Who know the Muse's worth, and therefore court, My sole excuse, alas! for having writ. And D-t smiles, if Phœbus smil'd before; But ah! not inspiration can obtain That fame which poets languish for in vain. That wealth is fame, another can reply, A beardless miser! 'tis a guilt unknown Of ardent lovers the true modern band He glories to late times to be convey'd Not for the poor he has reliev'd, but made: Not such ambition his great fathers fir'd, When Harry conquer'd, and half France expir'd: He'd be a slave, a pimp, a dog, for gain; Nay, a dull sheriff for his golden chain. "Who'd be a slave?" the gallant col❜nel cries, While love of glory sparkles from his eyes: To deathless fame he loudly pleads his right,-Just is his title, for he will not fight. All soldiers valour, all divines have grace, As maids of honour beauty,-by their place : But when, indulging on the last campaign, His lofty terms climb o'er the hills of slain, He gives the foes he slew, at each vain word, A sweet revenge, and half absolves his sword. Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, A soldier should be modest as a maid. Fame is a bubble the reserv'd enjoy ; Who strive to grasp it, as they touch, destroy: 'Tis the world's debt to deeds of high degree, But if you pay yourself, the world is free. Were there no tongue to speak them but his own, Augustus' deeds in arms had ne'er been known; Augustus' deeds, if that ambiguous name Confounds my reader, and misguides his aim, Such is the prince's worth of whom I speak, The Roman would not blush at the mistake. LOVE OF FAME, &c. SATIRE V. ON WOMEN. O fairest of creation! last and best Of all God's works! creature in whom excell'd How art thou lost! Milton. NOR reigns ambition in bold man alone; Soft female hearts the rude invader own: But there, indeed, it deals in nicer things Or in full joy elaborate a sigh. The sex we honour, tho' their faults we blame, Nay, thank their faults for such a fruitful theme; A theme fair ! doubly kind to me, Since satirizing those is praising thee; Who would not bear, too modestly refin❜d, Britannia's daughters, much more fair than nice, Too fond of admiration, lose their price; Worn in the public eye, give cheap delight To throngs, and tarnish to the sated sight: As unreserv'd and beauteous as the sun, Thro' ev'ry sign of vanity they`run; Assemblies, parks, coarse feasts in city-halls, Lectures and trials, plays, committees, balls, Wells, bedlams, executions, Smithfield scenes, And fortuneteller's caves and lions' dens; Taverns, Exchanges, Bridewells, drawingrooms, Instalments, pillories, coronations, tombs, Tumblers and funerals, puppetshows, reviews, Sales, races, rabates, (and, still stranger!) pews. Clarinda's bosom burns, but burns for fame, Zara resembles Etna crown'd with snows, |