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But fiil their purse, our poets' work is done ; And snatch me o'er the cartb, or thro' the air,
Alike to them, by Pathos or by Pun.

To Thebes, to Atheus, when he will, and () you ! whom vanity's light bark conveys

On fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise; But not this part of the poetic state
With what a shift gale your course you ply, Alone deserves the favour of the great :
For ever sunk too low, or borue too bigh ! Think of those author's, Sir, who would rely
Who pants for glory finds but short repose; More on a reader's sease, than gazer's eye.
A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows. Or who shall wander where the muses sing?
Farewel the stage! if, just as thrives the play, || Who climb their mountain, or who taste their
The silly bard grows fat, or falls away.

There still remains, to mortify a wit, How shall we fill a library with wit,
The many-headed monster of the pit ;

When Merlin's cave is half uufurnish'd yet!
A seuseless, worthless, and unhonour'd crowd, My Liege! why writers little claim your
Who, to disturb their betters mighty proud,

Clatt'ring their sticks before ten lines are I guess; and, with their leave, will tell the

fault; Call for the Farce, the Bear, or the Black Joke. We Poets are (upon a Poet's word) What dear delight to Britons farce affords! Of all mankind the creatures most absurd : Ever tbe taste of mobs, but now of lords The scason when to come and when to go, (Taste, that eternal wanderer! which Aies To sing or cease to sing, we never know; From heads to ears, and now from ears to And, if we will, recite niue hours in ten, eyes)!

You lose your patie'ice just like other men. The play stands still ! damn action and dis. Then too we burt ourselves, when to defend course,

A single verse, we guarrel with a friend;
Back fly the scenes, and enter fout and horse; | Repeat unask’d; lament, the wit's too fine
Pageants on pageants, in long order drawn, For vulgar eyes, and point out ev'ry line.
Peers, heralds, bishops, ermin, gold, and But inost, when, straining with too weak a

The champion too! and, to complete the jest, We needs will write epistles to the King ;
Old Edward's armour beams on Cibber's And from the moment we oblige the town,

Expect a place, or pension from the crown ;
With laughter sure Democritus had died, Or dubb’d historians by express command,
Had he beheld an audience gape so wide. T'enroll your triumphs o'er the seas and
Let bear or elephant be e'er so wbite,

The people, sure the people, are the sight! Be call'd to court to plan some work divine,
Ah, luckless poet! stretch thy lungs and roar, As once for Louis, Boileau and Racine.
That bear or elephant shall heed thee more ; Yet think, great Sir: (so many virtues
While all its throats the gallery extends,

And all the thunder of the pit ascends! Ah think what Poet best may make them
Loud as the wolves, on Orcas'stormy steep,

Howl to the roarings of the northern deep, Or choose at least some minister of grace,
Such is the shout, the long-applauding note, Fit to bestow the Laureat's weighty place.
At Quin's high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat : Charles to late times to be transmitted luir,
Or when from court a birth-day suit bestow'd, |: Assigu'd his figure to Bernini's care ;
Sinks tbe lost actor in the tawdry load.

And great Nassau to Kueller's band decreed
Booth enters-bark! the universal peal!

To fix him graceful on the bounding steed; “But has he spoken?” Not a syllable. So well in paint and stone they judg'd of werit: " What shook the stage, and made the people But Kings in wit may want discerning spirit. stare ?"

The hero William, and the martyr Charles, Calo's long wig, flower'd gown, and lacquer'd | One knighted Blackmore, and one pensioned chair.

Yet, lest you think I rally more than tcach, Which made old Ben and snrly Dennis swrit,
Or praise maliguly arts I cannot reach,

No Lord's anointed, but a Russian bear.'
Let me for once presume t'instruct the times, Not with such majesty, such bold relief,
To know the Poet froin the man of rhymes : The forms augast of King or conq'ring chicf,
*Tis be who gives my breast a thousand pains, Eerswelid on marble, as in verse hare shin'd
Cau make me feel each passion that he feigus (in polishid verse) the manners and the mind.
Enrage, compose, with more than magic art, Oh! could I wount on the Meonian wine,
With pity and with terror tear my heart; Your arans, your actions, your repose to sing!


