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en thefe mad troops he spied, join their fide: arted pairs began

him to a man; are rangers to his name, whence the dotard came. the fequel-for this truth ems impetucus youth. *.zoney moon could wane, d on ev'ry twain; , and all day long, aded her icorpion thong: there with frowning mien, ward cd of ipleen. roach'd his awful fane, inum rous train. och foft and nameless grace, nar and in place: aragd, with folemn gait, d was big with fate; ing taper bore, moi, fam'd of yore. d with every charm, 's incumbent arm; At the glowing scene es of eighteen. y miling fair; wav'd in air;

hunks, walk'd hobbling nigh, -caw and eagle-eye, Tere years had feen, or more that had feen a score):

the wretch, tho' clad in rags, pon his bags. er arts difplay'd;

at the maid:

(tho great thy fame), All to draw the fame; pow'r is more s was before. as cygnet's down, Mrs Emma brown; the changing flow'r, and ev'ry hour.

you know the fair,
, and fets your hair.
Tunts his throne of state,
ter of fate :

radiant glories dreft,
4 un Virtue's breaft.
ration on the right:
ad with golden light:
A the fecond place,
nguith'd grace;
ceremonial joy,

" to the bov;

to point his dirt,
-ge to the heart;
interior hend
Photain'd their stand.

w'd rites proceed, And heart-ftrings bleed. Arjun'd her fide; 2. trembling bride,

Averfe the turn'd her weeping face,
And fhudder'd at the cold embrace.

But various baits their force impart ;
Thus titles lie at Celia's heart.
A paffion much too foul to name,
Cofts fupercilious prudes their fame:
Prudes wed to publicans and finners;
The hungry poet weds for dinners,
The god with frown indignant view'd
The rabble covetous or lewd;
By ev'ry vice his altar ftain'd,
By ev'ry fool his rites profan'd:
When Love complain'd of Wealth aloud,
Affirming Wealth debauch'd the crowd;
Drew up in form his heavy charge,
Defiring to be heard at large.

The god confents, the throng divide, The young efpous'd the plaintiff's fide; The old declar'd for the defendant, For age is money's sworn attendant.

Love faid, that wedlock was defign'd
By gracious Heaven to match the mind;
To pair the tender and the juft,
And his the delegated truft:
That Wealth had play'd a knavish part,
And taught the tongue to wrong the heart.
But what avails the faithlefs voice?

The injur'd heart difdains the choice.

Wealth ftraight replied, that Love was blind,
And talk'd at random of the mind:
That killing eyes, and bleeding hearts,
And all th' artillery of darts,
Were long ago exploded fancies,
And laugh'd at even in romances.
Poets indeed ftyle love a treat,
Perhaps for want of better meat:
And love might be delicious fare,
Could we, like poets, live on air.
But grant that angels feaft on love
(Thofe purer effences above),
Yet Albion's fons, he understood,
Preferr'd a more fubftantial food.
Thus while with gibes he drefs'd his cause,
His grey admirers hemm'd applause.
With feeming conqueft pert and proud,
Wealth fhook his fides, and chuckled loud;
When Fortune, to reftrain his pride,
And fond to favour Love befide,
Op'ning the mifer's tape-tied velt,
Difclos'd the cares which tung his breaft:
Wealth food abafh'd at his dilgrace,
And a deep crimfon fufh'd his face.

Love fweetly fimper'd at the fight;
His gay adherents laugh'd outright.
The god, tho' grave his temper, fmil'd;
For Hymen dearly priz'd the child.
But he who triumphs o'er his brother,
In turn is laugh'd at by another.
Such cruel fcores we often find
Repaid the criminal in kind :
For Poverty, that famih'd fiend!
Ambitions of a wealthy friend,
Advanc'd into the miler's place,
And ftar'd the ftripling in the face;

Whofe

Thro' ev'ry fcene maintain our trust, Nor e'er be timid or unjuft.

For when the fun deferts the skies, And the dull winter evenings rife, throne,Then for a husband's focial pow'r

That breast, where Honour builds his
That breaft, which Virtue calls her own,
Nor Int'reft warps, nor Fear appals,
When Danger frowns, or Lucre calls.
No! the true friend collected ftands,
Fearless his heart, and pure his hands:
Let Int'reit plead, let storms arise,
He dares be honeft, tho' he dies!

