How instinct varies in the grovelling swine, Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine! 'Twixt that and reason, what a nice barrier, Forever separate, yet forever near ! Remembrance and reflection how allied; 225 What thin partitions sense from thought divide: And middle natures, how they long to join, All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body nature is, and God the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same; Great in the earth, as in th' ethereal frame; 2 Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 271 Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; 276 As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. X. Cease then, nor order imperfection name: 3 281 P. Shut, shut the door, good John !1 fatigued, Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide; By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. ΙΟ No place is sacred, not the church is free; E'en Sunday shines no Sabbath day to me: Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme, Happy to catch me just at dinner-time. Is there a parson, much bemused in beer,15 A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer, A clerk, foredoomed his father's soul to cross, Who pens a stanza, when he should engross? Is there, who, locked from ink and paper, scrawls With desperate charcoal round his darkened walls? All fly to Twit'nam and in humble strain 21 Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain. Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws, Imputes to me and my damn'd works the If wrong, I smiled; if right, I kissed the rod. Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense. Commas and points they set exactly right, 161 And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite; Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel graced these ribalds, From slashing Bentley down to piddling Tibbalds. Each wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells, 165 Each word-catcher, that lives on syllables, E'en such small critics some regard may claim, Preserved in Milton's or in Shakespeare's Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the devil they got there. Were others angry: I excused them too; Well might they rage, I gave them but their due. A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find; 175 But each man's secret standard in his mind, That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, This, who can gratify? for who can guess? The bard whom pilfered Pastorals renown, Who turns a Persian tale for half a crown, 180 Just writes to make his barrenness appear, And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year; He, who still wanting, though he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left; And he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, 185 Means not, but blunders round about a meaning; And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry, but prose run mad: And swear, not Addison himself was safe. Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blessed with each talent and each art to please, 195 And born to write, converse, and live with ease: Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the 1 verses 2 poetry throne, 198 View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes THE DUNCIAD FROM BOOK IV 210 630 In vain, in vain the all-composing hour Resistless falls: the Muse obeys the power. She comes! she comes! the sable throne behold Of Night primeval and of Chaos old! Before her, Fancy's gilded clouds decay, And all its varying rainbows die away. Wit shoots in vain its momentary fires, The meteor drops, and in a flash expires. As one by one, at dread Medea's strain,1 635 The sickening stars fade off th' ethereal plain; As Argus' eyes, by Hermes' wand oppressed, Closed one by one to everlasting rest: 2 Thus at her felt approach, and secret might, Art after art goes out, and all is night. See skulking Truth to her old cavern fled, Mountains of casuistry heaped o'er her head! Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. 640 1 Cf. the incantations of Medea, as told by Gower. 2 See the story in Gayley, pp. 92-94. 560 care, Not that alone, but all the works of war. How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd, And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground, Attaint the lustre of my former name, 571 The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 580 They cry, 'Behold the mighty Hector's wife !' Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, Embitters all thy woes by naming me. 1 Grecian The thoughts of glory past and present shame, Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 599 Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's pray'r: "O thou! whose glory fills th' ethereal throne, And all ye deathless pow'rs! protect my son! And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame': While pleas'd, amidst the gen'ral shouts of Troy, His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy." He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, Restor'd the pleasing burthen to her arms; Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd. The troubled pleasure soon chastis'd by fear, She mingled with the smile a tender tear. 621 The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd, And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued: "Andromache! my soul's far better part, Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? No hostile hand can antedate my doom, No more JOHN GAY (1685-1732) THE HARE WITH MANY FRIENDS A Hare, who, in a civil way, As forth she went at early dawn, She next the stately Bull implored; 6 I 2 18 24 32 38 To leave you thus might seem unkind; But see, the Goat is just behind." The Goat remarked her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye; "My back," says he, "may do you harm; The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.' The Sheep was feeble, and complained His sides a load of wool sustained: Said he was slow, confessed his fears, For hounds eat sheep as well as hares. She now the trotting Calf addressed, To save from death a friend distressed. “Shall I,” says he, “of tender age, In this important care engage? Older and abler passed you by; How strong are those, how weak am I ! Should I presume to bear you hence, Those friends of mine may take offence. Excuse me, then. You know my heart. But dearest friends, alas, must part! How shall we all lament! Adieu! For see, the hounds are just in view." BLACK-EYED SUSAN All in the Downs1 the fleet was moored, "Oh! where shall I my true love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, If my sweet William sails among the crew?' William, who high upon the yard Rocked with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sighed, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands ΙΟ |