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Go fix them there, where rems and gold,
Improv'd hy art, their power unfolds
Go try in courtly scenes to trace
A fairer form of Nature's face :
Go scorn Simplicity--but know,
'hat all our heart-felt joys below,
That all which virtue loves to game,
Which are configns to lasting fame,
Which fixes wit or beauty's throne,
Derives its fource froni Her alone.


Yet, if ingenuous be your mind,
A bliss more pure and unconfin'd
Your ftep attends Draw freely nighi,
And meet the Bard's benignant eye ;
On him no pedant forms await,
No proud referve huts up thy gate;
No Splcen, no party views control
That warm benevolence of soul,
Which prompts the friendly generous part,
Regasidess of each venal art;
Regardless of the world's acclaim;
And courteous with no selfish aim.
Draw freely nigh, and welcome find;
If not the colly, yet the kind.
Oh, he will lead you to the cells
Where every Muse and Virtuc dwells,
Where the green Dryads guards his woods,
Where the blue Naïads guide his floods;
Where all the Sister-Gråces gay,
That shap'd his walk's meandering way,
Stark-naked, or but wreath'd with flowers,
Lie funbering soft beneath his bowers.

Wak'd by the lock-dove's melting strain,
Behold then rise ! and, with the train
Of nymphs that haunt the stream or grove,
Or o'er the flowery champion rove,
Join hand in hand-attentive gazem
And mark the dance's myftic maze.

" Such is the waving line,” they cry,. “ For ever dear to Fancy's eye! “ Yon itream that wanders down the dale, “ The spiring wood, the winding vale, “ The path which, wrought with hidden skill, “ Slow twining scales yon distant hill « With fir invested-all combine “ To recommend the waving line.

“ The wreathed rod of Bacchus fair, “ The ringlets of Apollo's hair, “ The wand by Maïa's offspring borne, “ The smoothe volutes of Ammori's horn, " The structure of the Cyprian dame, " And each fair female's beauteous frame,

Shew, to the pupils of design,
The triumphs of the waving line.”

Then gaze, and mark that union sweet,
Where fair convex and concave meet ;
And while, quick shifting as you stray,
'The vivid scene of fancy play;
The lawn, of aspect smooth anú mild;
The forest-ground grotesque and wild;
The shrub that scents the mounting gale;
The Itrcam rough dashing down the dale,
Itom rock to rock, in eddies toft ;
The distant lake in which 'tis lort;
Blue hills gay beaming through the glade ;
Lone urns that folemnize the shade;
Sweet interchange of all that charios
In groves, meads, dingles, rivulets, farms !
If aught the fair confuĝon please,
With lasting health, and lasting ease,
To him who form'd the blisful bower,
And gave thy life one tranquil hour;
With peace and freedom -- these poffeft,
His temperate mind secures the rest.

But if thy soul such bliss despise,
Avert thy dull incurious eyes;

To William Shenftone, Esq. in his


By Mr. Woodhouse.
E fowery plains. ye brcezy woods;

Ye bowers and gay alcoves,
Ye falling streams, ye silver floods,

Ye grottues, and ye groves ! . Alas! my heart feels no delight,

Though I your charmig survey;
While he consumes in pain the night,

In languid sighs the day.
The flowers disclose a thousand blooms,

A thousand scents diffule ;
Yet al in vain they fied perfumes,

In vain display their hues.
Restrain, ye flowers, your thoughtless pride,

Recline your gaudy heads;
And sadly drooping, side by side,

Embrace your humid bed:
Tall oaks that o'er the woodland fade,

Your lofty fummits rcar!
Ah, why, in wonted charms array'd,

Expands your leaves fo fair!
Por lo, the flowers as gay!y smile,

Aš wanton waves the tree;
And though I sadly plain the while,

Yet they regard not me.
Ih, should the Fates an arrow send,

And strike the fatal wound,
Who, who shall then your sweets defend,

Or fence your beauties round?
But hark, perhaps, the plumy trong

Have learnt my plaintive tale,
And fonie sau dirge, or mournful song,

Conies floating in the gale.
Ah, no! they chaunt a sprightly strain

To soothe an amorous mate ;
Unmindful of my anxious pain

And his uncertain fate.
But see, these little murmuring rills

With fond repinings rove,
And trickle wailing down the hills,

Or weep along the grove.
Oh, mock not if, belide your stream,

Ye kear ine 100 repine;
Or aid with fighs your mournful theme,
And fondly call bim mine.


