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YET why, you ask, these humble crimes relate,
Why make the poor as guilty as the great?
To show the great, those mightier sons of pride,
How near in vice the lowest are allied :
Such are their natures, and their passions such,
But these disguise too little, those too much :
So shall the man of pow'r and pleasure see
In his own slave as vile a wretch as he;
In his luxuriant lord the servant find
His own low pleasures and degenerate mind:
And each in all the kindred vices trace
Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race;
Who, a short time in varied fortune past,
Die, and are equal in the dust at last,
And you, ye poor, who still lament your fate,
Forbear to envy those you reckon great;
And know, amid those blessings they possess,
They are, like you, the victims of distress;
While Sloth with many apang torments her slave,
Fear waits on guilt, and Danger shakes the brave.

§ 127. Apology for Vagrants. ANON. FOR him, who, lost to ev'ry hope of life, Has long with fortune held unequal strife, Known to no human love, no human care, The friendless, homeless object of despair; For the poor vagrant feel, while he complains, Nor from sad freedom send to sadder chains. Alike, if folly or misfortune brought Those last of woes his evil days have wrought; Relieve with social mercy, and, with me, Folly's misfortune in the first degree,

Perhaps on some inhospitable shore The houseless wretch a widow'd parent bore; Who, then no more by golden prospects led, Of the poor Indian begg'd a leafy bed. Cold, on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, Perhaps that parent mourn'd her soldier slain; Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolv'd in dew, The big drops mingling with the milk he drew, Gave the sad presage of his future years, The child of misery, baptiz'd in tears!

$128. Epistle to a young Gentleman, on his
leaving Eton School. By Dr. ROBERTS.
SINCE now a nobler scene awakes thy care,
Since manhood dawning, to fair Granta's tow'rs,
Where once in life's gay spring I lov'd to roam,
Invites thy willing steps; accept, dear youth,
This parting strain; accept the fervent pray'r
Of him who loves thee with a passion pure
As ever friendship dropp'd in human heart;
The pray'r, That he who guides the hand of youth
Thro' all the puzzled and perplexed round

'Of life's meand'ring path, upon thy head May shower down every blessing, every joy Which health, which virtue, and which fame can give !

Yet think not I will deign to flatter thee: Shall he, the guardian of thy faith and truth,

The guide, the pilot of thy tender years,

Teach thy young heart to feel a spurious glow At undeserved praise? Perish the slave Whose venal breath in youth's unpractis'd ear Pours poison'd flattery, and corrupts the soul With vain conceit; whose base ungenerous art Fawns on the vice, which some with honest hand Have torn for ever from the bleeding breast!

Say, gentle youth, remember'st thou the day When o'er thy tender shoulders first I hung The golden lyre, and taught thy treinbling hand To touch th' accordant strings? From that blest I've seen thee panting up the hill of fame; [hour Thy litle heart beat high with honest praise, Thy cheek was flush'd, ard oft thy sparkling eye Shot flames of young ambition. Never quench That generous ardor in thy virtuous breast. Sweet is the concord of harmonious sounds, When the soft lute or pealing organ strikes The well-attemper'd ear; sweet is the breath Of honest love, when nymph and gentle swaid Waft sighs alternate to each other's heart: But not the concord of hármonious sounds, When the soft lute or pealing organ strikes The well-attemper'd car; nor the sweet breath Of honest love, when nymph and gentle swain Waft sighs alternate to each other's heart, So charm with ravishment the raptur'd sense, As does the voice of well-deserv'd report Strike with sweet melody the conscious soul.

On ev'ry object thro' the giddy world Which fashion to the dazzled eye presents, Fresh is the gloss of newness; look, dear youth, O look, but not admire: O let not these Rase from thy noble heart the fair records Which youth and education planted there : Let not affection's full, impetuons tide, Which riots in thy generous breast, be check'd By selfish cares; or let the idle jeers Of laughing fools make thee forget thyself. When didst thou hear a tender tal of woe, And feel thy heart at rest? Have I not seen In thy swoln eye the tear of sympathy, The milk of human kindness? When didst thou, With envy rankling, hear a rival prais'd? When didst thou slight the wretched? when des The modest humble suit of poverty? [pise

These virtues still be thine; nor ever learn

To look with cold eye on the charities
Of brother, or of parents; think on those
Whoseanxiouscarethro' childhood's slippery path
Sustain'd thy feeble steps; whose every wish
Is wafted still to thee; remember those,
Even in thy heart, while memory holds her seat.
And oft as to thy mind thou shalt recal
The sweet companions of thy earliest years,
Mates of thy sport, and rivals in the strife
Of every generous art, remember me.