§ 117. Vision VII. Marriage. Infcribed to Mifs

FAIREST, this Vision is thy due;
I form'd th' inftructive plan for you.
Slight not the rules of thoughful age;
Your welfare actuates every page;
But ponder well my facred theme,
And tremble while you read my dream.
Thefe awful words, till death do part,'
May well alarm the youthful heart :
No after-thought when once a wife,
The die is caft, and cast for life;
Yet thoufands venture ev'ry day.
As fome bafe pafion leads the way.
Pert Sylvia talks of wedlock scenes,
Tho' hardly enter'd on her teens;
Smiles on her whining spark, and hears
The fugar'd fpeech with raptur'd ears;
Impatient of a parent's rule,

She leaves her fire, and weds a fool.
Want enters at the guardlefs door,
And Love is fled, to come no more.

Some few they are of fordid mould,
Who barter youth and bloom for gold,
Careless with what or whom they mate;
Their ruling paflion 's all for ftate,
But Hymen, gen'rous, juít, and kind,
Abhors the mercenary mind;
Such rebels groan beneath his rod;
For Hymen 's a vindictive god:

Be joyless ev'ry night,' he faid;
And barren be their nuptial bed!'
Attend, my fair, to wisdom's voice;
A better fate fhall crown thy choice.
A married life, to speak the best,
Is all a lottery confeft:
Yer, it my fair one will be wife,
I will infure my girl a prize
Tho' not a prize to match thy worth:
Perhaps thy equal 's not on earth!

'Tis an important point, to know
There's no perfection here below.
Man 's an odd compound, after all;
And ever has be: n fince the fall.
Say, that he loves you from his foul,
Still man is proud, nor brooks controul;
And tho' a flave in love's foft school,
In wedleck claims his right to rule.
The best, in fhort has faults about him;
It few thote faults, you must not flout him.
With fome, indeed, you can't difpente,
15 wat of temper and of fente:

To form the calm, converfive hour;
The treafures of thy breaft explore,
From that rich mine to draw the ore:
Fondly each gen'rous thought refine,
And give thy native gold to fhine;
Shew thee, as really thou art,
Tho' fair, yet fairer ftill at heart.

Say, when life's purple bloffoms fade,
As foon they muft, thou charming maid
When in thy cheek the rofes die,
And ficknefs clouds that brilliant eye;
Say, when or age or pains invade,
And those dear limbs shall call for aid;
If thou art fetter'd to a fool,
Shall not his tranfient palior cool?
And, when thy health and beauty end,
Shall thy weak mate perfift a friend?
But to a man of fenfe, my dear,
E'en then thou lovely fhalt appear;
He'll fhare the griefs that wound thy he
And, weeping, claim the larger part:
Tho' age impairs that beauteous face,
He'll prize the pearl beyond its cafe.
In wedlock when the fexes meet,
Friendship is only then complete.
Blefs'd itate! where fouls each other d
Where love is liberty and law!'
The choiceft bleffing found below,
That man can with, or Heaven bestow!
Trust me, thefe raptures are divine,
For lovely Chloe once was mine!
Nor fear the varnish of my style;
Tho' poet, I'm eftrang'd to guile.
Ah me! my faithful lips impart
The genuine language of my heart!

When bards extol their patrons high, Perhaps 'tis gold extorts the lie; Perhaps the poor reward of breadBut who burns incenfe to the dead? He, whom a fond affection draws, Carelefs of cenfure or applaufe; Whofe foul is upright and fincere, With nought to with and nought to fear. Now to my vifionary scheme Attend, and profit by my dream. Amidit the flumbers of the night, A ftately temple rose to fight; And ancient as the human race, If Nature's purposes you trace: This fane, by all the wife rever'd, To wedlock's pow'rful god was rear'd. Hard by I faw a graceful fage, His locks were frotted o'er by age; His garb was plain, his mind ferene, And wifdom dignified his mien. With curious fearch his name I fought, And found 'twas Hymen's fav'rite, Thoug Apace the giddy crowds advance, And a lewd fatyr led the dance.

I griev'd to fee whole thousands run, For oh! what thousands were undone!

2

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The Accerted pairs bega
Torziet him to a man;
Fwd they were rangers to his name,
Nor knew from whence the lotard came.
But mark the fequer this truth
Highly concerts impers youth.
Long ere the honey rest could wane,
Peration feiz'd on evly twin;
At ev'ry bute, and al day long,
kepentance pled her forpion thong:
Dit was there with owning mien,
And evity ward of ipleen.
App his awful fane,

Averfe the turn'd her weeping face,
And fhudder'd at the cold embrace.