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Ye envious winds, the cause display,

In whispers as ye blow,
Why did your treacherous gales convey

The poison'd shafts of woe ?
Did he not plant the shady bower,

Where you so blithely nieet? The scented shrub, and fragrant flower,

To make your breezes sweet? And must he leave the wood, the field,

The dear Arcadian reign ? Can reither verse nor virtue shield

The guardian of the plain? Must he his tuneful breath resign,

Whom all the Muses love? That round his brow their laurels tvine,

And all his songs approve. Preserve him, mild Omnipotence !

Our Father, King, and God, Who clear'st the paths of life and sense,

Or stop'st them at thy nod. Bleft power, who calm's the raging deep,

His valued health reitore,
Nor let the sons of Genius weep,

Nor lcc the good deplore.
But if thy boundless Wisdom knows

His longer date an ill,
Let not my fout a wifh disclose

To contradict thy will.
For happy, happy were the change,

For such a God-like mind,
To go where kindred spirits range,

Nor leave a wish behind.
And though, to share his pleasures here,

Kings might their state forego : Yet muft he feel fuch raptures there,

As none can talte below.

They call'd him the pride of the plain ;

In footh, he was gentle and kind; Ie mark'd in his elegant Orain,

The Graces that glow'd in his mind. On purpose he planted yon trees,

That birds in the covert mighé dwell; Hc cultur'd his thyme for the bees,

But never would rifle their ceil. Ye lanıbkins, that play'd at his feet,

Go bleat-and your master bemoan ; His music was artless and sweet,

His manners as mild as your own. No verdure shall cover the vale,

No binom on the bloffoms appear; The sweets of the foreft snall fail,

And inter discolour the year. No birds, in our hedges shall ling

(Our hedges fo vocal before, Since he that hould welcome the spring,

Can greet the gay season no more. His Phyllis was fond of his praise,

And poets came round in a throng; They liften'd and envy'd his lays,

But which of them equal'd his song ?
Ye shepherds, henceforward be mute,

For lost is the pastoral strain ;
So give me my Corydon's flute,
And thuslet me break it in twain.



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EARTH! to his remains indulgent be,
Who fo much care and coft bestow'd on

Who crown'd thy barren hills with useful shade,
And chear'd with tinkling rill each Glent glade ;
Here taught the day to wear a thoughtful gloom,
And there enliyen's Nature's vernal bloom,
Propitious earth ! lie lightly on his head,
And ever on his tomb thy veral glories Spread ?

Extract from Mr. Mason's · Englista

Garden," Book I.


NOME, shepherds, we'll follow the hcarse,

And see our lov'd Corydon laid:
Though sorrow inay blemish the werfe,

Yet let the sad tribute be paid.

Nor, Shenstone, thou
Shalt pass without thy meed, thou son of peace!
Who knew'rt, perchance, to harmonize thy

Still softer than thy song; yet was that song
Nor rude, nor inharmonious, when atcun'd
To paftoral plaint, or tale of lighted love,






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A ONG dhe numerous fools, by fate defignid Pride of his owen, and wonder of this

age, The Reading Coxcomb is of special note, Bold to design, all-powerful to express, By rule a Poet, and a Judge by rote :

Shakespear each passion drew in every dress: 50 Grave son of idle Industry aud Pride,

Great above rule, and imitating none; Whom learning but perverts, and books misguide. Rich without borrowing, Nature was his own. O fam'd for judging, as for writing well,

Yet is his sense debaş'd by grois allay : That rareft science, where so few excel;

As gold in mines lies mix'd with dirt and clay. Whose life, severely scann'd, transcends thy lays, Now, eagle-wing'd, his heavenward fight he For wit suprene is but thy second praise:

takes ; 'Tis thine, O Pope, who chuse the better part, The big stage thunders, and the soul awakes : 56 To tell how false, how vain, the Scholiaft's art, Now, low on earth, a kindred reptile creeps ; Which nor to taste, nor genius has pretence,

Sad Hamlet quibbles, and the hearer sleeps. And, if 'tis learning, is not common sense.

