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That wild enthusiastic force,
By which, above her common course,
Nature, in extasy upborne,
Look'd down on earthly things with scorn ;
Who have no more regard, 'tis known,
For their religion than our own,
And feel not half so fierce a flame
At Clio's as at Fisher's name ;
Who know these boasted sacred streams
Were mere romantic idle dreams,
That Thames has waters clear as those
Which on the top of Pindus rose,
And that the fancy to refine,
Water's not half so good as wine ;
Who know, if profit strikes our eye,
Should we drink Helicon quite dry,
The whole fountain would not thither lead
So soon as one poor jug from Tweed:
Who, if to raise poetic fire,
The power of Beauty we require,
In any public place can view
More than the Grecians ever knew;
If wit into the scale is thrown,
Can boast a Lennox of our own;


62 Catherine Fisher, better known by the name of Kitty Fisher, a courtesan of exquisite beauty, and first rate colebrity in the annals of fashionable dissipation.

78 Mrs. Arabella Lennox, the author of some very pleasing novels, was the daughter of a North American gentleman of the name of Ramsay, and was born at New York. Sir John Hawkins, in his life of Dr. Johnson, tells an amusing anec dote of the celebration of the birth of her first literary child

Why should we servile customs choose,
And court an antiquated Muse ?
No matter why—to ask a reason
In pedant bigotry is treason.

In the broad beaten turnpike-road
Of hackneyed panegyric ode,
No modern poet dares to ride
Without Apollo by his side,
Nor in a sonnet take the air


as the Doctor called it, entitled “The life of Harriot Stuart.” and published in 1751. Johnson in his club proposed devoting to it a whole night spent in festivity, to which proposition all the company acceded. The place appointed was the Devil Tavern, and there, about the hour of eight, Mrs. Lennox and her husband, and a lady of her acquaintance, as also the club and friends to the number of twenty, assembled. The supper was elegant, and Johnson had directed that a magnificent hot apple pie should make a part; and this he insisted upon having stuck with bay leaves, because Mrs. Lennox was an authoress, and had written verses; and further, he had prepared for her a crown of laurel, with which, but not till he had invoked the muses by some ceremonies of his own invention, he encircled her brows. The night passed in pleasant conversation and harmless mirth, intermingled at different periods with the refreshments of tea and coffee. About five Johnson's face shone with meridian plendour, though his drink had been only lemonade. The greater part of the company had deserted the colours of Bacchus, and were with difficulty rallied to partake of a second refreshment of tea and coffee, which was scarcely ended when the day began to dawn. This phenomenon began to put them in mind of their reckoning, but the waiters were all so overcome with sleep, that it was two hours before a bill could be got; and it was not till near eight that the creeking of the street door gave the signal for their departure. She being a Roman Catholic translated into English the Memoirs of Sully a Huguenot.


Unless his lady Muse be there ;
She, from some amaranthine grove,
Where little Loves and Graces rove,
The laurel to my Lord must bear,
Or garlands make for whores to wear;
She, with soft elegiac verse,
Must grace some mighty villain's hearse,
Or for some infant, doom’d by fate
To wallow in a large estate,
With rhymes the cradle must adorn,
To tell the world a fool is born.

Since then our critic Lords expect,
No hardy poet should reject
Establish'd maxims, or presume
To place much better in their room,
By nature fearful, I submit,
And in this dearth of sense and wit,
With nothing done, and little said,
(By wild excursive Fancy led
Into a second Book thus far,
Like some unwary traveller,
Whom varied scenes of wood and lawn
With treacherous delight have drawn
Deluded from his purposed way,
Whom every step leads more astray:
Who, gazing round, can no where spy,
Or house or friendly cottage nigh,
And resolution seems to lack
To venture forward or go back)
Invoke some goddess to descend,
And help me to my journey's end;


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Though conscious Arrow all the while
Hears the petition with a smile,
Before the glass her charms unfolds,
And in herself my Muse beholds.

Truth, goddess of celestial birth,
But little loved or known on earth,
Whose power but seldom rules the heart,
Whose name, with hypocritic art,
An arrant stalking-horse is made,
A snug pretence to drive a trade,
An instrument, convenient grown
To plant, more firmly, Falsehood's throne,
As rebels varnish o'er their cause
With specious colouring of laws,
And pious traitors draw the knife
In the king's name against his life ;
Whether (from cities far away,
Where Fraud and Falsehood scorn thy sway)
The faithful nymph's and shepherd's pride,
With Love and Virtue by thy side,
Your hours in harmless joys are spent
Amongst the children of Content ;
Or, fond of gayety and sport,
You tread the round of England's court,
Howe'er my Lord may frowning go,
And treat the stranger as a foe,
Sure to be found a welcome guest
In George's and in Charlotte's breast;
If, in the giddy hours of youth,
My constant soul adhered to truth ;
If, from the time I first wrote Man,


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I still pursued thy sacred plan,
Tempted by Interest in vain
To wear mean Falsehood's golden chain ;
If, for a season drawn away,
Starting from virtue's path astray,
All low disguise I scorned to try,
And dared to sin, but not to lie;
Hither, O hither! condescend,
Eternal Truth! thy steps to bend,
And favour him, who, every hour,
Confesses and obeys thy power!
But come not with that


By which you won the lively Dean,
Nor yet assume that strumpet air
Which Rab'lais taught thee first to wear,
Nor yet that arch ambiguous face
Which, with Cervantes gave thee grace ;
But come in sacred vesture clad,
Solemnly dull, and truly sad !

Far from thy seemly matron train
Be idiot Mirth, and Laughter vain !
For Wit and Humour, which pretend
At once to please us and amend;
They are not for my present turn;
Let them remain in France with Sterne.

Of noblest City parents born,
Whom wealth and dignities adorn,




156 The offence to which our author here pleads guilty had been before alluded to by him in “ The Conference," in which he severely condemned his own conduct, and antici pated the just censure of the public.

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