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And hang some curious cobweb in its stead!
As, forced from wind-guns, lead itself can fly,
And ponderous slugs cut swiftly through the sky;
As clocks to weight their nimble motion owe,
The wheels above urged by the load below:
Me emptiness, and dulness could inspire,
And were my elasticity, and fire.

Some demon stole my pen (forgive the offence)
And once betray'd me into common sense:
Else all my prose and verse were much the same;
This, prose on stilts; that, poetry fallen lame.
Did on the stage my fops appear confined?
My life gave ampler lessons to mankind.
Did the dead letter unsuccessful prove?
The brisk example never fail'd to move.
Yet sure had Heaven decreed to save the state,
Heaven had decreed these works a longer date.
Could Troy be saved by any single hand,
This gray-goose weapon must have made her stand.

FROM THE PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES.

P. Shut up the door, good John! fatigued I said,
Tie up the knocker; say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages? nay, 'tis past a doubt,
All bedlam or Parnassus is let out:

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide.
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is sacred, not the church is free,
Even Sunday shines no sabbath-day to me;
Then from the mint walks forth the man of rhyme,
Happy to catch me just at dinner-time.

Is there a parson, much bemused in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,

A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza when he should engross?

Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls
With desperate charcoal round his darkened walls!
All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain

Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws,
Imputes to me and to my works the cause:
Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,
And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope.
Friend to my life!-which did you not prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song-
What drop or nostrum can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?
A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped;

If foes, they write; if friends, they read me dead.
Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I,
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie:
To laugh were want of goodness and of grace;
And to be grave, exceeds all power of face.
I sit with sad civility; I read

With honest anguish, and an aching head;
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,

This saving counsel: "Keep your piece nine years."
Bless me! a packet-""Tis a stranger sues,

A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse."

If I dislike it, "furies, death, and rage!"
If I approve, "commend it to the stage."
There-thank my stars-my whole commission ends,
The players and I are, luckily, no friends.

Fired that the house reject him, "Sdeath! I'll print it,
And shame the fools-your interest, sir, with Lintot."
Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much :
"Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch."
All my demurs but double his attacks:
At last he whispers: "Do, and we go snacks."
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door,
"Sir, let me see your works and you no more."
You think this cruel? Take it for a rule,
No creature smarts so little as a fool.

John Gay.

Born 1688.

Died 1732.

Was born at Barnstaple, Devon, in 1688, of an old but decayed family. He was apprenticed to a silk mercer in London, but he soon showed such a dislike to the business that his master cancelled his indentures, and he was free to follow his taste for literary pursuits. In 1713 he published his "Rural Sports," which gained him the acquaintance of Pope; and in

1714 appeared "The Shepherd's Week," which, being a true picture of rural life, became very popular. In 1715 he brought out "What d'ye call it?" a comic drama which met with little favour. This was followed in 1716 by "Trivia" and "The Fan." Gay had obtained in 1714 the post of secretary of the embassy to Hanover; but he was quite unfit for the duties, and returned to England in a couple of months. In 1720 he published a collected edition of his poems by subscription, which brought him about L.1000, and in 1726 he cleared about L.700 by "The Beggar's Opera." Gay is also known as a writer of fables; one volume was published in 1726, and the other after his death, which occurred on 4th December 1732. He was buried in Westminster Abbey.

ETERNITY.

ERE the foundations of the world were laid,
Ere kindling light th' Almighty word obeyed,
Thou wert; and when the subterraneous flame
Shall burst its prison, and devour this frame,
From angry heaven when the keen lightning flies,
When fervent heat dissolves the melting skies,
Thou still shalt be; still as thou wert before,
And know no change, when time shall be no more.
O endless! though divine !-Eternity,

Th' immortal soul shares but a part of thee!
For thou wert present when our life began,
When the warm dust shot up in breathing inan.

Ah! What is life? with ill encompassed round,
Amidst our hopes, fate strikes the sudden wound :
To-day the statesman of new honour dreams,
To-morrow, death destroys his airy schemes.
Is mouldy treasure in thy chest confined?
Think, all that treasure thou must leave behind;
Thy heir with smiles shall view thy blazoned hearse,
And all thy hoards with lavish hands disperse.
Should certain fate the impending blow delay,
Thy mirth will sicken, and thy bloom decay:
Then feeble age will all thy nerves disarm,
No more thy blood its narrow channels warm.
Who then would wish to stretch this narrow span,
To suffer life beyond the date of man?

The virtuous soul pursues a nobler aim,
And life regards but as a fleeting dream :
She longs to wake, and wishes to get free,
To launch from earth into eternity.

For while the boundless theme extends our thought,
Ten thousand thousand rolling years are nought.

THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.

FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care.
"Tis thus in friendship; who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.

A Hare, who in a civil way,
Complied with everything, like GAY,
Was known by all the bestial train,
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.
Her care was never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies:
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles, to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round;
Till, fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear she gasping lay;
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the Horse appeared in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight;
To friendship every burden's light."
The Horse replied: "Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus ;
Be comforted; relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear."

She next the stately Bull implored,
And thus replied the mighty lord:
"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;

And when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But see, the Goat is just behind."

The Goat remarked her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye;

66

My back," says he, "may do you harm;
The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."
The Sheep was feeble, and complained
His sides a load of wool sustained:
Said he was slow, confessed his fears,
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.

She now the trotting Calf addressed,
To save from death a friend distressed.
"Shall I," says he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler passed you by;
How strong are those, how weak am I !
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence.
Excuse me, then. You know my heart;
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament! Adieu!
For, see, the hounds are just in view!'

BLACK EYED SUSAN.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard,
"Oh! where shall I my true love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
If my sweet William sails among the crew?"
William, who high upon the yard

Rocked with the billow to and fro,
Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
He sighed, and cast his eyes below:

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands.

So sweet the lark, high poised in air,
Shuts close his pinions to his breast —

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