Such was the Poet : next the Scholiast view; In error obftinate, in wrangling loud, 15 Faint through the colouring, yet the features true. For trifles eager, positive, and proud;

Condemnd to dig and dung a barren foil, 61 Deep in the darkness of dull authors bred, Where hardly tares will grow with care and toil, With all their refuse lumber'd in his head, He, with low induftry, goes gleaning on What every dunce from every dunghill drew From good, from bad, from mean; neglecting Of literary offals, old or new, Forth steps at last the self-applauding wight,

His brother book-worm fo, in shelf or stall, Of points and letters, chaff and straws to write : Will feed alike on Woolfton and on Paul. Sagely resolv'd to swell each bulky piece

By living clients hopeless pow of bread, With venerable toys, from Rome and Greece ; He pettifogs a scrap from authors dead. How oft, in Homer, Paris curl'd his hair ; 25

See bim on Shakespeare pore, intent to steal If Aristotle's cap were round or square ;

Poor farce, by fragments, for a third-day meal. If in the cave, where Dido first was speti, Such that grave bird in northern feas is found, 70 To Tyre she turn'd her heels, to Troy her head. Whose name a Dutchman only knows to found. Such the choice anecdotes, profound and vain,

Where e'er the king of fith moves on before, That store a Bently's and a Burman's brain : 30 This humble friend attends from shore to fiore; Hence, Plato quoted, or the Stag yrite,

With eye still earnest, and with bill inclin'd, To prove that Hame ascends, and snow is white : He picks up what his patron drops behind; Hence much hard ftudy, without fense or breeding, with whole choice cates his palate to regale, And all the grave impertinence of reading, And is the careful Tibbald of a whale. If Shakespeare says, the noon-day fun is bright, Blelt genius! who behows his oil and pains His Scholiaft will remark, it then was light; 36 On each dull passage, each dull book contains ; 8. Turn Caxton, Winkin, cach old Goth and Hun, Thc toil more grataful, as the talk more low : To re&ify the reading of a pun.

So carrion is the quarry of a crow. Thus, nicely trifling, accurately dull


Where his fam'd author's page is flat and poor, How one may toil, and toil--to be a fool! 40

There, mote exact the reading to restore ; But is there then no honour due to age? By dint of plodding, and by sweat of face, No reverence to great Shakeipear's noble page?

A bull to change, a blunder to replace : And he, who halt a life has read him o'er,

Whate'er is refuse critically gleaning, His mangled points and commas to rettore, lid mending nonsense into doubtful meaning. Meets he fuch night regard in nameless lays, 45

For this dread Dennis (and who can forbear. Wbom Bufu treats, and Lady. Would-be pays ?

Dunce or not Dunce, relating it, to stare?) Vol. VII.






His head though jealous, and his years foorscore, Great eldeft-born of Dullness, blicdard bold ! Ev'n Dennis praises, who ne'er prais'd before ! Tyrant ! more cruel than Procrustes old;

150 For this, the Scholiaft claims his share of fame, Whe, to his iron-bed, by torture, fits, Ard, modeft, prints his own with Shakespeare's Their nobler part, the souls of suffering Wits.

Such is the Man, who heaps his head with bays, How justly, Pope, in this short story view ; 95 And calls on human kind to found his praise, Which may be dull, and therefore thould be true, For points transplac'd with curious want of Drill,

A Prelate, fam'd for clearing each dark text, For Hattew'd sounds, and fenfe amended i!l. 156 Who sense with sound, and truth with rhetoric So wise Caligula, in days of yore, mixt,

His helmet f.ll'd with pebbles on the shore, Once, as his moving theme to rapture warmid, Swore he had rifled ocean's rich spoils, Inspir'd himself, his happy hearers charm'd. 100 And claim'd a trophy for his martial toils. 160 The fermon o'er, the croud remain'd behind, Yet be his merits, with his faults conteft : And freely, man or woman, spoke their mind : Fair-dealing, as the plainest, is the best. All said they lik'd tlie lecture from their soul, Long lay the Critic's work, with trifles ford, And each, remembering something, prais'd the Admir'd in Latin, but in Greek ador'd. whole.

