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"Great idol of mankind! We neither claim
The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame;
But safe in deserts from th' applause of men,
Would die unheard of, as we liv'd unseen.
'Tis all we beg thee to conceal from sight
Those acts of goodness which themselves requite.
Oh, let us still the secret joy partake,
To follow virtue ev'n for virtue's sake."



"And live there men who slight immortal fame? Wonder.
Who then with incense shall adore our name?
But, mortals! know 'tis still our greatest pride
To blaze those virtues which the good would hide.
Rise, Muses! Rise! Add all your tuneful breath! Exciting.
These must not sleep in darkness and in death."

She said. 'In air the trembling music floats,
And on the winds triumphant swell the notes;
So soft, though high; so loud, and yet so clear;
Ev'n list'ning angels lean from heav'n to hear.
To farthest shores th' ambrosial spirit flies,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies.

While thus I stood intent to see and hear,
One came, methought, and whisper'd in my ear:

"What could thus high thy rash ambition raise? Questioning

with reproof.


Art thou, fond youth! a candidate for praise?”

'Tis true, said I, not void of hopes I came;
For who so fond, as youthful bards, of fame?
But few, alas! the casual blessing boast,
So hard to gain, so easy to be lost.
How vain that second life in others' breath,
Th' estate which wits inherit after death.
Ease, health, and life, for this they must resign
(Unsure the tenure, and how vast the fine!)


To be spoken as melodiously as possible.

"What could thus high," &c., must be spoken with a lower voice than the foregoing.

Pleasing description.


The great man's curse, without the gains, endure, Though wretched, flatter'd, and though envied, poor. All luckless wits their enemies profess'd, And all successful, jealous friends at best. Indifference. Nor fame I slight, nor for her favours call; She comes unlook'd for, if she comes at all. But if the purchase costs so dear a price, Apprehen- As soothing folly or exalting vice; sion of evil. And if the Muse must flatter lawless sway, And follow still, where fortune leads the way; Or if no basis bear my rising name, But the fall'n ruins of another's fame;

Deprecation. Then teach me, heav'n, to scorn the guilty bays, Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise. Unblemish'd let me live, or die unknown;

Oh, grant me honest fame; or grant me none!



Sneer, or

'Tis from high life high characters are drawn:
mock praise. A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.
A judge is just; a chanc'llor—juster still;

A gownman learn'd; a bishop—what you will;
Wise, if a minister; but if a king,

More wise, more just, more learn'd, more every thing.
'Tis education forms the common mind;
Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd,
'Boastful and rough, your first son is a squire;
The next a tradesman, meek, and much a liar;
Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave;
Will sneaks a scriv'ner, an exceeding knave.





1 Though these lines contain descriptions, or characters, they may be expressed with action, almost as if they were speeches. This first line" Boastful and rough," &c., may be spoken with the action of boasting; and so for the rest.

Is he a churchman? Then he's fond of pow'r;
A Quaker? *Sly. A Presbyterian? Sour.
A smart free-thinker? All things in an hour.

Ask men's opinions-Scoto now shall tell
How trade increases, and the world goes well:
Strike off his pension by the setting sun,
And Britain, if not Europe, is undone.

Manners with fortune, humours turn with climes, Teaching. Tenets with books, and principles with times. Search then the ruling passion. There alone The wild are constant, and the cunning known. This clue once found unravels all the rest ; The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest ; Wharton! the scorn2 and wondera of our days, Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise. Born with whate'er could win it from the wise, Women and fools must like him, or he dies. Though wond'ring senates hung on all he spoke, The club must hail him master of the joke. Shall parts so various aim at nothing new? He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too.


A salmon's belly, Helluo1 was thy fate2
The doctor call'd, declares all help too late.
"Mercy," cries Helluo, " mercy on my soul!
Is there no hope? Alas! then bring the jowl.”3

Grief with

"Odious! In woollen! 'Twould a saint provoke," Aversion. Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke. "No; let a charming chintz and Brussels lace, Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face. One need not, sure, be ugly, though one's dead: And-Betty-give this cheek—a little-red.”

1 "Helluo" signifies glutton.

2 That is, a surfeit of fresh salmon was thy death.

3 The glutton will continue to indulge his appetite (so indeed will every habitual offender in every kind) in spite of all consequences.


a Formal. b Peevish. Foppery.

• Contempt. dAdmiration





Civil with weakness.


"Ifwhere I'm going--I could serve you, sir,” "I give, and I devise," old Euclio said, And sigh'd, "my lands and tenements to Ned." "Your money, sir." "My money, sir!— What_all? Weeping. Why-if I must-(then wept)-I give it—Paul.” "The manor, sir?"_"The manor"—"Hold," he cried, “I cannot—must not part with that”—and died. And you, brave Cobham! at your latest breath Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death. Such in that moment, as in all the past, “Oh, save my country, heav'n!” shall be your last. Pope.





The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd An humble servant to all human kind,

Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir;


Pope's complaint of the impertinence of scribblers.
Friend' to my life! (which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song)
What drop, or nostrum, can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?
A dire dilemma! Either way I'm sped;

If foes, they write, if friends they read me dead.
Seiz'd, and tied down to judge, how wretched I!
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.
To laugh were want of goodness and of grace;
And to be grave exceeds all pow'r of face.
I sit with sad civility; I read

With serious anguish, and an aching head


1 Dr. Arbuthnot, his friend and physician.

"The world had wanted." Thus far ought to be spoken with great emphasis, as if somewhat very important were coming; and the remaining part of the line, "many an idle song," in a ludicrous manner.

Then drop, at last, but in unwilling ears,



This saving counsel, “Keep your piece nine years.”1 Advising.
Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drury-lane, Offence with
Lull'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends,
Oblig'd, by hunger—and request of friends.
“The piece, you think, is incorrect. Why take it.
I'm all submission; what you'd have it, make it.”
Three things another's modest wishes bound;
My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound.
Pitholeon sends to me; You know his Grace.
"I want a patron—Ask him for a place."
"Pitholeon libell'd me❞— But here's a letter
Informs you, sir, 'twas when he knew no better.
Dare you refuse him; Curl invites to dine;
He'll write a journal, or he'll turn divine.”


"Not, sir, if you revise it and retouch."
All my demurs but double his attacks.

At last he whispers, “Do; and we go snacks.”
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clapp'd the door.


“ Sir, let me see you and your works no more.”

Bless me! A packet! "Tis a stranger sues;
A virgin tragedy; an orphan muse.”
If I dislike it, "Furies! death, and rage!"
If I approve," Commend it to the stage."
There, thank my stars, my whole commission ends,
The play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends.
Fir'd, that the house reject him, “'S death, I'll Anger.
print it,

And shame the fools—Your intrest, sir, with Lintot.” Cringing. "Lintot (dull rogue!) will think your price too Excuse. much."

1 Alluding to Horace's "Nonumque premetur in annum.” 2 Pitholeon. The name of a foolish ancient poet.




3" Curl invites," &c. Mr. Pope was, it seems, ill used by Curl, a bookseller, by the writer of a journal or newspaper, and by a parson much bemused in beer."

a Offence.
b Cringing.










with anger.

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