View him with fcornful, yet with fearful eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rife;
Damn with faint praise, affent with civil leer,
And, without fneering, teach the rest to fneer;
Wishing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Juft hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike referv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a fufpicious friend;
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers befieg'd,
And fo obliging that he ne'er oblig'd:"
Who, if two wits on rival themes contest,
Approves of each, but likes the worst the best;
Like CATO gives his little fenate laws,
And fits attentive to his own applause;
While wits and templars ev'ry fentenc'd raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise.
What pity, heav'n! if fuch a man there be !
Who would not weep, if A---N were he?

The following LATIN VERSION is by a
Gentleman of WADHAM COLLEGE, in
OXFORD.

--Sermone pedeftri.

V

Enalem calamum ftringat fi fors male paftus GILDO; optans illi tandem prandere, quiefco. Jurgia fi torques in me, furibunde DENISI, Solvendo cum non fuero, tibi refpondebo. Hos malesuada fames, non livor fcribere cogit: Et quis ad arma vocet miferos? quis mentis egenos? Sobria fi forfan criticorum turba laceffat,

HOR.

Cum male, follicitant rifus; cum rectius audent,
Dedam fponte manus, patiarque minantia flagra.
Lectio multa quidem eft ollis, ftudiumque, laborque;
Spiritus acer abeft tantum ingeniumque, falesque.
Commata legitima ftatione & puncta reponunt:

Tantilla

Tantilla de dote fcelus foret abripere hillum.
Tempore venturo quantum illis fama vigebit,
Edque reducendo, et tot ter male nata fugando ?
Attamen hos nullo Balatrones auxit honore
Cynthius, aut minima diftinxit tempora lauro.
Ventofi quamvis repetens a ftirpe SEBELLI
TRINALDUM adnumeres, vendentem vilia scruta;
Qui partes lectoris obit fe judice, tantum.
Articulos dum partitur, digitofque pererrans,
Verborum aucupio nomen fibi quærit inane.
Et tamen hic aliquam fibi pofcat homuncio famam,
Magni fecurus tragici fanctufque fub umbra.
Succina non aliter præftant viliffima rerum
Interius cernenda, pilos, ftramenque, lutumque:
Ifta quidem vulgo; quali tamen arte, rogamus
Perculfi, magica tali ftatione fruantur.
Succenfent alii? Fenia indulgebitur ultro:
In promptu caufa eft irarum; jufta rependi.
Proclive eft hominum virtutes nofcere veras :
Exemplar vero arcana quod mente repoftum eft,
Ponderis id capiti faftus quod præbet inani,
Huic quis grata ferat, quis enim noviffe poteftur ?
Famofum celebrat quem non fua rustica mufa,
Qui rerum interpres fictarum ob vile lucellum eft,
Ut fterile ingenium poffit fe prodere tantum
Scribbit, & enixus duro aftrictoque cerebro
Sex pangit verfus vix anni totius orbe.
Ufque adeo fenfu caffus; quum plurima furto
Comparet; infumit paulum, tamen indiget ufque,
JOHNSONUS, quandoque legens confinia fenfus,
Stultitiæ acclinis plerumque, & devius æqui,
In metam intendit nunquam, quin cefpitet ufque,
Ufqué per ambages raptus virtigine mentis.
fs qui fublimes nugas ructatur, & ore
'rætumido tantum ampullus & inania sufflat,
fte falutatur vates? Sermone ligato
nfanit, nunquam phoebeo percitus æftro.
Ios conferre manus fi quis velit agmine facto,
tque novem talis modicum det poffe poetam
Equare; ut rabie arderent, animifque frementos

