The manner how they plough, and sow, and reap,
How silly they, more silly than their sheep,
In mantles blue, can trip it o'er the green,
In Namby-Pamby's Pastorals may be seen.
Tibbald in mail compleat of dullness clad,
Half bard, half puppet-man, half fool, half mad,
Rose next to charm the ear, and please the eye,
With every monster bred beneath the sky;
His great command Earth's salvages obey,
And ev'ry dreadful native of the sea;
Amaz'd we view, by his strange power conveyed,
Pluto's dark throne, and Hell's tremendous shade;
Then change the scene, and lo! Heaven's bright
abodes,
We dance with goddesses, and sing with gods;
Encore, encore, rings thro' the raptured round,
Encore, encore, the echoing roofs resound.
On Lyrick Welsted, next, the Muse bestow'd
Fondness to aim at the advent'rous ode :
Not like those bards of old who dared to rise,
And lift their heads triumphant to the skies;
Who, scaling heaven in their ambitious flight,
In gods and heroes placed their vain delight;
But Welsted's gentle stanza makes you doze,
A frozen sluice, that neither ebbs nor flows;
Still sauntering on in the same tick-tack rhime,
No pendulum can keep exacter time:
'Till by the weight-inspiring God opprest,
His visage bloated, and inflate his breast,
He raves, stares, sputters, foams, turns giddy round,
Then tumbles headlong down the vast profound.
In days of old, when Englishmen were-men, Their musick, like themselves, was grave and
The manly trumpet, and the simple reed,
Alike with citizen, and swain agreed;
Whose songs, in lofty sense, but humble verse,
Their loves and wars alternately rehearse;
Sung by themselves, their homely cheer to crown,
In tunes from sire to son delivered down.
But now, since Britains are become polite,
Since few can read, and fewer still can write ;
Since travelling has so much improved our beaux,
That each brings home a foreign tongue, or-nose;
And ladies paint with that amazing grace,
That their best vizard is their natural face;
Since South-Sea schemes have so enrich'd the
That footmen 'gainst their lords for boroughs stand;
Since masquerades and operas made their entry,
And Heydegger reign'd guardian of our gentry,
A hundred various instruments combine,
And foreign songsters in the concert join :
The Gallick horn, whose winding tube in vain
Pretends to emulate the trumpet's strain;
The shrill-toned fiddle, and the warbling flute,
The grave bassoon, deep base, and tinkling lute,
The jingling spinnet, and the full-mouth'd drum,
A Roman capon, and Venetian strum,
All league, melodious nonsense to dispense,
And give us sound, and show, instead of sense;
In unknown tongues mysterious dullness chant,
Make love in tune, or thro' the gamut rant.
O Dennis, eldest of the scribbling throng,
Tho' skill'd thyself in every art of song,
Tho' of thy mother-goddess tip-top full,
By inspiration furiously dull;
Yet this one maxim from my pen receive,
To midling bards the world no quarter give.
Budgel a petty-fogger might have made,
And been, perhaps, a dapster at his trade.
Th' indifferent lawyer is the most in vogue,
And still the greater, as the greater rogue,
But midling poets are by all accurst,
We only listen to the best, or worst.
Of Politeness, an Epistle.
POLITENESS is my theme-to you I write,
Who are, what all would feign be thought, Polite.
This is the coxcomb's avarice, courtier's claim,
The cit's ambition, and the soldier's fame.
This interrupts the wild projector's dream,
And mingles with the statesman's deepest scheme.
Yet but to few, O few! the gem is known, Most for the Brilliant wear the Bristol-stone. With whom the heavenly stranger deigns to dwell, The wise and good, like you, can only tell. Ask you, What's True Politeness, you'd reply, ""Tis nothing but well-dress'd Humanity : "That fairest offspring of the social mind, "Nursed by good-nature, by good-sense refined :
"Which gives each thought, word, act, a proper
"And binds each passion to its proper place : "Makes pride sit easy, reins ambition in, "Makes avarice prudence, anger not a sin : "Charm'd by her lure, blind zeal to meekness turns, "Pale Envy generous emulation burns; "Revenge, attentive, sheathes the thirsty sword, "And Grief half smiles at her reviving word : "Whilst Hope and Fear, those elements of life, "Well poised by this, no longer are at strife; "This forms, guides, checks, inspires, does all " it can
"To make man mild and sociable to man.”
'Tis true, my lord, yet such the reigning taste! In what's quite the reverse you find it plac'd.
Sir Dives swears in gaiety it lies,
Then struts the gaudiest clown beneath the skies:
All Nature's wardrobe must be rifled straight
All Nations sweat to furnish out his state;
Artists the various hues of Iris blend,
And Eastern rocks their blazing glories lend:
Yet, whilst his sumptuous trappings hang confess'd,
All cry, How slovenly the knight is dress'd!
Were this Politeness; Porco's beastly self
Could purchase more-for he enjoys more pelf.
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