There follow'd at his lying-in,
For after-birth, a sooterkin,
Which as the nurse pursued to kill,
Attain'd by flight the Muses' hill,
There in the soil began to root,
And litter'd at Parnassus' foot.
From hence the critic-vermin sprung,
With harpy claws and poisonous tongue,
Who fatten on poetic scraps,
Too cunning to be caught in traps.
Dame Nature, as the learned show,
Provides each animal its foe;
Hounds hunt the hare, the wily fox
Devours your geese, the wolf your flocks:
Thus Envy pleads a natural claim
To persecute the Muses' fame,
On poets in all times abusive,
From Homer down to Pope inclusive.
Yet what avails it to complain? You try to take revenge in vain. A rat your utmost rage defies, That safe behind the wainscot lies. Say, did you ever know by sight In cheese an individual mite ? Show me the same numeric flea That bit your neck but yesterday; You then may boldly go in quest To find the Grub-street poets' nest; What spunging-house, in dread of jail, Receives them while they wait for bail; What alley they are nestled in, To flourish o'er a cup of gin; Find the last garret where they lay, Or cellar where they starve to-day.
Suppose you had them all trapann'd,
With each a libel in his hand,
What punishment would you inflict?
Or call 'em rogues, or get 'em kickt?
These they have often tried before;
You but oblige 'em so much more:
Themselves would be the first to tell,
To make their trash the better sell.
You have been libell'd-Let us know What fool officious told you so?
Will you regard the hawker's cries,
Who in his titles always lies?
Whate'er the noisy scoundrel says,
It might be something in your praise,
And praise bestow'd on Grub-street rhyme
Would vex one more a thousand times.
Till critics blame, and judges praise,
The poet cannot claim his bays.
On me when dunces are satiric,
I take it for a panegyric.
Hated by fools, and fools to hate,
Be that my motto and my fate.
THE REVEREND DR. DELANY AND HIS EXCELLENCY JOHN LORD CARTERET.
OCCASIONED BY HIS EPISTLE TO HIS EXCELL NCY JOHN LORD CARTERET.
DELUDED mortals! whom the great
Choose for companions tête à tête ;
Who, at their dinners en famille,
Get leave to sit whene'er you will,
Then boasting tell us where you din'd,
And how his lordship was so kind;
How many pleasant things he spoke,
And how you laugh'd at every joke;
Swear he's a most facetious man,
That you and he are cup and can;
You travel with a heavy load,
And quite mistake preferment's road.
Suppose my Lord and you alone,
Hint the least interest of your own,
His visage drops, he knits his brow,
He cannot talk of business now:
Or mention but a vacant post,
He'll turn it off with, Name your toast;'
Nor could the nicest artist paint
A countenance with more constraint.
For as, their appetites to quench,
Lords keep a pimp to bring a wench,
So men of wit are but a kind
Of panders to a vicious mind,
Who proper objects must provide
To gratify their lust of pride,
When, wearied with intrigues of state,
They find an idle hour to prate.
Then should you dare to ask a place,
You forfeit all your patron's grace,
And disappoint the sole design
For which he summon'd you to dine.
Thus Congreve spent in writing plays,
And one poor office, half his days;
While Montague', who claim'd the station
To be Mecænas of the nation,
For poets open table kept,
But ne'er consider'd where they slept:
Himself, as rich as fifty Jews,
Was easy though they wanted shoes,
And crazy Congreve scarce could spare
A shilling to discharge his chair,
Till prudence taught him to appeal
From Pæan's fire to party-zeal;
Not owing to his happy vein
The fortunes of his latter scene;
Took proper principles to thrive,
And so might every dunce alive.
Thus Steele, who own'd what others writ, And flourish'd by imputed wit,
From perils of a hundred jails
Withdrew, to starve and die in Wales.
Thus Gay, "the Hare with many friends," Twice seven long years the court attends; Who under tales, conveying truth, To virtue form'd a princely youth: Who paid his courtship with the crowd As far as modest pride allow'd; Rejects a servile Usher's place, And leaves St. James's in disgrace. Thus Addison, by lords caress'd, Was left in foreign lands distress'd; Forgot at home, became for hire A travelling tutor to a 'squire; But wisely left the Muses' hill, To business shap'd the poet's quill; Let all his barren laurels fade: Took up himself the Courtier's trade, And, grown a minister of state,
Saw poets at his levee wait.
Hail, happy Pope! whose generous mind
Detesting all the statesmen-kind,
Contemning courts, at courts unseen,
Refus'd the visits of a queen.
A soul with every virtue fraught,
By sages, priests, or poets, taught;
Whose filial piety excels
Whatever Grecian story tells ;
A genius for all stations fit,
Whose meanest talent is his wit;
His heart too great, though fortune little,
To lick a rascal statesman's spittle;
Appealing to the nation's taste,
Above the reach of want is plac'd;
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