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Again you fail : yet Safe's the word ;

Or hire the party pamphleteers Take courage, and attempt a third.

To set Elysium by the ears. But first with care employ your thoughts

Then, poet, if you mean to thrive, Where critics mark'd your former faults; Employ your Muse on kings alive: The trivial turns, the borrow'd wit,

With prudence gathering up a cluster The similes that nothing fit;

Of all the virtues you can muster, The cant which every fool repeats,

Which, form'd into a garland sweet, Town jests and coffee-house conceits :

Lay humbly. at your monarch's feet; Descriptions tedious, flat and dry,

Who, as the odors reach his throne, And introduc'd the Lord knows why :

Will smile, and think them all his own ; Or where we find your fury set

For law and gospel both determine Against the harmless alphabet ;

All virtnes lodge in royal ermine : On A's and B's your malice vent,

(I mean the oracles of both, While readers wonder whom you meant;

Who shall de pose it upon oath.) A public or a private robber,

Your garland in the following reign, A statesman, or a South-sea jobber ;

Change but the names, will do again. A prelate who no God believes ;

But, if you think this trade too base, A parliament, or den of thieves ;

(Which seldom is the dunce's case,) A pick-purse at the bar or bench;

Put on the critic's brow, and sit A duchess, or a suburb-wench:

At Will's the puny judge of wit. Or oft, when epithets you link

A nod, a shrug, a scornful smile, In gaping lines to fill a chink;

With caution us'd, may serve awhile. Like slepping-stones to save a stride,

Proceed no further in your part, In streets where kennels are too wide;

Before you learn the terms of art; Or like a heel-piece, to support

For you can never be too far gone A cripple with one foot too short ;

In all our modern critic's jargon : Or like a bridge, that joins a marish

Then talk with more authentic face To moorlands of a different parish:

Of unities, in time and place ; So have I seen ill-coupled hounds

Get scraps of Horace from your friends, Drag different ways in miry grounds.

And have them at your fingers' ends; So geographers in Afric maps

Learn Aristotle's rules by rote, With savage pictures fill their gaps,

And at all hazards boldly quote ; And o'er unhabitable downs

Judicious Rymer oft review, Place elephants for want of towns.

Wise Dennis, and profound Bossu ; But, though you miss your third essay,

Read all the prefaces of Dryden, You need noi throw your pen away.

For these our critics much confide in, Lay now aside all thoughts of fame,

(Though merely writ at first for filling, To spring more profitable game.'

To raise the volume's price a shilling.) From party-merit seek support;

A forward critic often dupes us The vilest verse thrives best at court.

With sham quotations peri hupsous ; A pamphlet in Sir Bob's defence

And if we have not read Longinus, Will never fail to bring in pence:

Will magisterially outshine us. Nor be concern'd about the sale,

Then, lest with Greek he overrun ye, He pays his workmen on the nail.

Procure the book for love or money, A prince, the moment he is crown'd,

Translated from Boileau's translation, Inherits every virtue round,

And quote quotation on quotation. As emblems of the sovereign power,

At Will's you hear a poem read, Like other baubles in the Tower;

Where Battus, from the table head, Is generous, valiant, just, and wise,

Reclining on his elbow-chair, And so continues till he dies :

Gives judgment with decisive air; His humble senate this professes,

To whom the tribe of circling wits In all their speeches, votes, addresses.

As to an oracle submits. But once you fix him in a tomb,

He gives directions to the town, His virtues fade, his vices bloom ;

To cry it up or run it down ; And each perfection wrong imputed,

Like courtiers, when they send a note Is fully at his death confuted.

