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To theatres and to rehearsals throng;
And all our grace at table is a song!
I, who so oft renounce the Muses, lie;
Not 's self eer tells more fibs than I :
When, sick of inuse, our follies we deplore,
And proulise our best friends to rhyme no more.
We wake next morning in a raging fit,
And call for pen and ink to show our wit.
He serv'd a 'prenticeship who sets up shop;
w ard tried on puppies, and the poor, his drop;
Even Radcliffe's doctors travel first to F Runce,
Nordare to practise till they've learn'd to dance.
Who boilds a bridge that mever drove a pile :
*Should Ripley ventire, all the world' would
But those who cannot write, and those who can,
As rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble to a man.
Yet Sir, reflect, the mischief is not great;
These madmen never hurt the church or state:
Sometimes the folly benefits mankind; -
AM rarely av'rice taints the tuneful mind.
Allow him but his plaything of a pen,
ile ne'er rebels, nor plots, like other men:
Flight of cashiers, or mobs, he 'll never mind ;
And knows no losses while the muse is kind.
To cheat a friend, or ward, he leaves to Peter,
The good unan heaps up nothing but mere metre;
Enjoys his garden and his book in quiet;
And then—a perfect hermit in his diet.
Qf little use the unan you inay suppose,
Who says in verse what others say in prose:
Yet let ine show, a poet's of some weight,
And (the no soldier) useful to the state.
What will a child learn sooner than a song?
What better teach a foreigner the tongue,
What's long,or short,each accent where to place.
And speak in public with some sort of grace?
Horče can think him such a worthless thing,
!nless he praise some monster of a king;
or virtue or religion turn to sport,
To please a lewd or unbelieving court.
ontoppy Dryden : in all Charles' days,
Sommon only boasts unspotted bays;
And in our own (excuse from courtly stains)
No whiter page than Addison remaius.
He from the taste obscene reclaims our youth,
And sets the passions on the side of truth;
Forms the soft bosom with the gentlest art,
And pours each human virtue in the heart.
Let Ireland tell, how wit upheld her eause,
Her trade supported, and supplied her laws;
And leave on Swift this grateful verse engrav'd :
...The rights a court attack'd, a poet sav'd."
Behold the hand that wrought a nation's cure,
Stretch'd to relieve the idiot and the poor,
Proud vice to brand, or injur'd worth'adorn,
&nd stretch the ray to ages yet unborn.
Not but there are who merit other palms;
Hopkinsaudsternhold glad the heart with psalms:
The boys and girls whom charity maintains,
Implore your help in these pathetic strains:
How could devotion touch the country pews,
Unless the Gods bestow'd a proper unuse?
Verse cheers their leisure, verse assists their work
Verse prays for peace, or sings down Pope au
The silenc'd preacher yields to potent strain,
And feels that grace his pray’r besought in vain;
The blessing thrills thro' all the laboring throng,
And heaven is won by violence of song.
Our rural ancestors, with little bles,
Patient of labor when the end was rest,
Indulu'd the day that hous’d their annual groin
With scasts and oil rings, and a thawk rul strain :
The joy their wives, their sons, and servants-lore,
Ease of their toil, and partners of their care:
The laugh, the jest, attendants on the bowl.
Smooth'd ev'ry brow, and open'd ev'ry soul :
With growing years the pleasing license grew,
And taunts alternate innocently flew.
But times corrupt, and nature ill-inclin'd,
Produc’d the point that left the sting behind;
Till friends with friend, and families at strife,
Triumphant malice rang'd thro’ private life.
Who felt the wrong, or fear'd it, took th' alarm,
Appeal’d to law, and justice lent her arm.
At length by ... dread of statutes bound,
The poets learn'd to please, and not to wound:
Most warp'd to flatt'ry's side; but some, more
Preserv'd W. freedom, and forbore the vice. [nice,
Hence Satire rose, that just the medium hit,
And heals with morals what it herts by wit.
