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This is thy province, this thy wondrous way,
New humours to invent for each new play:
This is that boasted bias of thy mind,
By which, one way, to dulness 'tis inclined;
Which makes thy writings lean on one side still,
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will.
Nor let thy mountain belly make pretence
Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense;
A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ,
But sure thou’rt but a kilderkin of wit.
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep;
Thy Tragic Muse gives smiles; thy Comic, sleep.
With whate'er gall thou sett'st thyself to write,
Thy inoffensive satires never bite.
In thy felonious heart though venom lies,
It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.
Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame
In keen Iambics, but mild Anagram.
Leave writing Plays, and choose for thy command
Some peaceful province in Acrostic land:
There thou mayst wings display, and altars raise,
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways:
Or if thou wouldst thy different talents suit,
Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.'

He said; but his last words were scarcely heard;
For Bruce and Longvil had a trap prepared,
And down they sent the yet declaiming bard.
Sinking, he left his drugget robe behind,
Borne upwards by a subterranean wind :
The mantle fell to the young prophet's part,
With double portion of his father's art.




CLARENDON had law and sense,

Clifford was fierce and brave;
Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchless impudence

Help'd to support the knave.
But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory,
These will appear such chits in story,

"Twill turn all politics to jests, To be repeated like John Dory,

When fiddler's sing at feasts. Protect us, mighty Providence!

What would these madmen have ?
First they would bribe us without pence,
Deceive us without common sense,

And without power enslave.,
Shall free-born men, in humble awe,

Submit to servile shame,
Who from consent and custom draw
The same right to be ruled by law,

Which kings pretend to reign?
The Duke shall wield his conquering sword,

The Chancellor make a speech, The King shall pass his honest word, The pawn'd revenue sums afford,

And then, Come kiss my breech.

So have I seen a king on chess

(His rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in distress) Shifting about, grow less and less, With here and there a pawn.



URIM* was civil, and not void of sense,
Had humour and a courteous confidence;
So spruce he moves, so gracefully he cocks,
The hallow'd rose declares him orthodox;
He pass'd his easy hours, instead of prayer,
In madrigals, and Phillising the fair ;
Constant at feasts, and each decorum knew,
And soon as the dessert appear'd, withdrew :
Always obliging, and without offence,
And fancied for his gay impertinence.
But see how ill mistaken parts succeed;
He threw off my dominion, and would read;
Engaged in controversy, wrangled well;
In convocation language could excel;
In volumes proved the church without defence,
By nothing guarded, but by Providence:
How grace and moderation disagree;
And violence advances charity:
Thus writ till none would read, becoming soon
A wretched scriøbler of a rare buffoon.


* Dr. Atterbury, afterwards Bishop of Rochester.



To this design shrill Querpo * did agree,
A zealous member of the faculty ;
His sire's pretended pious steps he treads,
And where the doctor fails the saint succeeds.
A conventicle flesh'd his greener years,
And his full age the righteous rancour shares.
Thus boys hatch game eggs under birds of prey,
To make the fowl more furious for the fray.

Slow Carus + next discover'd his intent,
With painful pauses muttering what he meant.
His sparks of life, in spite of drugs, retreat,
So cold that only calentures can heat.
In his chill veins the sluggish puddle flows,
And loads with lazy fogs his sable brows.
Legions of lunatics about him press,
His province is, lost reason to redress.
So when perfumes their fragrant scent give o'er,
Nougbt can their odour, like a jakes, restore.
When for advice the vulgar throng, he's found
With lumber of vile books besieged around.
The gazing throng acknowledge their surprise,
And, deaf to reason, still consult their eyes.
Well he perceives the world will often find,
To catch the eye is to convince the mind.
Thus a weak state, by wise distrust inclines
To numerous stores, and strength in magazines :
# Dr. Howe.

† Dr. Tyson

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So fools are always most profuse of words,
And cowards never fail of longest swords.
Abandon'd authors here a refuge meet,
And from the world, to dust and worms retreat.
Here dregs and sediment of auctions reign,
Refuse of fairs, and gleanings of Duck Lane:
And up these walls much Gothic lumber climbs,
With Swiss philosophy, and Runic rhymes.
Hither, retrived from cooks and grocers, come
Mede's works entire, and endless reams of Brome.
Where would the long-neglected Collins fly,
If bounteous Carus should refuse to buy?
But each vile scribbler's happy on this score,
He'll find some Carus still to read him o'er.

Nor must we the obsequious Umbra * spare,
Who soft by nature, yet declared for war.
But when some rival power invades a right,
Flies set on flies, and turtles turtles fight.
Else courteous Umbra to the last had been
Demurely meek, insipidly serene.
With him + the present still some virtues have,
The vain are sprightly, and the stupid grave;
The slothful, negligent; the foppish, neat;
The lewd are airy; and the sly discreet.
A wren's an eagle, a baboon a beau;
Colt a Lycurgus, and a Phocion, Rowe g.


Dr. Gould. + See the Imitation, Hor. Sat 3. | Sir H. Dutton Colt. ý Mr. Anthony Rowe.

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