What seas you travers'il, and what fields you “ The fault he has I fairly shall reveal; fought!

(Could you o'erlook but that) it is, to steal." Your country's peace how oft, how dearly If, after this, you took the graceless lad, bought!

Could you complain, my friend, he prov'd so How barb'rous l'age subsided at your word,

bad ? And nations wonderd while they dropp'd the 'Faith, in such case, if you should prosecute, sword!

I think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit; How, when you nodded, o'er the land and deep Who sent the thief, that stoletbe cash, away, Peace stole ber wing, and wrapp'd the world in And punish'd him that put it in his way. sleep;

Consider then, and judge me in this light; Till eartlı’s extremes your mediation own, I told you, when I went, I could not write; And Asia's tyrants tremble at your throne. You said the same ; and are you discontent But verse, alas ! your Majesty disdains; With laws to which you gave your own assent? And l'ın not used to panegyric strains : Nay worse, to ask for verse at such a time! T'he zeal of fools offends at any time,

D'ye think me good for nothing but for rhyme?
But most of all the zeal of fouls in rhyme. In Anna's wars, a soldier poor and old
Besides, a tate attends on all I write;

Had dearly carn’d a little purse of gold :
That, when I aim at praise, they say I bite. Tird with a tedious march, one luckless night
A vile encomiun doubly ridicules :

He slept, poor dog! and lost it to a doit.
There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools. This put the man in such a desp'rate mind,
Iftrue, a woeful likeness ; and if lies,

Between revenge, and grief, and bunger “Praise undeservd is satire in disguise :''

join'd, Well may he blush who gives it or receives; Against the foe, himself, and all mankind, And, when I fatter, let my dirty leaves He leap'd the trenches, scald a castle wall, (Like Journals, Odes, and such forgotten Tore down a standard, took the fort and all. things

Prodigious well !” his great commander As Eusden, Philips, Settle, writ of Kings)


[side. Clothe spice, line trunks, or flutt'ring in a row Gave him much praise, and some reward be. Befringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho.

Next pleas'l his excellence a town to batter ;
(Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter)

“Go on, my friend (he cried) see yonder walls! EPISTLE II.-BOOK II.

“ Advance and conquer ! go where glory calls!

“ More honours, more rewards, attend the
Dear Colonel, Cobham's and your country's brave."

Don't you remember what reply be gave?
You love a verse, take such as I can send. “D'ye think me, noble Gen’ral, such a sot?
A Frenchman comes, presents you with his “ Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat."

Bred up at home, full early I begun
Bows and begins" This lad, Sir, is of Blois :

To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' son. “Ohserve his shape how clean, bis locks how Besides my father taught me, from a lad, curl'd!

The better art to know the good from had : “ My only son, I'd have him see the world : (And little sure imported to remove, “Flis French is pure; his voice too--you sball

To hunt for truth in Maudlin's learned grove.) hear,

But knoitier points we knew not half so well “ Sir, he's your slave,for twenty pounds a year.

Deprivil us soon of our paternal cell; “ Mere wax as yet, you fashion hin with ease, And certain laws, by suff'rers thought unjust, “ Your barber, cook, upholst'rer, what you

Denied all posts of profit or of trust; please :

Hopes after bopes of pious Papist failid, “ A perfect genius at an opera song

While mighty William's thund'ring arm pre. “To say too much, miglit do my honour vail'ii. wrong.

For right hereditary tax'd and find, « Take him with ail his virtues, on my word ; He stuck to poverty with peace of mind ; “ His whole ambition was to serve a lord : And we the muses help to undergo it; “ But, Sir, to you, with what would I not part? Convict a Papist he, and I a Poet. “ Thu' faitli, I fear, 'twill break luis niother's But (thanks to Homer!) siuce I live and heart.

thrive, “ Once (and but once) I caught him in a lie, Indebted to no prince or peer alive, “And theu, unwbippd, he had the grace to Sure I sbould want the care of ten Monrocs, cry :

If I would scribble rather than repose.


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