'e conquer'd France, but felt our captive's
Her arts victorious triumph'd o'er our arms;
Britain to soft refinement less a foe,
Wit grew polite, and numbers learn'd to flow.
Waller was smooth; but Dryden taught to join
The varying verse, the full resounding line, ;
The long majestic march, and energy divine. J
Tho' still some traces of our rustic vein
And splayfoot verse remain’d and will remain;
Late, very late, correctness grew our care,
When the fir'd nation breath'd from civil war.
Exact loacine, and Corneille's noble fire,
Show'd us that France had something to admire!
Not but the tragic spirit was our own,
And full in Shakspeare, fair in Qtway shone:
But Otway fail'd to polish or refine,
And fluent Shakspeare scarce effac'd a line.
Even copious 1)ryden wanted, or forgot,
Tha last and greatest art, the art to blot.
Some doubt if equal pains or equal fire
The humbler muse of comedy require.
But, in known images of life, I guess
The labor greater, as th’ indulgence less.
Observe how seldom even the i. succeed:
Tell me if Congreve's Fools are fools indeed?
What pert low dialogue has Farquhar writ!
How Van wants grace who never wanted wit!
The stage how loosely does Astrea tread,
Who fairly puts all characters to bed!
And idle ğ. how he breaks the laws,
To make poor Pinkey eat with vast applause!
But fill their purse, our poets' work is done;
Alike to them, by Pathos or by Pun.
O you ! whom vanity's light bark conveys Qn fame's mad voyage b the wind of praise, With what a shifting o our course you ply, For ever sunk too low, or i. too high Who pants for glory finds but short repose; A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows. Farewell the stage : if, just as thrives the play, The silly bard grows fat, or falls away. There still remains, to mortify a wit, The many-headed monster of the Pit; A senseless, worthless, and unhonor'd crowd, Who, to disturb their betters mighty proud, Clatt'ring their sticks before ten lines are spoke, Call for the Farce, the Bear, or the Black Joke. What dear delight to Britons farce affords! Ever the taste of mobs, but now of lords (Taste, that eternal wanderer! which flies From heads to cars, and now from ears to eyes)! The play stands still: damn action and discourse, Back fly the scenes, and enter foot and horse; Pageants on pageants, in ". order drawn, Peers, heralds, bishops, ermine, gold, and lawn; The champion too! and, to complete the jest, Old Edward's armor beams on ğ. breast. With laughter sure Democritus had died, Had he beheld an audience gape so wide. Let bear or elephant be e'er so white, The people, sure the people, are the sight ! Ah, |...}. poet ! stretch thy lungs and roar, That bear or elephant shall heel thee more; While all its throats the gallery extends, And all the thunder of the pit ascends ! I.oud as the wolves, on Orcas' stormy steep, Howl to the roarings of the northern deep, Such is the shout, the long-applauding note, At Quin's high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat: Or when from Court a birth-day suit bestow'd Sinks the lost Actor in the tawdry load. Booth enters — hark' the universal peal' “But has he spoken 2" Not a jo. “What shook the stage,and madethereoplestare?” Cato'slong wig, flower'd gown,andlacquer'dchair. Yet, lest you think I rally more than teach, Or praise malignly arts I cannot reach, Let me for once presume t' instruct the times, To know the Poet from the man of rhymes: 'Tis he who gives my breast a thousand pains, Can make me feel each passion that he feigns; Enrage, compose, with inore than magic art, With pity and with terror tear my heart; And snatch me o'er the earth, or thro' the air, To Thebes, to Athens, when he will, and where. But not this part of the poetic state Alone deserves the favor of the Great: Think of those Authors, Sir, who would rely More on a Reader's sense, than Gazer's eve. Or who shall wander where the Moses sing? Who climb their mountain, or who taste their How shall we fill a library with wit, [spring? When Merlin's cave is half unfurnish'd yet? My Liege! why writers little claim your thought, I guess; and, with their leave, will tell the fault: We Poets are (upon a Poet's word) Of all mankind the creatures most absurd.:
The season when to come and when to go,
To sing or cease to sing, we never know ;
And, if we will recite nine hours in ten,
You lose your patience just like other men.