But various baits their force impart;
Thus titles lie at Celia's heart.
A paffion much too foul to name,
Cofts fupercilious prudes their fame:
Prudes wed to publicans and finners;
The hungry poet weds for dinners.

The god with frown indignant view'd
The rabble covetous or lewd;
By ev'ry vice his altar ftain'd,
By ev'ry fool his rites profan'd:

When Love complain'd of Wealth aloud,
Affirming Wealth debauch'd the crowd;
Drew up in form his heavy charge,
Defiring to be heard at large.

The god confents, the throng divide,
The young efpous'd the plaintiff's fide;
The old declar'd for the defendant,
For age is money's worn attendant.

Attended by a num rous train.
Leather ft and nameless grace,
Was in favour and in place:
Then cure the god, with folemn gait,
Whey word was big with fate;
Habenda daming taver bore,
The faced ymhoi, fam'd of yore.
Verte, ad with every charm,
Saharid the gals incombent arm;
Berty in the glowing fcene
With others of eighteen.
Youth and the gay fmiling fair;
His purple pins wav'd in air;
Weath, a che bunks, walk'd hobbling nigh,
With rature-claw and eagle-eye,
Who threefcore years had leen, or more
(Tu faid his coat had feen a fcore):
Pad was the wretch, tho' clad in rags,

Prgh upon his bags.
difplay'd;

A female next her arts

Poets alone can paint the maid:
Trut me, Hear the great thy fame),

Twould pole tayl to draw the fame;
And yet thy Kirk pow'r is more
Than erer painter's was before.

Now he was far as cygnet's down,

Now as Mat Prior's Emma brown;

Love faid, that wedlock was defign'd
By gracious Heaven to match the mind;
To pair the tender and the juft,
And his the delegated trust:
That Wealth had play'd a knavish part,
And taught the tongue to wrong the heart.
But what avails the faithlefs voice?

The injur'd heart difdains the choice.

Wealth itraight replied, that Love was blind,
And talk'd at random of the mind:
That killing eyes, and bleeding hearts,
And all th' artillery of darts,
Were long ago exploded fancies,
And laugh'd at even in romances.
Poets indeed ftyle love a treat,
Perhaps for want of better meat:
And love might be delicious fare,
Could we, like poets, live on air.
But grant that angels feast on love
(Thofe purer effences above),

And changing as the changing flow'r,
Her tres the varied ev'ry Lour.
Waps your gown, and fets your hair.
Fancy, child-you know the fair,
La god mounts his throne of ftate,
At the arbiter of fate:
He with radiant glories dreft,
Gelin' on Virtue's breaft.
Look his itation on the right:
Her beam'd with golden light:

and the fecond place,
A of ditinguith'd grace;
Se tamd this ceremonial joy,
Becafeated to the boy;
Sit wars to point his dart,
A pallage to the heart;
We on the god's inferior hand

Ject and Wealth obtain'd their stand.
And now the hallow'd rites proceed,
ed tow a thousand heart-ftrings bleed.
blooming, trembling bride,
toothiefs lover join'd her fide;

1

Yet Albion's fons, he understood,
Preferr'd a more fubftantial food.

Thus while with gibes he drefs'd his caufe,
His grey admirers hemm'd applause.
With feeming conquest pert and proud,
Wealth fhook his fides, and chuckled loud;
When Fortune, to reftrain his pride,
And fond to favour Love befide,
Op'ning the mifer's tape-tied velt,

Difclos'd the cares which tung his breast:
Wealth food abafh'd at his dilgrace,
And a deep crimson Aufh'd his face.
Love fweetly fimper'd at the fight;
His
gay adherents laugh'd outright.
The god, tho' grave his temper, fmil'd;
For Hymen dearly priz'd the child.
But he who triumphs o'er his brother,
In turn is laugh'd at by another.
Such cruel fcores we often find
Repaid the criminal in kind:
For Poverty, that famih'd fiend!
Ambitions of a wealthy friend,
Advanc'd into the mifer's place,
And ftar'd the ftripling in the face;

Whofe

Whofe lips grew pale, and cold as clay:
I thought the chit would swoon away.
The god was ftudious to employ
His cares to aid the vanquish'd boy:
And therefore iffued his decree,
That the two parties straight agree:
When both obey'd the god's commands,
And Love and Riches join'd their hands.
What wond'rous change in each was wrought,
Believe me, fair, furpafles thought.