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THOUGH grief and fondness in my breast rebel
When injur'd Thales bids the town farewel,
Yet still iny calmer thoughts his choice com-
mend,

I praise the hermit, but regret the friend;
Who now resolves, from vice and London far,
To breathe in distant fields a purer air;
And fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore,
Give to St. David one true Briton more.
For who would leave, unbrib'd, Hibernia's
land,

Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand?
There none are swept by sudden fate away,
But all whom hunger spares, with age decay;
Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire;
Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell attorney prowls for prey;
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And here a female atheist talks you dead.
While Thales waits the wherry that contains
Of dissipated wealth the small remains,
On Thames's banks in silent thought we
stood,

Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver
flood;

Struck with the seat that gave Eliza * birth,
We kneel and kiss the consecrated earth;
In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew,
And call Britannia's glories back to view;
Behold her cross triumphant on the main,
The guard of commerce, and the dread
Spain;

Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd,
Or English honor grew a standing jest.

of

A transient calm the happy scenes bestow,
And for a moment lull the sense of woe.
At length awaking, with contemptuous frown,
Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town.
Since worth, he cries, in these degenerate days,
Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise;
In those curs'd walls, devote to vice and gain,
Since unrewarded science toils in vain ;
Since hope but sooths to double my distress,
And ev'ry moment leaves my little less;
While yet my steady steps no staff sustains,
And life, still vig'rous, revels in my veins;
Grant me, kind heaven, to find some happier
place,
Where honesty and sense are no disgrace;

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To pluck a titled poet's borrow'd wing;
A statesman's logic unconvin'd can hear,
And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer;
Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd,
And strive in vain to laugh at H-y's jest.

Others, with softer siniles, and subtler art,
Can sap the principles, or taint the heart;
With more address a lover's note convey,
Or bribe a virgin's innocence away.

Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic
tongue

Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong;
Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy,
Live unregarded, unlamented die.

For what but social guilt the friend endears?
Who shares Orgelio's crimes, his fortune shares.
But thou, should tempting villany present
All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers spent,
Turn from the glitt'ring bribe thy scornful eye,
Nor sell for gold what gold could never buy,
The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,
Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay.

The cheated nation's happy fav'rites sce! Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me!

London, the needy villain's gen'ral home
The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome;
With eager thirst, by folly or by fate,
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state.
Forgive my transports on a theme like this,
I cannot bear a French inetropolis.
Queen Elizabeth.

Illustrious

Illustrious Edward, from the realms of day,
The land of heroes and of saints survey ;
Nor hope the british lineaments to trace,
The rustic grandeur or the surly grace,
But lost in thoughtless ease and empty show,
Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau;
Sense, freedom, piety, refin'd away,
Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey.
All that at home no more can beg or steal,
Or like a gibbet better than a wheel;
Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court,
Their air, their dress, their politics import;
Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay,
On Britain's fond credulity they prey.
No gainful trade their industry can 'scape.

The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak,
Wakes from his dream, and labors for a joke;
With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest ;
Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous
heart,

Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.
Has Heaven reserv'd, in pity to the poor,
No pathless waste or undiscover'd shore?
No secret island in the boundless main?
No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?
Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore,
And bear oppression's insolence no more.

They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a This mournful truth is every where confess'd,

clap.

All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows,
And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes.
Ah! what avails it, that from slav'ry far,
I drew the breath of life in English air;
Was early taught a Briton's right to prize,
And lisp the tale of Henry's victories;
If the gull'd conqueror receives the chain,
And flattery subdues when arms are vain ?
Studious to please, and ready to submit,
The subtle Gaul was born a parasite:
Still to his int'rest true where'er he goes,
Wit, brav'ry, worth, his lavish tongue bestows;
In ev'ry face a thousand graces shine,
From ev'ry tongue flows harmony divine.
These arts in vain our rugged natives try,
Strain out, with falt'ring diffidence, a lie,
And gain a kick for awkward flattery.

Besides, with justice, this discerning age
Admires their wond'rous talents for the stage:
Well may they venture on the mimic's art,
What play from morn to night a borrow'd part;
Practis'd their master's notions to embrace;
Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face;
With ev'ry wild absurdity comply,
And view its object with another's eye;
To shake with laughter e'er the jest they hear,
Το pour at will the counterfeited tear;
And as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.
How, when competitors like these contend,
Can surly virtue hope to fix a friend?
Slaves that with serious impudence beguile,
And lie without a blush, without a smile;
Exalt each trifle, ev'ry vice adore,
Your taste in snuff, your judgement in a whore;
Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear
He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air.