Then too we hurt ourselves, when, to defend
A single verse, we quarrel with a friend;
Repeat unask'd ; lament, the wit’s too fine
For vulgar eyes, and point out ev'ry line.
But most when, straining with too weak a wing,
We needs will write epistles to the King;
And from the moment we oblige the town,
Expect a place, or pension from the Crown;
()r i.o. by express command,
To enroll your triumphs o'er the seas and land;
Be call'd to Court to plan some work divine,
As once, sor Louis, Boileau, and Racine.
Yet think, great Sir! (so many virtues shown)
Ah think what Poet best may make them known!
Or choose at least some Minister of Grace,
Fit to bestow the Laureat's weighty place.
Charles, to late times to be transmitted fair,
Assign'd his figure to Bernini's care;
And great Nassau to Kneller's hand decreed
To fix him graceful on the bounding steed;
So well in paint and stone they judg’d of merit:
But Kings in Wit may want }. Spirit.
The Hero William, and the Martyr Charles,
Ome knighted Blackmore, and one pension'd
Which made old Ben and surly Dennis swear,
“No Lord's anointed, but a Russian Bear."
Not with such majesty, such bold relief,
The forms august of King or conq'ring Chief
E'er swell'd on marble, as in verse have shin'd
(In polish'd verse) the Manners and the Mind.
Oh! could I mount on the Maconian wing,
Your Arms, your Actions, your Repose to sing!
What seas you travers d, and what fickls }.
fought ! [bough!!
Your country's peace, how, oft, how dearly
How barb'rouse rage subsided at your word,
And nations wonder'd while they dropp'd the
How when you nodded, o'er the land and deep
Peacc stole i. wing, and wrapp'd the world in
Till earth's extremes vour mediation own,
And Asia's Tyrants tremble at your Throne.
But Verse! alas' your Majesty disdains;
And I'm not used to Panegyric strains:
The Zeal of Fools offends at any time,
But most of all the Zeal of Fools in rhyme.
13esides, a fate attends on all I write;
That, when I aim at praise, they say I bite.
A vile Encomium doubly ridicules:
There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.
If true, a woeful likeness; and if lies,
“Praise undeserv'd is satire in disguise :"
Well may he blush who gives it or receives;
And, when I flatter, let my dirty leaves
(Like Journals, Odes, and such forgotten things
As Eusden, Philips, Settle, writ of Kings)
Clothe spice, line trunks, or flutt'ring in a row
Befringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho.
And certain laws, by suff'rers thought unjust,
Denied all posts of profit or of trust;
Hopes after hopes of pious Papist fail'd,
While mighty William's thundring arm pre-
For Right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd, [vail'd.
Vo with peace of mind;
And me the Muses help to undergo it;
Convict a Papist he, and I a Poct.
But (than , to Homer') since I live and thrive,
Indebted to no prince or peer alive,
Sure I should want the care of ten Monroes,
If I would scribble rather than repose... [day,
Years, following years steal something ev'ry
At last they steal us from ourselves away;
In one our frolics, one amusements .
In one a mistress drops, in one a sriend:
This subtle thief of life, this paltry Time,
What will it leave me, if it snatch m rhyme ?
If ev'ry wheel of that unwearied o,
That turn'd ten thousand verses now stand still?
But, after all, what would you have me do,
When out of twenty I can please not two;
When this IIeroics only deigns to praise,
Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays?
'...}. the pheasant's wing, and one the leg:
The vulgar boil, the learned roast, an egg.
Hard task to hit the palate of such guests,
When Oldfield loves what l)artin.cuf detests.