Optima

Optima quæque malæ jurarent obvia linguæ !
Tales jam valeant, nomenque oblivia condant.
Sin foret ingenii præftans, cui pectore puro
Phoebus adeft, totoque inceffit numine mentem;
Cui veneres morum obtingunt, artefque placendi;
Scriptis qui facilis, vita concinnus, ab omni
Compofitus parte, urbanus, convivaque comis;
Ambitione mala fervens diademata folus
Affectet, neque fraternum ferat æquus honorem
Defpectans alios, animi tamen ipfe pufillus;
Propterea infenfus, quod clareat alter, & artes
Excolat, ipfe fuos per quas fit adeptus honores:
Ambigua damnet laude, affenfuque maligno,
Molle quidem, at tranfverfa tuens: fronti licet ipfe
Imperet immotus; nafo fufpendere adunco
Cuneta alios doceat, rifuque illudere tecto.
Quanquam animi defint, vulnus meditetur, & optet;
Innuat obfcure vitium, parcenteque lingua
Stringat; cenfuræ laudifque occultus adæque;
Hoftis formidans fibi, fufpiciofus amicus ;
Vel ftultos metuens, parafitis undique feptus;
Obfequii largus, nihilo devinctior ulli:
Qui, duo fi pugnæ committat gloria palmæ,
Orfa utriufque probans det primas deteriori;
Ut CATO, fic parvum moderetur lege fenatum,
Arrectufque avida plaufus bibat aure popelli;
Singula dum cumulant equitefque togataque turba
Laudibus, infulfo mirantes omnia vultu.
Proh dolor! huic fimilem terræ fi proferat orbis!
Quis non det lacrymas, fi forte fit ADDISON ifte!

Grub

Grubftreet Journal, No 103.

An EPILOGUE to IGNORAMUS, defign'd, but not fpoken.

"

Enter DULLMAN with a crown of Bays in his Hand.

HA

ARK you? d'ye hear the news? poor C-B-R's dead,
And I'm appointed laureate in his stead.
View here the bays, that erft his temples bound,
With which as great a genius now is crown'd.
Pray look ye, firs, nothing e'er fitted more:
I thought our heads were juft alike before.

But hah! what's this that rolls within my breaft?
Is it fome deity I feel impreft?
"Tis he himself ?-----that energy divine,
Which pond'rous mov'd thro' each KEYBERIAN Ime.
Well then, fince now both place and mufe I've got,
"Tis fit by me his EPITAPH be wrote:
For e'en I fhou'd blush to have it known,
That any mufe had fung him,----but his own.
Firft then, let's fee in what triumphant lays,
The mighty bard refounded BRUNSWICK's praife:
• With fang, ye BRITONS, lead the day,
Sing, fing the morn that gave him breath,
Whofe virtues never shall decay,

4

No, never----never tafte of death.
Oh! glorious lines! thus whilom fung the fire;
The words already all my foul infpire:
My teeming fancy labours into birth,
And thus at laft the filial flames break forth.
With tears, ye BRITONS, bathe the day,
Weep, weep, that C-----y is no more;
Altho' his fame fhall ne'er decay,

No ne'er, ne'er worse

than 'twas before.

So now, I hope, you'll own that I excel,
In the KBYBERIAN way of writing well;
What easy flow of verfe! what lambent fire!
What sweet vacuity of thoughts confpire!
"Tis true, the fubject is a little fad,.
But all my tears are. Attic falt egad.
I'll on then, and if PHOEBU's is no fibber,.
You foon fhall find that I'll out-c--b--r C----R.

Grubftreet Journal, N° 104.

'To Mr. POPE..

A

CCEPT, great poet, nor with frowns disdain
This youthful, fhort, tho' too ambitious ftrain.
Thyself the cause of these prefumtuous lays;
Thee who can read, and not attempt thy praife!

While o'er the deathlefs page I turn my eyes,
What fierce emotions in my foul arife!
While to my prefent thought, each flowing line
Appears the labour of th' united nine.

Charm'd with the beauties of thy rural scenes,
I pant for WINDSOR's fhades, and flow'ry greens:-
Her groves thrice grateful to the tuneful throng,
Her brooks that glide not fmoother than thy fong.
But who thy iliad juftly can admire!
Thy iliad wrote with more than mortal fire!
Whene'er thy trumpet fpeaks th' approaching fight,
We pant with tumults of fevere delight;
All HOMER's lightning in thy numbers fhines;
And all his battel thunders in thy lines.

Our paffions move obedient to thy call,
And rife afpiring, or obfequious fall:
And could inanimates foft mufick hear,
The tale of ORPHEUS would in POPE appear.

O. 2.

Sir