If Love had many charms before,
He now had charms ten thousand more:
If Wealth had ferpents in his breast,
They now were dead, or lull'd to rest.
Beauty, that vain, affected thing,
Who join'd the hymeneal ring,
Approach'd, with round unthinking face;
And thus the trifler states her cafe:

She faid that Love's complaints, 'twas known,
Exactly tallied with her own:

That Wealth had learn'd the felon's arts,
And robb'd her of a thousand hearts;
Defiring judgment against Wealth,
For falfehood, perjury, and stealth:
All which the could on oath depofe;
And hop'd the court would flit his nofe.
But Hymen, when he heard her name,
Call'd her an interloping dame;
Look'd through the crowd with angry state,
And blam'd the porter at the gate
For giving entrance to the fair,
When the was no effential there.

To fink.this haughty tyrant's pride,
He order'd Fancy to prefide.
Hence, when debates on beauty rise,
And each bright fair difputes the prize,
To Fancy's court we straight apply,
And wait the fentence of her eye;
In beauty's realms the holds the feals,
And her awards preclude appeals.

$118. Vifion VIII. Life.
LET not the young my precepts fhua;
Who flight good counfels are undone.
Your poet fung of love's delights,
Of halcyon days and joyous nights;
To the gay fancy lovely themes;

And fain I'd hope they 're more than dreams.
But, if you pleafe, before we part,
I'd fpeak a language to your heart.
We 'll talk of Life, tho' much I fear
Th' ungrateful tale will wound your ear.
You raise your fanguine thoughts too high,
And hardly know the reason why:
But fay, Life's tree bears golden fruit,
Some canker fhall corrode the root;
Some unexpected storm shall rife,
Or fcorching funs, or chilling skies;
And (if experienc'd truths avail)
All your autumnal hopes thall fail.

But, poet, whence fuch wide extremes ?
Well may you style your labours dreams.
A fon of forrow thou, I ween,

• Whose Visions are the brats of Spleen.

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Is bliss a vague, unmeaning name?
Speak then the paffions' ufe or aim;
Why rage defires without controul,
And roufe fuch whirlwinds in the foul?
Why Hope erects her tow'ring crest,
And laughs and riots in the breast?
Think not my weaker brain turns round
Think not I tread on fairy ground;
Think not your pulfe alone beats true-
Mine makes as healthful mufic too.
Our joys, when Life's foft fpring we trad
Put forth their early buds apace.
See the bloom loads the tender fhoot;
The bloom conceals the future fruit.
Yes, manhood's warm meridian fun
Shall ripen what in fpring begun.
Thus infant rofes, ere they blow,
In germinating clusters grow;
And only wait the fummer's ray,
To burft, and bloffom to the day.'
What faid the gay unthinking boy?
Methought Hilario talk'd of joy!
Tell, if thou canft, whence joys arise,
Or what thofe mighty joys you prize.
You'll find (and truit fuperior years)
The vale of life a vale of tears.
Could wisdom teach where joys abound,
Or riches purchase them when found,
Would fceptred Solomon complain
That all was fleeting, falfe, and vain?
Yet fceptred Solomon could fay,
Returning clouds obicur'd his day.
Thofe maxims, which the preacher drew,
The royal fage experienc'd true.
He knew the various ills that wait
Our infant and meridian state;
That toys our earliest thoughts engage,
And diff'rent toys maturer age;
That grief at ev'ry stage appears,
But diff'rent griefs at diff'rent years;
That vanity is feen, in part,
Infcrib'd on ev'ry human heart;
In the child's breaft the fpark began,
Grows with his growth, and glares in man
But when in life we journey late,
If follies die, do griefs abate?
Ah! what is life at fourfcore years? [and te
One dark, rough road, of fighs, groans, pa
Perhaps you'll think I act the fa ne
As a fly fharper plays his game:
You triumph ev'ry deal that 's past,
He 's fure to triumph at the laft!
Who often wins fome thoufands more
Than twice the fums you won before.
But I'm a lofer with the reft;
For life is all a deal at beft,
Where not the prize of wealth or fame
Repays the trouble of the game-
(A truth no winner e'er denied.
An hour before that winner died).
Not that with me thefe prizes fhine;
For neither fame nor wealth is mine.
My cards, a weak plebeian band,
With fcarce an honour in my hand!