Instructing members how to vote. The loads of poems in his praise,

He sets the stamp of bad and good, Ascending, make one funeral blaze :

Though not a word be understood. As soon as you can hear his knell,

Your lesson learn'd, you'll be secure This god on Earth turns devil in Hell:

To get the name of connoisseur: And lo! his ministers of state,

And, when your merits once are known, Transform'd to imps, his levee wait;

Procure disciples of your own. Where, in the scenes of endless woe,

For poets (you can never want 'em) They ply their former arts below;

Spread through Augusta Trinobantum, And, as they sail in Charon's boat,

Computing by their pecks of coals, Contrive to bribe the judge's vote ;

Amount to just nine thousand souls : To Cerberus they give a sop,

These o'er their proper districts govern His triple-barking mouth to stop;

Of wit and humor judges sovereign. Or in the ivory gate of dreams

In every street a city-bard Project excise and South-sea schemes;

Rules, like an alderman, his ward ;

His undisputed rights extend
Through all the lane, from end to end;
The neighbors round admire his shrewdness
For songs of loyalty and lewdness ;
Outdone by none in rhyming well,
Although he never learn'd to spel'

Two bordering wits contend for glory;
And one is Whig, and one is Tory :
And this for epics claims the bays,
And that for elegiac lays :
Some fam'd for numbers soft and smooth,
By lovers spoke in Punch's booth ;
And some as justly fame extols
For lofty lines in Smithfield drolls.
Bavius in Wapping gains renown,
And Mævius reigns o'er Kentish-town:
Tigellius, plac'd in Phæbus' car,
From Ludgate shines to Temple-bar;
Harmonious Cibber entertains
The court with annual birth-day strains ;
Whence Gay was banish'd in disgrace;
Where Pope will never show his face;
Where Young must torture his invention
To flatter knaves, or lose his pension.

But these are not a thousandth part Of jobbers in the poet's art, Attending each his proper station, And all in dje subordination, Through every alley to be found, In garrets high, or under ground; And when they join their pericranies, Out skips a book of miscellanies. Hobbes clearly proves that every creature Lives in a state of war by nature. The greater for the smallest watch, But meddle seldom with their match. A whale of moderate size will draw A shoal of herrings down his maw; A fox with geese his belly crams; A wolf destroys a thousand lambs : But search among the rhyming race, The brave are worried by the base. If on Parnassus' top you sit, You rarely bite, are always bit. Each poet of inferior size On you shall rail and criticise, And strive to tear you limb from limb; While others do as much for him.

The vermin only tease and pinch Their foes superior by an inch. So, naturalists observe, a flea Hath smaller fleas that on him prey ; And these have smaller still to bite 'em, And so proceed ad infinitum. Thus every poet in his kind Is bit by him that comes behind : Who, though too little to be seen, Can tease, and gall, and give the spleen ; Call dunces fools and sons of whores, Lay Grub-street at each other's doors; Extol the Greek and Roman masters, And curse our modern poetasters; Complain, as many an ancient bard did, How genius is no more rewarded ; How wrong a taste prevails among us; How much our ancestors outsung us ; Can personate an awkward scorn For those who are not poets born; And all their brother-dunces lash, Who crowd the press with hourly trash.

O Grub-street! how do I bemoan thee, Whose graceless children scorn to own thee! Their filial piety forgot, Deny their country, like a Scot; Though, by their idiom and grimace, They soon betray their native place. Yet thou hast greater cause to be Asham'd of them, than they of thee, Degenerate from their ancient brood, Since first the court allow'd them food.

Remains a difficulty still,
To purchase fame by writing ill.
From Flecknoe down to Howard's time,
How few have reach'd the low sublime!
For when our high-born Howard died,
Blackmore alone his place supplied :
And, lest a chasm should intervene,
When death had finish'd Blackmore's reign,
The leaden crown devolv'd to thee,
Great poet of the hollow tree.
But ah! how insecure thy throne !
A thousand bards thy right disown :
They plot to turn, in factious zeal,
Duncinia to a commonweal;
And with rebellious arms pretend
An equal privilege to descend.