But grant I may relapse, for want of grace,
Again to rhyme: can London be the place?
ho there }. Muse, or self, or soul attends,
In crowds and courts, law, business, feasts, and
My counsel sends to execute a deed :
A Poet begs me I will hear him read:
In Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there—
At ten for certain, Sir, in Bloomsbury-square—
Before the Lords at twelve my Cause comes on—
There's a Rehearsal, Sir, exact at one.
“Oh but a Wit can study in the streets,
“And raise his mind above the mob he mcets,”
Not quite so well however as one ought;
A hackney-coach may chance to spoila thought;
And then a nodding-beam, or pig of lead,
God knows, may hurt the very allest head.
Have you not seen, at Guildliall's narrow pass,
Two Aldermen dispute it with an Ass;
And Peers give way, exalted as they are,
Ev’n to their own S-r-v-nce in a car 2
Go, lofty Poet! and in such a crowd
Sing thy sonorous verse — but not aloud,
Alas! to grottos and to groves we run ;
To ease and silence ev'ry Muse's son : .
Blackmore himself, for any grand effort,
Would drink and doze at Tooting or Earl's-court.
How shall Irhyme in this eternal roar? [before?
How match the bards whom none e'er match'd
The man who, stretch'd in Isis' calm retreat,
To books and study gives seven years complete,
Seel strew'd with learned dust, his nightcap on,
He walks, an object new beneath the sun
The boys flock round him, and the people stare:
So stiff, so mute! some statue, you so
Stept from its pedestal to take the air!.
And here, while town, and court, and city roars,
With mobs, and duns, and soldiers, at their doors,
Shall I in London act this idle part?
Composing songs, for fools to get by heart?
The Temple late two brother Serjeants saw,
Who deem'd each other Oracles of Law :
With equal talents, these congenial souls, [Rolls;
Que lull'd th' Exchequer, and one stunn'd the
Each had a gravity would make you split,
And shook his head at Murray, as a wit.
'Twas, “Sir, your law."—and 'Sir, your elo-
quence;’ [bot's sense."
“Yours, Cowper's manners; and * Yours, Tal-
Thus we dispose of all poetic merit;
Yours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's spirit.
Call Tibbald Shakspeare,and he'll swearthe Nine,
Dear Cibber! never match'd one Ode of thine.
Lord! how we strut thro' Merlin's Cave to see
No poets there but Stephen, you, and me.
Walk with respect behind, while we at ease
Weave laurel Crowns, and take what names we
“My dearTibullus!" if that will not do, splease,
“Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you :
“Or, I'm content; allow nie Dryden's strains,
“And you shall rise up Otway for your pains.”
Much do I suffer, much to kcop in peace
Thisjealous, waspish, wrong-head, rhyming race;
And much must flatter, if the whim should bite
To court applause, by printing what I write:
But, let the fit pass o'er, I'ma wise enough
To stop my ears to their confounded stuff.
In vainbad Rhymersall mankind reject,[spect:
They treat themselves with most profound re-
'Tis to small purpose that you hold your tongue;
Each, prais'd within, is happy all day long :
But how severely with themselves proceed
The men who write such Verse as we can read:
Their own strict Judges, not a word they spare
That wants or force, or light, or weight, or care.
Howe'er unwillingly it quits its placc,
Nay tho' at Court (perhaps) it may find grace:
Such they'll degrade; and sometimes, in its stead,
In downright charity revive the dead;
Mark where a bold expressive phrase appears,
Bright thro' the rubbish of some hundred years;
Command old words that long have slept, t'awake,
Words that wise Bacon or brave Raleigh spake;
Orbid the new be English, ages hence,
(For Use will father what's begot by Sense)
Pour the full tide of eloquence along,
Seremely pure, and yet divinely strong, ;
Rich with the treasures of each foreign tongue:
Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine,
But show no mercy to an empty line :
Then polish all with so much life and ease,
You think 'tis Nature, and a knack to please:
“Butease in writing flows from art, not chance;
“As those move easiest whohavelearn'dtodance.”