Af my trumps are very few,
Wythal more to boast than you?
inginer by your fall;
hart Fortune bubbles all!
(fective it ill or well),
ancholy truth I tell.

Bold the preacher take your pence,
der truth to flatter fense?
eticians have no merit,
lenity of fpirit.

a game, divines confefs;
gcards, and that at chefs:
rews be centred here,
ng game I fear.

ya know, when wars obtain,
vefels crowd the main,
over from afar

dibant as a star,
ective to their eyes,
colours, ftrength, and fize;
tatis fecret once they know,
to receive the foe.

14 I from failors learn
ys of like concern.
ay, as custom led,
the time of bed;
at the midnight hour,
d her magic pow'r-
cancy, like a fprite,
tent fcenes of night).
me in a neighb'ring wood,
Ser were the thicket stood;
of the place was nigh,

dre pictures to my eye. Tanter had pourtray'd and genuine shade. "Live aly known its dawn, Kamines too deeply drawn; drva, fear, will fhew The aner at paint too true. Gece pretents a rueful wild,

notammer's fun had smil'd: The mad with thorns is cover'd wide, Greifsweeping by the fide; with conftant tenor flow, - 4 mournful lake below; fre Dent waters, dark and deep, the gloomy valley creep. that flatter, or that slay, stat fawn, or birds that e affumes the ferpent's shape; Folly perfonates the ape: A nice gripes with harpy's claws; There Maince grins with tiger's jaws: as of Mischief, Art, and Guile, gators of the Nile.

prey.

Pitafure acts a treach'rous part; tarras the sense, but ftings the heart: when the gulls us of our wealth, that fuperior pearl, our health, sus mought but pains and woe, rowns us in the lake below.

There a commiffion'd angel stands,
With defolation in his hands!
He fends the all-devouring flame,
And cities hardly boaft a name :
Or wings the peftilential blast,

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And, lo! ten thousands breathe their laft.
He fpeaks obedient tempefts roar,
And guilty nations are no more:
He fpeaks the fury Discord raves,
And fweeps whole armies to their graves;
Or Famine lifts her mildew'd hand,
And Hunger howls thro' all the land.

Oh! what a wretch is man!' I cried;
Expos'd to death on ev'ry fide!
And fure as borne to be undone
By evils which he cannot fhun!
Befides a thousand baits to fin,
A thousand traitors lodg'd within!
For foon as Vice affaults the heart,
The rebels take the dæmon's part.'
I figh, my aching bofom bleeds;
When straight the milder plan fucceeds.
The lake of tears, the dreary shore,
The fame as in the piece before:
But gleams of light are here difplay'd,
To cheer the eye, and gild the shade;
Affliction fpeaks a fofter style,
And Difappointment wears a fmile:
A group of virtue's bloffom near;
Their roots improve by ev'ry tear

Here Patience, gentle maid! is nigh,
To calm the ftorm, and wipe the eye:
Hope acts the kind phyfician's part,
And warms the folitary heart:
Religion nobler comfort brings,
Difarms our griefs, or blunts their ftings;
Points out the balance on the whole,
And Heaven rewards the struggling foul.
But while these raptures I pursue,
The Genius fuddenly withdrew

§ 119. Vifon the laft. Death.
'Tis thought my Visions are too grave *;
A proof I'm no defigning knave.
Perhaps, if int'reft held the fcales,
I had devis'd quite diffèrent tales;
Had join'd the laughing, low buffoon,
And fcribbled fatire and lampoon;
Or itirr'd each fource of foft defire,
And fann'd the coals of wanton fire:
Then had my paltry Visions fold;
Yes, all my dreams had turn'd to gold;
Had prov'd the darling of the town,
And I-a Poet of renown!

Let not my awful theme surprise;
Let no unmanly fears arife.
I wear no melancholy hue;

No wreaths of cyprefs, or of yew.

The shroud, the coffin, pall, or hearse,
Shall ne'er deform my fofter verse.

Let me confign the fun'ral plume,
The herald's paint, the sculptur'd tomb,

See the Monthly Review of New Books, for February 1751.
H

And

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