The pious grandson thy known handle takes, And (eyes lift up) this savory lecture makes: "Great A," he gravely read; the important sound
The empty walls and hollow roof rebound:
Th' expiring ancient rear'd his drooping head, And thank'd his stars that Hodge had learn'd to
"Great B," the younker bawls: O heavenly breath! What ghostly comforts in the hour of death! What hopes I feel! "Great C," pronounc'd the boy;
The grandsire dies with ecstasy of joy.
Yet in some lands such ignorance abounds, Whole parishes scarce know thy useful sounds. Of Essex-Hundreds Fame gives this report, But Fame, I ween, says many things in sport. Scarce lives the man to whom thou'rt quite unknown,
Though few th' extent of thy vast empire own. Whatever wonders magic spells can do
On earth, in air, in sea, in shades below;
What words profound and dark wise Mahomet
spoke,
When his old cow an angel's figure took;
What strong enchantments sage Canidia knew,
Or Horace sung, fierce monsters to subdue,
O mighty Book, are all contain'd in you!
All human arts, and every science meet,
Within the limits of thy single sheet:
From thy vast root all learning's branches grow,
And all her streams from thy deep fountain flow.
And, lo! while thus thy wonders I indite,
Inspir'd I feel the power of which I write;
The gentler gout his former rage forgets,
Less frequent now, and less severe the fits:
Loose grew the chains which bound my useless
feet;
Stiffness and pain from every joint retreat;
Surprising strength comes every moment on,
I stand, I step, I walk, and now I run.
Here let me cease, my hobbling numbers stop.
And at thy handle1 hand my crutches un.
THERISTES, OR THE LORDLING,
THE GRANDSON OF A BRICKLAYER, GREATGRANDSON OF A BUTCHER.
THERISTES of amphibious breed,
Motley fruit of mongrel seed:
By the dam from lordlings sprung,
By the sire exhal'd from dung:
Think on every vice in both,
Look on him, and see their growth.
View him on the mother's side,
Fill'd with falsehood, spleen, and pride,
Positive and overbearing,
Changing still, and still adhering,
Spiteful, peevish, rude, untoward,
Fierce in tongue, in heart a coward;
When his friends he most is hard on,
Cringing comes to beg their pardon;
Reputation ever tearing,
Ever dearest friendship swearing;
Judgment weak, and passion strong;
Always various, always wrong;
Provocation never waits,
Where he loves, or where he hates;
Talks whate'er comes in his head,
Wishes it were all unsaid.
Let me now the vices trace,
From his father's scoundrel race,
Who could give the looby such airs?
Were they masons? Were they butchers?
Herald lend the Muse an answer,
From his atavus and grandsire!
This was dexterous at his trowel,
That was bred to kill a cow well:
Hence the greasy clumsy mien,
In his dress and figure seen:
Hence that mean and sordid soul,
Like his body, rank and foul:
Hence that wild suspicious peep,
Like a rogue that steals a sheep:
Hence he learn'd the butcher's guile,
How to cut a throat and smile:
Like a butcher doom'd for life,
In his mouth to wear his knife:
Hence he draws his daily food,
From his tenant's vital blood.
Lastly, let his gifts be tried,
Borrow'd from the mason-side.
Some, perhaps, may think him able
In the state to build a Babel;
Could we place him in a station
To destroy the old foundation.
True, indeed, I should be gladder
Could he learn to mount a ladder.
May he at his latter end
Mount alive, and dead descend.
In him tell me, which prevail,
Female vices most, or male?
What produc'd them, can you tell?
Human race, or imp of Hell? ·
INSCRIBED TO LORD LONSDALE,2 1707.
Unum opus est intactæ Palladis urbem
Carmine perpetuo celebrare
WHILST you, my lord, adorn that stately seat,
Where shining Beauty makes her soft retreat,
Enjoying all those graces, uncontroll❜d,
Which noblest youths would die but to behold;
Whilst you inhabit Lowther's awful pile,
A structure worthy of the founder's toil,
1 Added by the express direction of Dr. Johnson; by whom (together with another piece) it was originally appended to his Life of Tickell, with this introduction: "The two poems which follow would have been inserted in the collection, if the compilers could have obtained copies of them. To complete the poetical works of Tickell, they are here copied from the Select Collection of Miscellaneous Poems, 1780." N.
2 Richard, second Lord Viscount Lonsdale. He died of the smallpox, December 1, 1713. N.
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