If such the plague and pains to write by rule,
Better (say I) be pleas'd, and play the fool:
Call, if you will, bad rhyming a disease;
It gives men happiness or leaves their case.
There liv'd in primo Georgii (they record)
A worthy Michaber, no small fool, a Lord ;
Who, tho' the House was up, delighted sate,
Heard, noted, answer'd, as in full debate:
In all but this, a man of sober life,
Fond of his Friend, and civil to his Wife;
Not quite a madman tho' a pasty sell,
And much too wise to walk into a well. [murd,
Him the damn'd 1)octors and his Friends ini-
They bled, they cupp'd, they purgd; in short,
they cur'd : .
Whereat the gentleman began to stare–
My friends! he cricd, p-x take you for your care,
That from a Patriot of distinguish'd note,
Have bled and purg'd me to a simple Vote.
Well, on the whole, plain prose must be mysate:
Wisdom, curse on it! will come soon or late.
There is a time when Poets will grow dull:
I'll e'en leave verses to the bows at school:
To rules of Poetry no more confin'd,
I'll learn to smooth and harmonize my mind;
Teach ev'ry thought within its bounds to roll,
And keep the equal measure of the soul.
Soon as I enter at my country door,
My mind resumes the thread it dropp'd before;
Thought which at Hyde-park corner I forgot,
Aleet and rejoin me in the pensive Grot;
There all alone, and compliment. apart,
I ask these solver questions of my heart:
If, when the more you drink, the more you
crave, - -
You tell the Doctor; when the more you have,
The more you want, whv not with equal ease
Confess as well your Folly, as Disease?
The heart resolves this matter in a trice:
“Men only feel the Smart, but not the Vice."
When golden Angels cease to cure the Evil,
You give all royal Witchcraft to the Devil;
When servile Chaplains cry that birth and place
Eudue a Pecr with honor, truth, and grace,
Look if that breast, most dirty D–l fair;
Say, can you find out one such lodger there?
Yet still, not heeding what your heart can teach,
You go to church to hear these flatt'rers preach.
Indeed, could wealth bestow or wit or merit,
A grain of courage, or a spark of spirit,
The wisest man might blush, I niust agree, f
If D*** lov’d sixpence more than he.
If there be truth in Law, and Use can give
A Property; that's yours on which you live.
l)elighted Abs-court, if its fields afford
Their fruits to you, confesses you its lord;
All Worldly's hens, may partridge, sold to town,
His ven’son too, a guinea makes your own :
He bought at thousands what with better wit
You purchase as you want, and bit by bit;
Now, or longsince, what diff'rence will be found:
You pay a penny, and he paid a pound.
Heathcote himself, and such large-acred men,
Lords of fat E'sham, or of I.incoln fen,
Buy ev'ry stick of wood that lends them heatre
Buy ev'ry pullet they afford to eat.
Yet these are Wights who fondly call their own
Half that the Devil o'erlooks from Lincoln town,
The Laws of God, as well as of the land,
Abhor a Perpetuity should stand:
Estates have wings, and hangin fortune's pow'r, With terrors round, can reason he her throne,
loose on the point of ev'ry waving hour, i. by force, or of your own accord, By sale,
Despise the known, nor trembleat ' unknown? Survey both worlds, intrepid and etire,
at least by death, to change their lord. In spite of witches, devils, dreamsand fire? an? and for ever? wretch! what would'st thou Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd took behind, Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave. [have? And count each birth-day with a goteful mind?
All vast possessions (just the same the case
Whether you call then Villa, Park, or Chase)
Alas, my Bathurst; what will they avail?
Join Cotswood hills to Saperton's fair dale;
Let rising granaries and temples here,
Their mingled farms and pyramids appear;
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak ;
Inclose whole towns in walls—'us all a joke:
Inexorable Death shall level all,
And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall.
