I am of limb, and short of sight, Far from a Lyax, and not a Giant quite; I'll do what Mead and Cheselden advise, [eyes. To keep these limbs, and to preserve these Not to go back, is somewhat to advance; And men must walk at least before they dance.
Say, does thy blood rebel, thy bosom move With wretched av'rice, or as wretched love? Know there are words and spells which can control,
Between the fits, this fever of the soul;
Will cure the arrant'st puppy of his pride.
La Belle Assemblée.-No. XLI.
Barnard in spirit, sense, and truth abounds; "Pray then, what wants he?" Fourscore thousand pounds;
A pension, or such harness for a slave
Yet ev'ry child another song will sing;
And say to which shall our applause belong, This new court jargon, or the good old song; The modern language of corrupted peers, Or what was spoke of Cressy or Poitiers? Who counsels best! who whispers, "Be but great,
"With praise or infamy, leave that to fate;
Get place and wealth, if possible with grace; "If not, by any means get wealth and place." For what? to have a box where Eunuchs sing, And foremost in the circle eye a KingOr he, who bids thee face with steady view Proud Fortune, and look shallow Greatness thro', [too? And, while he bids thee, sets th' example, If such a doctrine in St. James's air [stare; Should chance to make the well-dress'd rabble If honest S-z take scandal at a Spark That less admires the Palace than the Park, Faith I shall give the answer reynard gave :— "I cannot like, dread Sir, your royal cave; "Because I see, by all the tracks about, "Full many a beast goes in but none come
Adieu to virtue, if you're once a slave;
Well, if a King's a lion, at the least
You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary
(They know not whither) in a chaise and one; They hire their sculler, and when once aboard Grow sick, and damn the climate like a lord.
Is half so incoherent as my mind,
When (each opinion with the next at strife,
Their country's wealth our mightier misers drain,
You never change one muscle of your face, You think this madness but a common case, Nor once to Chancery nor to Hale apply; Yet hang your lip, to see a seam awry! Some keep assemblies, and would keep the Careless how ill I with myself agree,
Or cross, to plunder provinces, the main;
Some with fat bucks on childless dotards
Kind to my dress, my figure, not to me.
Some win rich widows by their chine and
While with the silent growth of ten per cent.
Of all these ways, if each pursue his own,
"No place on earth (he cried) like Greenwich
Yon laugh, half beau, half-sloven, if I stand, My wig all powder, and all snuff my band;
I plant, root up; build, and then confound; Turn round to square, and square again to round.
Up starts a palace, lo! th' obedient base
TO MR. MURRAY.
Away, away! take all your scaffolds down, "For snug's the word: my dear! we'll live in town."
"Nor to admire, is all the art I know
At am'rous Flavio is the stocking thrown;
So take it in the very words of Creech).
For matrimonial solace dies a martyr.
This vault of air, this congregated ball,
They change their weekly barber, weekly
Admire we then what earth's low entrails
The mob's applauses, or the gifts of kings?
If weak the pleasure that from these can
The fear to want them is as weak a thing.
Who ought to make me (what he can, or none)
Lov'd without youth, and follow'd without
At home, tho' exil'd; free, tho' in the Tow'r : In short, that reas'ning, high, immortal thing;
Just less than Jove, and much above a king, Nay, half in Heaven-except (what's mighty odd)
A fit of vapours cloud this demi-god.
Whether we dread, or whether we desire,
For virtue's self may too much zeal be had;
Our birth-day nobles' splendid livery.
Add fifty more, and bring it to a square.
Ask'd for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds;
But wherefore all this labour, all this strife?
To form, not to admire but he admir'd,
The greatest can but blaze, and pass away. Grac'd as thou art with all the pow'r of words;
So known, so honour'd, at the House of Lords:
Would ye be blest? despise low joys, low
Fly then on all the wings of wild desire,
Where winds can carry, or where waves can
For Indian spices, for Peruvian gold,
Disdain what every Cornbury disdains:
Qne who believes as Tindal leads the way;
Now in such exigencies not to need,
Not for yourself, but for your fools and
And which it much becomes you to forget.
