True; we may thank the perfidy of France,
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown,
With all the cunning of an envious fhrew.
And let that pafs-'twas but a trick of state!
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,
And gives his direft foe a friend's embrace..
And, fham'd as we have been, to th' very beard
Brav'd and defied, and in our own fea prov'd
Too weak for thofe decifive blows that once
Enfured us maft'ry there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast
At least superior jockeyfhip, and claim
The honours of the turf as all our own!
Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek,
And show the shame ye might conceal at home
In foreign eyes!-be grooms, and win the plate
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown
'Tis gen'rous to communicate your fkill
To those that need it. Folly is foon learn'd:
And, under such preceptors, who can fail!
There is a pleasure in poetic pains
Which only poets know. The fhifts and turns,
Th' expedients and inventions, multiform,
To which the mind reforts, in chafe of terms
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win-
T' arreft the fleeting images that fill
The mirror of the mind, and hold them faft,
And force them fit till he has pencil'd off
A faithful likeness of the forms he views;
Then to dispose his copies with fuch art,
That each may find its moft propitious light,
And shine by fituation, hardly lefs
Than by the labour and the skill it coft;
Are occupations of the poet's mind
So pleafing, and that fteal away the thought
With fuch address from themes of fad import,
That, loft in his own mufings, happy man!
He feels th' anxieties of life, denied
Their wonted entertainment, all retire.
Such joys has he that fings. But ah! not such,
Or feldom fuch, the hearers of his fong.
Faftidious, or elfe liftlefs, or perhaps
Aware of nothing arduous in a task
They never undertook, they little note
His dangers or escapes, and haply find
There leaft amufement where he found the most.
But is amusement all? ftudious of fong,
And yet ambitious not to fing in vain,
I would not trifle merely, though the world
Be loudeft in their praise who do no more.
Yet what can fatire, whether grave or gay?
It may correct a foible, may chastise
The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,
Retrench a fword-blade, or difplace a patch;
But where are its fublimer trophies found?
What vice has it fubdu'd? whofe heart reclaim'd
By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform?
Alas! Leviathan is not fo tam'd:
Laugh'd at, he laughs again; and, ftricken hard,
Turns to the ftroke his adamantine scales,
That fear no discipline of human hands.
The pulpit, therefore (and I name it fill'd
With folemn awe, that bids me well beware
With what intent I touch that holy thing)—
The pulpit (when the fatʼrift has at last,
Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school,
Spent all his force and made no profelyte)—
I fay the pulpit (in the fober use
Of its legitimate, peculiar pow'rs)
Muft ftand acknowledg'd, while the world fhall
The most important and effectual guard,
Support, and ornament, of virtue's caufe.
There stands the meffenger of truth: there flands
The legate of the fkies!-His theme divine,
His office facred, his credentials clear.
By him the violated law speaks out
Its thunders; and by him, in ftrains as sweet
As angels ufe, the gospel whispers peace.
He 'stablishes the ftrong, reftores the weak,
Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart,
And, arm'd himself in panoply complete
Of heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms,
Bright as his own, and trains, by ev'ry rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,
The facramental hoft of God's elect!
Are all fuch teachers?-would to heav'n all were!
But hark-the doctor's voice!-faft wedg'd between
Two empirics he ftands, and with fwoln cheeks
Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far
Than all invective is his bold harangue,
While through that public organ of report
He hails the clergy; and, defying fhame,
Announces to the world his own and their's!
He teaches those to read, whom schools difmifs'd,
And colleges, untaught; fells accent, tone,
And emphafis in fcore, and gives to pray'r
Th' adagio and andante it demands.
He grinds divinity of other days
Down into modern use; transforms old print
To zig-zag manufcript, and cheats the eyes
Of gall'ry critics by a thousand arts.
Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware?
Oh, name it not in Gath!-it cannot be,
That grave and learned clerks fhould need fuch aid.
He doubtlefs is in sport, and does but droll,
Affuming thus a rank unknown before-
Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church!
I venerate the man whofe heart is warm, Whofe hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life,
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof
That he is honeft in the sacred cause.
To fuch I render more than mere respect, Whofe actions say that they respect themselves. But, loose in morals, and in manners vain,
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