Gold, Silver, Iv'ry, Vases, sculptur'd high,
Has life no sourness, drawn so nea its end?
Caust thou endure a foe, forgive a 'iend?
Has age but melted the rough partaway,
As winter fruits grow mild cre the decay?
Qr will you think, my friend, your asiness done,
When, of a hundred thorns, you ull out one *
Learn to live well, or fairly mat your will;
Walk sober off, before a sprightli, age [fill: Comestitt ring on, and shoves you on the stage;
I.eave such to trifie with more gree and ease,
There are who have not—and, thank Heaven:
- there are,
Who if they have not, think not worth theircare.
Talk what you will of Taste, Iny friend, you'll
Two of a facé as soon as of a mind. find,
Why, of two brothers, rich and restless one !. 3
Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to
The other slights, for women, sports, and wines,
All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's
Why one, like Bu–with pay and scorn content,
Bows, and votes on, in Court and Parliament;
One, driven by strong Benevolence of soul,
Shall fly, like Oglethorp, from pole to pole;
: known alone to that Directing Pow'r
Who forms the Genius in the watal hour;
That God of Nature, who, within us still,
Inclines our action, not constrains our will :
Various of temper, as of face of frame,
Pooh individual; his great End the same.
ses, Sir, how small soever be my heap,
A part I will enjoy as well as keep. -
==== $21. Epilegues to the Satires. Inwo Dialogues. Pope. DIALOGUE I. Fr. Not twice a twelvemonthyou appear in rint; And when it comes, the Court st nothingin't. You grow correct, that once wit, rapture writ; And are, besides, too moral for a Wit. Decay of parts, alas! we all mu feel— Why now, this moment, don't jsee you steal? Tis all from Horace; Horace, lng before ye, Said, “Tories call'd him. Whig and Whigs a “Tory;" And taught his Romans, in muh better metre, “To laughat fools who put theitrust in Peter." But Horace, Sir, was delicate was nice; Bubo observes, he lash'd no sor of Vice : Horace would say, Sir Billy ser'd the Crown; Blunt could do business, H-ggin knew the town; In Sappho touch the Failings q the Ser,
My heir may sigh, and think it want of grace In rev'rend Bishops note some mall neglects;
man so poor would live without a place: But sure no statute in his favor Savs, How free or frugal I shall pass my days; & who at some times spend, at others spare, Joided between carelessness and care. Tis one thing madly to disperse my store; Another, not to heed to treasure more; Glad, like a boy, to snatch the first good day, And pleas'd if sordid want be far away. What is't to me a passenger, (God wot) Whether my vessel be first rate or not? The ship itself may make a better figure, uth that sail am neither less nor bigger; neither strut with ev'ry favoring breath, Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth: "Pow'r, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd Behind the foremost, and before the last. “ o why all this of avarice I have none.” wish you jov, Sir, of a tyrant gone; But o o other lord it . ...} As wild and mad—the avarice of pow'r? Does neither rage inflame, nor fear appall? Not the black fear of death that saddons all?
And own the Spaniard did a wiggish o
Who cropp'dour ears, and sent tiem to the King.
His sly, polite, insinuating styk -
Could please at Court, and makeaugustus smile :
An artful manager, that crept letween
His friend and shame, and wasa kind of screen.
But, 'faith, your very friends wil soon be sore;
Patriots there are who wish you'djest no more—
And where's the Glory? 'twil be only thought
The great man never offer'd him a groat.
Go see Sir Robert–
- P. See Sir Robert! — hum—
And never laugh for all my life to come 2
Seen him I have, but in his hippier hour
Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchanged for Pow'r,
Seen him, uncumber'd with avenal tribe,
Smile without art, and win without a bribe.
Would he oblige me? let me only find , .
He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
Come, coine—at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt;
The only diff'rence is—I dare laugh out.
A horse-laugh, if you please, at Honesty Ajoke