To Dr. DELA NY, on the Libels written against him.
-Tanti tibi non fit opaci
Omnis arena Tagi.
Written in the year 1729.
S fome raw youth in country bred,
To arms by thirst of honour led,
When at a fkirmish firft he hears
The bullets whistling round his ears,
Will duck his head afide, will start,
And feel a trembling at his heart;
Till 'fcaping oft without a wound
Leffens the terror of the found;
Fly bullets now as thick as hops,
He runs into a cannon's chops:
An author thus who pants for fame,
Begins the world with fear and shame :
VOL. VIII.
When first in print you fee him dread
Each pop-gun levell'd at his head
The lead yon critic's quill contains,
Is deftin'd to beat out his brains.
As if he heard loud thunders roll,
Cries, Lord, have mercy on his foul !
Concluding, that another fhot
Will strike him dead upon the spot.
But, when with fquibbing, flathing, popping,
He cannot fee one creature dropping;
That, miffing fire, or miffing aim,
His life is fafe, I mean his fame ;
The danger paft, takes heart of grace,
And looks a critic in the face.
Though fplendor gives the fairest mark
To poifon'd arrows from the dark,
Yet, in yourself when smooth and round *,
They glance afide without a wound.
'Tis faid, the gods try'd all their art;
How Pain they might from Pleasure part;
But little could their ftrength avail;
Both ftill are faften'd by the tail.
Thus Fame and Cenfure with a tether
By fate are always link'd together.
Why will you aim to be preferr'd
In wit before the common herd?
And yet grow mortify'd and vex'd
To pay the penalty annex'd?
"Tis eminence makes envy rife;
As faireft fruits attract the flies.
Should ftupid libels grieve your mind,
You foon a remedy may find:
*In feipfo totus teres atque rotundus.
Lie down obfcure like other folks
Below the lafh of fnarlers jokes.
Their faction is five hundred odds;
For ev'ry coxcomb lends them rods;
And fneers as learnedly as they ;
Like females o'er their morning tea.
You fay, the muse will not contain,
And write you must, or break a vein.
Then, if you find the terms too hard,
No longer my advice regard:
But raife your fancy on the wing;
The Irish fenate's praises fing;
How jealous of the nation's freedom,
And for corruptions, how they weed 'em ;
How each the public good purfues;
How far their hearts from private views;
Make all true patriots up to fhoe-boys
Huzza their brethren at the Blue-boys *;
Thus
grown a member of the club,
No longer dread the rage of Grub.
How oft am I for rhyme to feek!
To drefs a thought, I toil a week:
And then how thankful to the town,
If all my pains will earn a crown!
Whilft ev'ry critic can devour
My work and me in half an hour.
Would men of genius ceafe to write,
The rogues muft die for want and fpite;
Muft die for want of food and raiment,
If fcandal did not find them payment.
How chearfully the hawkers cry
A fatire, and the gentry buy!
While my hard-labour'd poem pines
Unfold upon the printer's lines.
The Irish parliament fat at the Blue-boys hofpital, while the new parliament-house was building.
A genius in the rev'rend gown
Muft ever keep its owner down;
'Tis an unnatural conjunction,
And fpoils the credit of the function.
Round all your brethren caft your eyes;
Point out the fureft men to rife;
That club of candidates in black,
The leaft deferving of the pack,
Afpiring, factious, fierce, and loud,
With grace and learning unendu'd,
Can turn their hands to ev'ry job,
The fittest tools to work for Bob *
Will fooner coin a thoufnd lies,
Then fuffer men of parts to rise;
They croud about preferment's gate,
And prefs you down with all their weight.
For, as of old mathematicians
Were by the vulgar thought magicians;
So academic dule ale-drinkers
Pronounce all men of wit freethinkers.
Wit, as the chief of virtue's friends, Difdains to ferve ignoble ends.
Obferve what loads of ftupid rhymes
Opprefs us in corrupted times:
What pamphlets in a court's defence
Shew reafon, grammar, truth, or fenfe?
For though the mufe delight in fiction,
She ne'er infpires against conviction,
Then keep your virtue ftill unmixt,
And let no faction come betwixt :
By party-steps no grandeur climb at,
Though it would make you England's primate: 110
First learn the fcience to be dull,
You then may foon your confcience lull;
If not, however feated high,
Your genius in your face will fly.
*Sir Robert Walpole, afterwards Earl of Orford.
When Jove was from his teeming head
Of wit's fair goddess brought to bed,
There follow'd at his lying-in
For afterbirth a Sooterkin;
Which, as the nurse purfu'd to kill,
Attain'd by flight the muses hill;
There in the foil began to root,
And litter'd at Parnaffus' foot.
You try to take revenge in vain.
A rat your utmost rage defies.
That fafe behind the wainscot lies:
Say, did you ever know by fight
In cheese an individual mite?
Shew me the fame numeric flea,
That bit your neck but yesterday :
You then may boldly go in queft
To find the Grubftreet poet's neft;
What fpunging-houfe in dread of jail
Receives them, while they wait for bail;
What alley they are neftled in,
To flourish o'er a cup of gin :
Find the laft garret where the lay,
Or cellar where they ftarve to-day.
Suppofe you had them all trepann'd,
With each a libel in his hand,
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