In bulk there are not more degrees
From elephants to mites in cheese,
Than what a curious eye may trace
In creatures of the rhyming race.
From bad to worse, and worse, they fall;
But who can reach the worst of all ?
For though, in nature, depth and height
Are equally held infinite;
In poetry, the height we know;
"Tis only infinite below.
For instance: when you rashly think,
No rhymer can like Welsted sink,
His merits balanc'd, you shall find
The laureate leaves him far behind.
Concannen, more aspiring bard,
Soars downwards deeper by a yard.
Smart Jemmy Moor with vigor drops :
The rest pursue as thick as hops.
With heads to points the gulf they enter,
Link'd perpendicular to the centre;
And, as their heels elated rise,
Their heads attempt the nether skies.

Oh, what indignity and shame,
To prostitute the Muse's name!
By flattering kings, whom Heaven design'd
The plagues and scourges of mankind ;
Bred up in ignorance and sloth,
And every vice that nurses both.

Fair Britain, in thy monarch blest,
Whose virtues bear the strictest test;
Whom never faction could bespatter,
Nor minister nor poet flatter;
What justice in rewarding merit!
What magnanimity of spirit!
What lineaments divine we trace
Through all his figure, mien, and face !
Though peace with olive bind his hands,
Confess'd the conquering hero stands.
Hydaspes, Indus, and the Ganges,
Dread from his hand impending changes.
From him the Tartar and Chinese,
Short by the knees, entreat for peace.
The consort of his throne and bed,
A perfect goddess born and bred,

Appointed sovereign judge to sit
On learning, eloquence, and wit.
Our eldest hope, divine lülus,
(Late, very late, oh may he rule us!)
What early manhood has he shown,
Before his downy beard was grown!
Then think, what wonders will be done,
By going on as he begun,
An heir for Britain to secure
As long as Sun and Moon endure.

The remnant of the royal blood
Comes pouring on me like a flood :
Bright goddesses, in number five;
Duke William, sweetest prince alive.
Now sing the minister of state,
Who shines alone without a mate.
Observe with what majestic port
This Atlas stands to prop the court :
Intent the public debts to pay,
Like prudent Fabius, by delay.
Thou great vicegerent of the king,
Thy praises every Muse shall sing !
In all affairs thou sole director,
Of wit and learning chief protector ;
Though small the time thou hast to spare,
The church is thy peculiar care.
of pious prelates what a stock
You choose, to rule the sable flock!
You raise the honor of the peerage,
Proud to attend you at the steerage.
You dignify the noble race,
Content yourself with humbler place.
Now, learning, valor, virtue, sense,
To titles give the sole pretence.
St. George beheld thee with delight
Vouchsafe to be an azure knight,
When on thy breasts and sides Herculean
He fix'd the star and string cerulean.

Say, poet, in what other nation Shone ever such a constellation ! Attend, ye Popes, and Youngs, and Gays, And tune your harps, and strow your bays: Your panegyrics here provide ; You cannot err on flattery's side. Above the stars exalt your style, You still are low ten thousand mile. On Lewis, all his bards bestow'd Of incense many a thousand load ; But Europe mortified his pride, And swore the fawning rascals lied. Yet what the world refus'd to Lewis, Applied to George, exactly true is. Exactly true! invidious poet! "Tis fifty thousand times below it.

Translate me now some lines, if you can, From Virgil, Martial, Ovid, Lucan. They could all power in Heaven divide, And do no wrong on either side; They teach you how to split a hair, Give George and Jove an equal share. Yet why should we be lac'd so straight? I'll give my monarch butter-weight. And reason good; for many a year Jove never intermeddled here : Nor, though his priests be duly paid, Did ever we desire his aid; We now can better do without him, Since Woolston gave us arms to rout him.

Cætera desiderantur.

A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY-SHOWER.

In imitation of Virgil's Georgics.—1710.
Careful observers may foretell the hour
(By sure prgnostics) when to dread a shower.

While rain aepends, the pensive cat gives o'er
Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.

Returning home at night, you 'll find the sink
Strike your offended sense with double stink.
If you be wise, then go not far to dine ;
You ʼll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine
A coming shower your shooting corns presage,
Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage.
Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen ;
He damns the climate, and complains of spleen.