For arts like these preferr'd, admir'd, caress'd,
They first invade your table, then your breast;
Explore your secrets with insidious art,
Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart;
Then soon your ill-plac'd confidence repay,
Commence your lords, and govern or betray.
By numbers here from shame and censure free,
All crimes are safe but hated poverty.
This, only this, the rigid law pursues,
This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse. -

Slow rises worth, by poverty depress'd:

But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold,
Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are
sold;

Where won by bribes, by flatteries implor'd,
The groom retails the favors of his lord.
But hark! the affrighted crowd's tumultuous
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Roll through the streets, and thunder to the
Rais'd from some pleasing dream of wealth and

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pow'r,

Some pompous palace, or some blissful bow'r,
Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight
Sustain the approaching fire's tremendous light;
Swift from pursuing horrors take your way,
And leave your little all to flames a prey;
Then through the world a wretched vagrant

roam,

For where can starving merit find a home?
In vain your mournful narrative disclose,
While all neglect, and most insult your woes,
Should Heaven's just bolts, Orgilio's wealth
confound,

And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o'er the land the dismal rumor flies,
And public mournings pacify the skies,
The laureat tribe in servile verse relate,
How virtue wars with persecuting fate;
With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band
Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.
See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,
And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome,
The price of boroughs and of souls restore;
And raise his treasure higher than before;
Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great,
The polish'd marble, and the shining plate,
Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire,

And hopes from Angry Heav'n another fire.
Could'st thou resign the park and play con

tent,

For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent;
There might'st thou find some elegant retreat,
Some hireling Senator's deserted seat;
And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land,
For less than rent the dungeons of the strand;
There prune thy walks, support thy drooping
How'rs,

Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bow'rs;

And,

And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford,
Despise the dainties of a venal lord:
There ev'ry bush with nature's music rings,
There ev'ry breeze bears health upon its wings;
On all thy hours security shall smile,
And bless thine evening walk and morning toil,
Prepare for death if here at night you roam,
And sign your will before you sup from home.
Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,
Who sleeps on brambles til! he kills his man ;
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest.
Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay,
Lords of the street, and terrors of the
Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine,
Their prudent insults to the poor confine;
After they mark the flambeaux's bright
proach,

way;

Yet not in cities oft; in proud and gay,
And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow,
As to a common and most noisome sewer,
The dregs and seculence of ev'ry land.
In cities, foul example on most minds
Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds
In gross and pamper'd cities sloth and lust,
And wantonness, and gluttonous excess.
In cities, vice is hidden with most ease,
Or seen with least reproach; and virtue, taught
By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there
Beyond th' achievement of successful flight.
I do confess them nurs'ries of the arts,
In which they flourish most; where, in the
beams

Of warm encouragement, and in th' eye
ap-Of public note, they reach their perfect size.
Such London is, by taste and wealth pro-
claim'd

And shun the shining train, and golden coach.
In vain, these dangers past, your doors you

close,

And hope the balmy blessings of repose:
Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair,
The midnight murd'rer bursts the faithless bar;
Invades the sacred hour of silent rest,
And plants, unseen, a dagger in your breast.
Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn
die,

With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply.
Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band,
Whose ways and means support the sinking

land;
Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring,
To rig another convoy for the king*.

A single gaol in Alfred's golden reign,
Could half the nation's criminals contain;
Fair justice then, without constraint ador'd,
Held high the steady scale, but sheath'd the
sword;

No spies were paid, no special juries known,
Blest age! but ah! how diff'rent from our

own!

Much could I add~but see the boat at hand,
The tide retiring, calls me from the land:
Farewell! When youth, and health, and for-
tune spent,

Thou fly'st for refuge to the wilds of Kent;
And tir'd like me with follies and with crimes,
In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times,
Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid,
Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade;
In virtue's cause once more exert his rage,
Thy satire point, and animate thy page.

§ 130. Great Cities, and London in particular,

allowed their due Praise. COWPER.

But tho' true worth and virtue in the mild
And genial soil of cultivated life

The fairest capital of all the world,
By riot and incontinence the worst.
There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank be-

comes

A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees
All her reflected features. Bacon there
Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.
Nor does the chisel occupy alone

The pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much;
Each province of her art her equal care.
With nice incision of her guided steel
She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil
So sterile with what charms soe'er she will,
The richest scenery, and the loveliest forms.
Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye,

With which she gazes at yon burning disk
Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots ?
In London. Where her implements exact,
With which she calculates, computes, and

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So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied
As London, opulent, enlarg'd, and still
Increasing London Babylon of old
Not more the glory of the earth, than she
A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.