Men, so weil read, who confidently wrote, 165 At last an honeft fexton join'd the throng 105 | Their readers could have sworn, were men of (For as the theme was large, their talk was long);

note : Neighbours, he cry'd, my conscience bids me tell, To pass upon the croud for great or rare, Thoi swas the Doctor preach'd I toli'd the bell. Aim not to make them knowing, make them ftare. In this the Critic's folly most is town ;

For these blind votaries good Bentley grievid, Is there a Genius, all-unlike his own, IIO Writ English notes--and mankind undeceivid: With learning elegant, with wit well bred, In such clear light the serious folly plac'd, 171 And, as in bcoke, in men and manners read ; Ev'n thou, Browne Willis, thou may'st see the Himself with poring erudition blind,

jeft. Unknowing, as unknown of human kind?

But what can cure our vanity of mind, That writer he selects, with aukward aim

Deaf to reproof, and to discovery blind? His fenfe, at orce, to mimic and to maim. Let Crooke, a Brother-Scholiaft Shakespeare eall

, So Florio is a fop, with half a nose :

Tibbald, to Hesiod-Cooke returns the ball, 176 Go fat West Indian Planters dress as Beaux. So runs the circle still : in this, we fee Thus, gay Petronius was a Dutchman's choide, The lackies of the Great and Learn'd agree. And Horace, strange to say, tun'd Bentley's If Britain's nobles mix in high debate, voice.

Whence Europe, in suspence, attends her fate; 180 Horace, whom all the Graces taught to please, In mimie sesion their grave footmen meet, Mix'd mirth with morals, eloquence with ease ; Reduce an army, or equip a fleet: His genius social, as his judgement clear ; And, rivaling the critic's lofty stile, When frolic, prudent; smiling when severe ; Mere Tom and Dick are Stanhope and Argyll. Secure, each temper, and each taste to hit,


Yet those, whom pride and dulnefs join to blind, His was the curious happiness of wit.

To narrow cares and narrow space confin’d, 186 Skill'd in that noblest Science, How'to live ; Though with big titles each his fellow greets, Which Learning may direct, but Heaven must Are but to wits, as scavengers to streets : give;

The humble black-guards of a Pope or Gay, Grave with Agrippa, with Mæcenas gay;

To bruíh off dust, and wipe their spots away. 190 Among the Fair, but just as wise as they : 130 Or, if not trivial, harmful is their art; First in the friendíhips of the Great enroll'd, Fume to the head, or poison to the heart. The St. Johns, Boyles, and I yttletons, of old. Where ancient Authors hint at things obscene, While Bentley, long to wrangling schools con- The Scholiast speaks out broadly what they mean. fin'd,

Disclonng each dark vice, well loft to fame, 195 And, but by books, acquainted with mankind, And adding fuel to redundant Hame, Dares, in the fulness of the pedant's pride, 135 He, fober pimp to lechery, explains, Rhyne, tho’no genius ; tho' no judge, decide. What Capræ's Ine, or V's Alcove contains : Yet he, prime pattern of the captious art, Why Paulus, for his sordid temper known, Out-tibbalding poor Tibbald, tops his part: Was lavishi, to his father's wife alone : Holds high the scourge o'er each famd author's Why those fond female visits duly paid

140 To tuneful Incuba ; and what her trade : Nor are their graves a refuge for the dead. How modern love has made so many'martyrs, To Milton lending sense, to Horace wit;

And which keeps ofteneft, Lady C, or Chartres. He makes them write what never Poet writ: But who their various follies can explain? 205 The Roinan Muse arraigris his inangling pen; The tale is infinite, the talk were vain. And Paradise, by him, is lost again. 145 'Twere to read new-year odes in search of thought; Such was his doom impos'd by Heaven's decree, To sum the libels Pryn or Withers wrote ; With ears that hear not, eyes that mall not see, To guess, ere one epistle saw the light, The low to swell, to level the subliine,

How many dunces met, and club'd their mite ; 210 To blast all beauty, and beprofe all rhyme. To vouch for truth what Welfted prints of Pope,

Or from the brother-boobies steal a tropo.



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That be the part of persevering Wase,

Ch, born to glad and animate our Ine! With pen of lead; or, Arnall, thin of brass; For thee, our heavens look pleas'd, our seasons A text for Henley, or argloss for Hearne,

smile : Who loves to teach, what no ma, cares to learn. For thee, late object of our tender fears, How little, knowledge reaps from toils like When thy life droop'd, and Britain was in tears, there!