Meanwhile the south, rising with dabbled wings,
A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings
That swillid more liquor than it could contain,
And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope,
While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope :
Such is that sprinkling which some careless quean
Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean :
You fly, invoke the gods; then, turning, stop
To rail; she, singing, still whirls on her mop.

Not yet the dust had shunn'd th' unequal strise,
But aided by the wind, fought still for life;
And, wasted with its foe by violent gust,

'Twas doubtful which was rain, and wbich was dust, Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid,

When dust and rain at once his coat invade ?
Sole coat! where dust cemented by the rain
Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain !

Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down,
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To shops in crowds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach,

Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.
The tuck'd-up sempstress walks with hasty strides,
While streams run down her oild umbrella's sides
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.
Triumphant Tories and desponding Whigs
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.

Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient sits,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits,

And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather sounds; he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairmen bore the wooden steed,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed,
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Instead of paying chairmen, ran them through,)
Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,
And each imprison'd hero quak'd for fear.

Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go:
Filths of all hues and odors seem to tell
What street they sail'd from by their sight and smell
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,
From Smithfield or St. 'Pulchre's shape their course,
And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge,
Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn bridge.
Sweepings from butchers' stalls, dung, guts, and

blood, Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in

mud, Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down

the flood.

So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel HORACE, BOOK III. ODE II.

very light: But when I search'd, and miss'd my purse, Lord! I

thought I should have sunk outright. TO THE EARL OF OXFORD, LATE LORD TREASURER.

Lord ! madam, says Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed, Sent to him when in the Tower, 1617.

says I, never worse :

But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with How blest is he who for his country dies,

my purse? Since Death pursues the coward as he flies !

Lord help me! said Mary, I never stirr'd out of The youth in vain would fly from fate's attack,

this place : With trembling knees and terror at his back; ;

Nay, said I, I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's Though fear should lend him pinions like the wind,

a plain case. Yet swifter fate will seize him from behind.

So Mary got me to bed and cover'd me up warm: Virtue repuls'd, yet knows not to repine,

However, she stole away my garters, that I might But shall with unattainted honor shine;

do myself no harm. Nor stoops to take the staff,* nor lays it down, So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very Just as the rabble please to smile or frown.

well think, Virtue, to crown her favorites, loves to try

But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a Some new unbeaten passage to the sky;

wink. Where Jove a seat among the gods will give

So I was a-dream'd, methought, that we went and To those who die for meriting to live.

search'd the folks round, Next, faithful silence hath a sure reward;

And in a corner of Mrs. Dukes's* box, tied in a rag, Within our breast be every secret barr'd!

the money was found. He who betrays his friend, shall never be

So next morning we told Whittle,t and he fell eUnder one roof, or in one ship, with me.

swearing: For who with traitors would his safety trust,

Then my dame Wadgert came; and she, you know, Lest, with the wicked, Heaven involve the just ?

is thick of hearing. And, though the villain 'scape awhile, he feels

Dame, said I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know Slow vengeance, like a blood-hound, at his heels.

what a loss I have had ? Nay, said she, my Lord Colway'sfolks are all very

sad ; For my Lord Dromedaryll comes a Tuesday without

fail. MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION.

Pugh! said I, but that's not the business that I ail. 1699.

Says Cary, IT says he, I have been a servant this five

and-twenty years, come spring, To their excellencies the lords justices of Ireland,t And in all the places I liv'd, I never heard of such the humble petition of Frances Harris,

a thing. Who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries ; Yes, says the steward,** I remember, when I was

at my Lady Shrewsbury's, Humbly showeth,

Such a thing as this happen'd just about the time of That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's cham.

gooseberries. ber, because I was cold;

So I went to the party suspected, and I found her And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings,

full of grief, and sixpence, besides farthings, in money (Now, you must know, of all things in the world, I and gold :

hate a thief.) So, because I had been buying things for my lady However, I am resolv'd to bring the discourse slily last night,

about ; I was resolv'd to tell my money, to see if it was Mrs. Dukes, said I, here's an ugly accident has right.

happen'd out: Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very "Tis not that I value the money three skips of a bad lock,

louse ; tt Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows, But the thing I stand upon is the credit of the is a very small stock,

house. I keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next to 'Tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence,

makes a great hole in my wages : So when I went to put up my purse, as God would Besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in

have it, my smock was unript, And, instead of putting it into my pocket, down it

slipt; Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady

* Wife to one of the footmen. to bed ;

| Earl of Berkeley's valet. And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe 1 The old deaf housekeeper. as my maidenhead.

