Turns rebel to dame REASON's throne
And holds no judgment like his own.
Yet while they spatter mutual dirt,
In idle threats that cannot hurt,
Methinks they waste a deal of time,
Both fool in profe, and fool in rhyme,
And when the angry bard exclaims,
And calls a thousand paltry names,
He doth his critic mighty wrong,
And hurts the dignity of song.
The prefatory matter past The tale, or ftory comes at laft.
A candle ftuck in flaring state
Within the nozel of French plate,
Tow'ring aloft with fmoaky light,
The snuff and flame of wondrous height,
(For, virgin yet of amputation,
No force had check'd its inclination)
Sullen addrefs'd with confcious pride,
The dormant fnuffers at its fide,
tals of my fame,
Its fhall hurt no more, ms triumphant foar ! blaze alone
with luftre all my own.
fir!" the fnuffers cried,
rant is pride!
h wavers round the room,
unterfeit of gloom,
h idly tow'rs so high
effence by and by,
Eze thy luftre dear
to make thee clear.
riend, thy random rays, ength, and quiv'ring blaze,
s a beggar's link,
and die in ftink,
unfteady light,
true as well as bright.
s all are puffers,
candle fnuffers.
THO' pi
To bring th Permit, as t A passenger
The fhep
When all it
Dreamt not
To fell his
The confed
He loft his
So fares it
From dogg
On ink's c
No fands a
No lightni
No furges
Till, all t
The temp
Then the
And fons
pilot in the ship no more,
To bring the cargo fafe to shore;
Permit, as time and place afford,
A paffenger to come aboard.
The fhepherd who furvey'd the deep,
When all its tempefts were asleep,
Dreamt not of danger; glad was he
To fell his flock, and put to sea.
The confequence has Æsop told,
He loft his venture, fheep and gold.
So fares it with us fons of rhyme,
From doggrel wit, to wit fublime;
On ink's calm ocean all feems clear,
No fands affright, no rocks appear;
No lightnings blast, no thunders roar ;
No furges lafh the peaceful fhore;
Till, all too vent'rous from the land,
The tempefts dash us on the strand :
Then the low pirate boards the deck,
And fons of theft enjoy the wreck.
The harlot muse fo paffing gay,
Bewitches only to betray;
Tho' for a while, with easy air,
She smooths the rugged brow of care,
And laps the mind in flow'ry dreams,
With fancy's tranfitory gleams.
Fond of the nothings she bestows,
We wake at laft to real woes.
Thro' ev'ry age, in ev'ry place,
Confider well the poet's cafe;
By turns protected and carefs'd,
Defam'd, dependant, and diftrefs'd;
The joke of wits, the bane of flaves,
The curfe of fools, the butt of knaves;
Too proud to stoop for fervile ends,
To lacquey rogues, or flatter friends;
With prodigality to give,
Too careless of the means to live:
The bubble fame intent to gain,
And yet too lazy to maintain;
He quits the world he never priz❜d,
Pitied by few, by more despis'd;
And loft to friends, opprefs'd by foes,
Sinks to the nothing whence he rose.
Let crazy LEE, neglected GAY,
The fhabby OTWAY, DRYDEN grey,
Thofe tuneful fervants of the nine,
(Not that I blend their names with mine)
Repeat their lives, their works, their fame
And teach the world fome useful fhame.
At first the Poet idly strays
Along the greensward path of praise,
Till on his journies up and down,
To fee, and to be feen, in town,
What with ill-natur'd flings and rubs
From flippant bucks, and hackney scrubs,
His toils thro' duft, thro' dirt, thro' gravel
Take off his appetite for travel.
Tranfient is fame's immediate breath, Though it blows ftronger after death; Own then, with MARTIAL, after fate If glory comes, fhe comes too late. For who'd his time and labour give For praife, by which he cannot live?
But in APOLLO's court of fame (In this all courts are much the fame)
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