All-cbearing Health, the goddess rofy-fair, Too doubtful to direct, to poor to please.

Attended by soft suns, and vernal air, Yet, Critic's, would your tribe deserve a name, Sought those * fam'd springs, wherc, each affiictive And, fairly useful, rise to honest fame ;

hour, First, from the head, a !cad of lumber move,

Disease, and age, and pain, invoke her power : And, from the volume, all yourfelves approve :

She came; and, while to thee the current flows, For patch'd and pilfered fragments, give us fenfe,. Pour'd all herself, and in thy cup arose. Or learning, clear from learn'd imp-rtinence, Hence, to thy cheek, that inftant Lloom deriv'd: Where moral meaning, or where taste presides, Hence, with thy health, the weeping world reAnd wit enlivens but what reason guides: 2 26 viy'd! Great without Twelling, without meanness pla n; Proceed to emulate thy race divine : Serious, not plly; sportive, but not vain, A life of action, and of praise, be thine. On trifes Night, on things of use profound,

Assert the titles genuine to thy blood,
In quoting fober, and in judging found.

By Nature, daring; but by reason, good.
So great, so glorious thy forefathers Thone,
No son of theirs must hope to live unknown:
Their deeds will place thy virtue full in figint;

Thy vice, if vice thou hast, in stronger light.

If to thay fair beginnings nobly true,
PRESENTED TO THE PRINCE OF ORANGE, Think what the world may claim, and thou muit

The honours, that already grace thy name,

Have fix'd thy choice, and force thee un'o same,

Ev'n fhe, bright Anna, whom thy worth has won,
ECEIVE, lov'd prince, the tribute of our Inspires thee what to seek and what to thun:

Rich in all outward grace, th' exalted fair
This hasty welcome, in unfinish'd lays.

Makes the soul's beauty her peculiar care.
At best, the pomp of song, the paint of art, O, be your nuptials crown's with glad encrease
Display the genius, but not speak the heart;

Of fons, in war renown'd, and great in peace ;
And oft, as ornament must truth fupply,

Of daughters, fair and faithful, to supply
Are but the fplendid colouring of a lie.

The patriot-race, till Nature's self fhall die!
These need not here; for to a foul like thine,
Truth, plain and simple, will more lovely shine.
The truly good but with the verse sincere :

They court no fattery, who no cepsure fear.
Such Naflau is, the faireft, gentleft mind,

In blooming youth the Titus of mankind,
Crouds, who to hail thy wilh'd appearance ran,
Forgot the prince, to praise and love the nian.

IN times long part, cre Wealth was Warning's

Sucb senfe with sweetness, grandeur mix'd with
casc !

And dar'd despise the worth he would not know;

Ere mitred pride, which arts alone had rais'd,
Our nobler youth will learn of thee to please :
Thy bright example 1.all our world adorn,

Those very arts, in others saw, unprais'd;

Friend to mankind, † a prelate, good and great,
And charm, in gracious princes, yet unborn.

The Mufes courted to this sale retreat :
Nor deemn this verse from venal art proceeds,

Fix'd each fair virgin, decent, in her cell,
That vice of courts, the foil for baneful weeds.
Here candor dwells; here honeft truths are taught, The fabric finith’d, to the sovereign's fame.

With learned leisure, and with peace to dwell.
To guide and govern, not disguise, the thought. His own neglecting, he transferr'd his claim.
See these enlighten’d Sages, who prefide
D'er learning's empire ; see the youth they guide : Here, by succesive worthies, well was taught
Behold, all faces are in transport drest!

Whate'cr enlightens, or exalts the thought.
But those most wonder, who discern thee belt.

With labour planted, and improv'd with care,

The various tree of knowledge flourish'd'fair :
At night of thee, each free-born heart receives

Soft and serene the kindly seasons rolled,
A joy, the fight of princes rarely gives ;

And Science long enjoy'd her age of gold.
From tyrants sprung, and oft themselves design'd,
Day Fate, the future Neroes of their kind :

Now, dire reverse! impaird by lapse of years,
For though thy blood, we know, transmitted A falling waste the Muses' feat appears.

* Bath.
From laurel'd heroes, and from warrior-kings, + Bishop Elshintor.
Tarough that high series, we, delighted, trace clling i King's College, in compliment to
The friends of liberty, and human race ! Fumes II.



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