Galway. | The Earl of Drogheda, who, with the primate, was to

succeed the two earls. * The ensign of the lord treasurer's office.

I Clerk of the kitchen. | The Earls of Berkeley and of Galway.

** Ferris. 1 Lady Betty Berkeley, afterwards Germaine.

It An usual saying of hers.

my smock.

these ages.

TO THE EARL OF PETERBOROW,

WHO COMMANDED THE BRITISH FORCES IN SPAIN

MORDANTO fills the trump of fame,
The Christian world his deeds proclaim,
And prints are crowded with his name.

In journeys he outrides the post, Sits up till midnight with his host, Talks politics, and gives the toast;

Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body un

derstands, That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go

without hands. The devil take me! said she (blessing herself) if|

ever I saw't! So she roar'd like a Bedlam, as though I had callid

her all to naught. So, you know, what could I say to her any more? I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was be

fore. Well; but then they would have had me gone to

the cunning man! No, said I, 'tis the same thing, the chaplain will be

here anon. So the chaplain* came in. Now, the servants say

he is my sweetheart, Because he's always in my chainber, and I always

take his part. So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware,

out I blunder'd : Parson, said I, can you cast a nativity, when a body's

plunder'd ? (Now, you must know, he hates to be call’d parson

like the devil!) Truly, says he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to

be more civil ; If your money be gone, as a learned divine says,

d'ye see, You are no text for my handling ; so take that from

Knows every prince in Europe's face, Flies like a squib from place to place, And travels not, but runs a race.

From Paris gazette à-la-main,
This day arriv'd, without his train,
Mordanto in a week from Spain.

A messenger comes all a-reek, Mordanto at Madrid to seek; He left the town above a week.

Next day the post-boy winds his horn, And rides through Dover in the morn: Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.

Mordanto gallops on alone:
The roads are with his followers strown;
This breaks a girth and that a bone.

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His body active as his mind, Returning sound in limb and wind, Except some leather lost behind.

A skeleton in outward figure,
His meagre corpse, though full of vigor,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.

my life.

With that he twisted his girdle at me like a rope,

as who should say, Now you may go hang yourself for me! and so went

away. Well: I thought I should have swoon'd. Lord !

said I, what shall I do? I have lost my money, and shall lose my true love

too! Then my lord call'd me: Harry,t said my lord,

So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you like an apparition :

Shines in all climates like a star; In senates bold, and fierce

war ; A land commander, and a tar:

don't cry :

Heroic actions early bred in,
Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading,
But by his namesake, Charles of Sweden

I'll give you something towards thy loss; and, says

my lady, so will I. Oh! but, said I, what if, after all, the chaplain

won't come to? For that, he said, (an't please your excellencies,) I

must petition you. The promises tenderly consider'd, I desire your

Excellencies' protection, And that I may have a share in next Sunday's col

lection; And over and above, that I may have your excellen

cies' letter, With an order for the chaplain aforesaid, or, instead

of him, a better : And then your poor petitioner, both night and day, Or the chaplain (for 'tis his trade), as in duty bound,

shall ever pray.

THE PROGRESS OF POETRY.

The farmer's goose, who in the stubble
Has fed without restraint or trouble,
Grown fat with corn, and sitting still,
Can scarce get o'er the barn-door sill ;
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her belly in the neighboring pool ;
Nor loudly cackles at the door;
For cackling shows the goose is poor.

But, when she must be turn'd to graze, And round the barren common strays.

* Dr. Swift. | A cant word of Lord and Lady B. to Mrs. Harris.

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