But if to power and place your passion lie,
Who rules in Cornwall, or who rules in
"This may be troublesome, is near the chair;
Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest,
So Russell did, but could not eat at night;
Call'd" happy dog" the beggar at his door ;
Or shall we every decency confound,
Thro' taverus, stews, and baguios take our round;
Go dine with Chartres, in each vice outdo
Or for a titled punk, or foreign flame,
Adien-if this advice appear the worst,
EPISTLE I. BOOK II.
WHILE you, great patron of mankind! sus
The balanc'd world, and open all the main ; Your country's chief, in arms abroad defend, At home with morals, arts, and laws ameud ; How shall the muse from such a monarch steal
Just in one instance, be it yet confess'd, Your people, Sir, are partial in the rest : Foes to all living worth except your own, And advocates for fully dead and gone. Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old,
An hour, and not defraud the public weal?
Edward and Heary now the boast of fame, And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name, After a life of gen'rous toils endur'd The Gaul subdu'd, or property secur'd, Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd, Or laws establish'd, and the world reform'd ; Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind! All buman virtue to bis latest breath, Finds cavy never conquer'd but by death. The great Alcides, every labour past, Had still this monster to subdue at last. Sure fate of all, beneath whose rising ray Each star of meauer merit fades away! Oppres'd we feel the beam directly beat, Those suns of glory please not till they set.
To thee the world its present homage pays,
The harvest early, but mature the praise : Great friend of liberty! in kings a naine Above all Greeks, above all Roman fame: Whose word is truth, as sacred and rever'd As Heaven's own oracle from altars heard. Wonder of kings! like whom to mortal eyes None e'er has risen, none e'er shall rise.
It is the rust we value, not the gold.
And cach true Briton is to Ben so civil,
He swears the muses met him at the Devil.
Tho' justly Greece her eldest sons admires, Why should not we be wiser than our sires? In ev'ry public virtue we excel;
We build, we paint, we sing, we dance as well;
And learned Athens to our art must stoop,
If time improve our wits as well as wine,
"Who lasts a century can have no flaw? "I hold that wit a classic, good in law.” Suppose he wants a year, will you compound? [sound? And shall we deem him ancient, right, and Or damn to all eternity at once,
At ninety-nine, a modern and a dunce?
Then, by the rule that made the horse-tail
I pluck out year by year, as hair by hair,
Shakspear (whom you and ev'ry playhouse
Style the divine, the matchless, what you will)
"Yet surely, surely these were famous men! "What boy but hears the sayings of old Ben?
"In all debates where critics bear a part, "Not one but nods, and talks of Johnson's art,
"Of Shakspear's nature, and of Cowley's wit; "How Beaumont's judgment check'd what Fletcher writ;
"How Shadwell hasty, Wycherly was slow,
In the dry desert of a thousand lines, [a page,
One tragic sentence if I dare deride,
(Tho' but, perhaps, a muster-roll of names,)
Or what remain'd so worthy to be read
In days of ease, when how the weary sword Was sheath'd, and luxury with Charles restor'd; In ev'ry taste of foreign courts improv'd,
All, by the king's example, liv'd and lov`d." Then peers grew proud in horsemanship t'excel;
Newmarket's glory rose as Britain's fell;'
The sleepy eye that spoke the melting soul.
But Britain, changeful as a child at play, Now calls in princes, and now turns away. Now Whig, now Tory, what we lov'd we hate; Now all for pleasure, now for church and state; Now for prerogative, and now for laws; Effects unhappy! from a noble cause.
Time was, a sober Englishman would knock His servants up, and rise by five o'clock; Instruct his family in ev'ry rule, And send his wife to church, his son to school. To worship like his fathers was his care; To teach their frugal virtues to his heir; To prove, that luxury could never hold; And place, on good security, his gold. Now times are chang'd, and one poetic itch Has sciz'd the court and city, poor and rich : Sons, sires, and grandsires, all will wear the bays,
Our wives read Milton, and our daughters
To theatres and to rehearsals throng;
We wake next morning in a raging fit,
He serv'd a 'prenticeship who sets up shop; Ward tried on puppies, and the poor, his drop ; Even Radcliff's doctors travel first to France, Nor dare to practise till they've learn'd to dance.
Who builds a bridge that never drove a pile? (Should Ripley venture, all the world would smile.)
But those who cannot write, and those who
All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble to a man.