She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two
That so much beauty would do well to purge;
And show this queen of cities, that so fair,
May yet be foul, so witty, yet not wise.
It is not seemly, nor of good report,
That she is slack in discipline; more prompt
Tavenge than to prevent the breach of law.
That she is rigid in denouncing death
On petty robbers, and indulges life
And liberty, and oft-times honor too,
To peculators of the public gold.

Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only That thieves at home must hang; but he that

there,

puts

• The nation was discontented at the visits made by George II. to Hanover.

town.

Into his overgorg'd and bloated purse
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good,
That, through profane and infidel contempt
Of holy writ, she has perfum'd t' annul
And abrogate, as roundly as she may,
The total ordinance and will of God;
Advancing fashion to the post of truth,
And cent'ring all authority in modes
And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites
Have dwindled into unrespected forms,
And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divore'd.
God made the country, and man made the
[gifts
What wonder then that health and virtue,
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught
That life holds out to all should most abound,
And least be threaten'd, in the fields and groves?
Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about,
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes
But such as art contrives, possess ye still
Your element; there only ye can shine,
There only minds like yours can do no harm.
Our groves were planted to console at noon
The pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eve
The moon-beam, sliding softly in between
The sleeping leaves, is all the sight they wish;
Birds warbling, all the music. We can spare
The splendor of your lamps; they but eclipse
Our softer satellite. Your songs confound
Our more harmonious notes. The thrush de-
parts

Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is mute.
There is a public mischief in your mirth;
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours,
Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan,
Has made, which enemies could ne'er have
done,

Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you,
A mutilated structure, soon to fall.

$131. The Want of Discipline in the English
University. CowPER.

IN colleges and halls, in antient days,
When learning, virtue, piety, and truth
Were precious, and inculcated with care,
There dwelt a sage, call'd Discipline. His head,
Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er,
Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth,
But strong for service still, and unimpair'd.
His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile
Play'd on his lips, and in his speech was heard
Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love.
The occupation dearest to his heart
Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke
The head of modest and ingenuous worth
That blush'd at its own praise, and press the
youth
[grew,
Close to his side that pleas'd him. Learning
Beneath his care, a thriving vigorous plant;
The mind was well inform'd, the passions held
Subordinate, and diligence was choice,

If e'er it chanc'd, as sometimes chance it must,
That one, among so many, overleap'd
The limits of control, his gentle eye
Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke;
His frown was full of terror, and his voice
Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe
As left him not, till penitence had won
Lost favor back again, and clos'd the breach.
But Discipline, a faithful servant long,
Declin'd at length into the vale of years:
A palsy struck his arm; his sparkling eye.
Was quench'd in rheums of age; his voice
unstrung,

Grew tremulous, and mov'd derision more
The rev'rence in perverse rebellious youth.
So colleges and halls neglected much
Their good old friend; and Discipline at length,
O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell sick, and died.
Then Study languish'd, Emulation slept,
And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene
Of solemn farce, where Ignorance in stilts,
His cap well lin'd with logic not his own,
With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part,
Proceeding soon a graduated Dunce.
Then Compromise had place, and Scrutiny
Became stone blind, Precedence went in truck,
And he was competent whose purse was so.
A dissolution of all bonds ensued:
The curbs invented for the mulish mouth
Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts
Grew rusty by disuse; and massy gates
Forgot their office, op'ning with a touch;
Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade;
The tassel'd cap and the spruce band a jest,
A mnock'ry of the world. What need of these
For gamester's, jockies, brothellers impure,
Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oft ner seen
With belted waist, and pointers at their heels,
Than in the bounds of duty? What was learn'd,
If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot;
And such expence as pinches parents blue,
And mortifies the lib'ral hand of love,
Is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports

And vicious pleasures; buys the boy a name
That sits a stigma to his father's house,
And cleaves through life inseparably close
To him that wears it. What can after-games
Of riper joys, and commerce with the world,
The lewd vain world that must receive him soon,
Add to such erudition thus acquir'd,
Where science and where virtue are profess'd?
They may confirm his habits, rivet fast
His folly; but to spoil him is a task
That bids defiance to th' united pow'rs
Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews.
Now, blame we most the purslings or the nurse!
The children, crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd
Through want of care, or her, whose winkingeye
And slumb'ring oscitaney mars the brood?
The nurse, no doubt. Regardless of her charge,
She needs herself correction; needs to learn,
That it is dang'rous sporting with the world,
With things so sacred as a nation's trust,
The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge.

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