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Mean let me shrink, or spread sweet shade o'er all,
Though verse can never give my soul her aim; 25
life be useless, grant me death ; For he, who useless is in life survey'd, Burthens that world, his duty bids him aid.
Say, what have honours to allure the mind, Which he gains most, who leait has serv'd mankind ? Titles, when worn by fools, I dare despite ; Yet they claim homage, when they crown the wise. 40 When high distinction marks deserving heirs, Desert still dignifies the mark it wears. But, who to birth alone would honours owe? Honours, if true, from seeds of merit grow. Thole trees, with sweeteit charms, invite our eyes, 45 Which, from our own engrafrment, fruitful rise, Still we love best what we with labour gain, As the child's dearer for the mother's pain.
The Great I would not envy nor deride ; Nor stoop to fwell a vain Superior's pride ; go
Nor view an Equal's hope with jealous eyes ;
This may they learn, who close thy life attend ;
V E R S E S
OCCASIONED BY THE
VICE-PRINCIPAL of St Mary-HALL, OXFORD, Being presented by the Honourable Mrs. KNIGHT,
to the Living of GOSFIELD in Essex.
Priests, whom the learned and the good despise; This fees fair Knight, in whose transcendent mind, Are wisdom, purity, and truth enshrin'd.
A modest merit now the plans to lift,
She fought the man of honest, candid breast,
15 She fought, the found, and, Hart! the prize was thine.
Her darling paffions, scandal and quadrille;
The fates, my nearest kindred, foes decree : Fulvia, when piqu’d at them, strait pities me. She, like Benevolence, a finile beftows, Favours to me indulge her spleen to those. The banquet serv’d, with peeresses I fit :
15 She tells my story, and repeats my wit. With mouth distorted, through a sounding nose It comes, now homeliness more homely grows. With fee- faw sounds and nonsense not my own, She skrews her features, and the cracks her tone. How fine your Bastard ! why so foft a strain ? What such a Mother? satirize again!
Oft I object--but fix'd is Fulvia's will Ah! though unkind, she is my mother still !
The verse now flows, the manuscript the claims. 25 'Tis fam'd--The fame, each curious fair enflames : The wild-fire runs; from copy, copy grows : The Brets, alarm’d, a separate peace propese. 'Tis ratified-How alter'd Fulvia's look! My wit 's degraded, and my cause forsook. Thus she : What 's poetry but to amuse ? Might I advise there are more solid views. With a cool air the adds : This tale is old : Were it my case, it Mould no more be told. Complaints-had I been worthy to advise
35 You know-But when are wits, like women, wife ? True it may take; but, think whate'er you list, All love the satire, none the satirist.
I start, I stare, Itand fix'd, then pause awhile; Then hesitate, then ponder well, then smile. 40
Madam-a pension loft-and where's amends?
friends. Why did I start ? 'twas but a change of windOr the same thing—the lady chang’d her mind. I bow, depart, despise, discern her all :
45 Nanny revisits, and disgrac'd I fall.
Let Fulvia's friendship whirl with every whim !
Cold is that breast, which gave the world desire; Mute is the voice where winning softness warm’d, Where music melted, and where wisdom charm’d, And lively wit, which, decently confin'd,
5 No prude e'er thought impure, no friend unkind.
Could modest knowledge, fair untrifling youth, Perfuafive reason and endearing truth,