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Nor is it yet despondence and dismay
Will win her visits or engage her stay;
Pray'r only, and the penitential tear,
Can call her smiling down, and fix her here.

But when a country (one that I could name)
In prostitution sinks the sense of shame;
When infamous Venality, grown bold,
Writes on his bosom, To be let or sold;
When Perjury, that Heav'n-defying vice,
Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price,
Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made,
To turn a penny in the way of trade;
When Av’rice starves (and never hides his face)
Two or three millions of the human race,
And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when,
Though conscience will have twinges now and then;
When profanation of the sacred cause
In all it's parts, times, ministry, and laws,
Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fall'n, and lost,
In all, that wars against that title most;
What follows next let cities of great name,
And regions long since desolate proclaim.
Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome,
Speak to the present times, and times to come;
They cry aloud in ev'ry careless ear,

Stop, while ye may; suspend your mad career;
O learn from our example and our fate,
Learn wisdom and repentance ere too late.”

Not only Vice disposes and prepares
The mind, that slumbers sweetly in her snares,
To stoop to Tyranny's usurp'd command,
And bend her polish'd neck beneath his hand,
(A dire effect, by one of Nature's laws
Unchangeably connected with it's cause ;)
But Providence himself will intervene,
To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene.
All are his instruments; each form of war,
What burns at home, or threatens from afar,
Nature in arms, her elements at strife,
The storms, that overset the joys of life,
Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land,
And waste it at the bidding of his hand.
He gives the word, and Mutiny soon roars
In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ;
The standards of all nations are unfurl'd;
She has one foe, and that one foe the world.
And, if he doom that people with a frown,
And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd down,
Obduracy takes place; callous and tough,
The reprobated race grows judgment proof :
Earth shakes beneath them, and Heav'n roars

above; But nothing scares them from the course they love. To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, That charm down fear, they frolic it along, With mad rapidity and unconcern, Down to the gulf, from which is no return. They trust in navies, and their navies failGod's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ! They trust in armies, and their courage dies; In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies ; But all they trust in withers, as it must, When He commands, in whom they place no trust. Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast A long-despis'd, but now victorious host; Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge The noble sweep of all their privilege; Gives liberty the last, the mortal shock; Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock,

A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach, Mean

you to prophesy, or but to preach? B. I know the mind that feels indeed the fire The Muse imparts, and can command the lyre,

Acts with a force, and kindles with a real,
Whate'er the theme, that others never feel.
If human woes her soft attention claim,
A tender sympathy pervades the frame,
She pours a sensibility divine
Along the nerve of ev'ry feeling line,
But if a deed not tamely to be borne
Fire indignation and a sense of scorn,
The strings are swept with such a pow'r, so loud,
The storm of music shakes th' astonish'd crowd.
So, when remote futurity is brought
Before the keen inquiry of her thought,
A terrible sagacity informs
The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms;
He hears the thunder ere the tempest low'rs;
And, arm'd with strength surpassing human pow'rs,
Seizes events as yet unknown to man,
And darts his soul into the dawning plan.
Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name
Of prophet and of poet was the same;
Hence British poets, too, the priesthood shar'd,
And every hallow'd druid was a bard.
But no prophetic fires to me belong;
I play with syllables, and sport in song.

A. At Westminster, where little poets strive
To set a distich upon six and five,
Where Discipline helps op'ning buds of sense,
And makes his pupils proud with silver pence,
I was a poet too; but modern taste
Is so refin'd, and delicate, and chaste,
That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms,
Without a creamy smoothness has no charms.
Thus, all success depending on an ear,
And thinking I might purchase it too dear,
If sentiment were sacrific'd to sound,
And truth cut short to make a period round,
I judg’d a man of sense could scarce do worse,
Than caper in the morris-dance of verse.

B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit,
And some wits flag through fear of losing it.
Give me the line, that plows it's stately course
Like a proud swan, conq'ring the stream by force,
That, like some cottage-beauty, strikes the heart,
Quite unindebted to the tricks of art.
When Labour and when Dulness, club in hand,
Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand,
Beating alternately, in measur'd time,
The clock-work tintinnabulum of rhime,
Exact and regular the sounds will be;
But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me.

From him, who rears a poem lank and long, To him who strains his all into a song ; Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, All birks and braes, though he was never there ; Or, having whelp'd a prologue with great pains, Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke An art contriv'd to advertise a joke, So that the jest is clearly to be seen, Not in the words—but in the gap between : Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.

To dally much with subjects mean and low, Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. Neglected talents rust into decay, And ev'ry effort ends in push-pin play, The man that means success, should soar above A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove ; Else summoning the Muse to such a theme, The fruit of all her labour is whipp'd cream. As if an eagle flew aloft, and thenStoop'd from it's highest pitch to pounce a wren.

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As if the poet, purposing to wed,

His conrt, the dissolute and hateful school, Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread.

Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, Ages elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appear'd,

Swarm’d with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard,

With brutal lust as ever Circe made. To carry nature lengths unknown before,

From these a long succession, in the rage To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.

Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age; Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times,

Nor ceas'd, till, ever anxious to redress And shot a day.spring into distant climes,

The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, Ennobling ev'ry region that he chose ;

The Muse instructed a well-nurtur'd train He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose ;

Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, And tedious years of Gothic darkness pass'd,

And claim the palm for parity of song, Emerg'd all splendour in our isle at last.

That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,

Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense, Then show far off their shining plumes again.

That neither gave nor would endure offence, A. Is genius only found in epic lays ?

Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise.

The puppy pack, that had defil'd the scene. Make their heroic pow'rs your own at once,

In front of these came Addison. In him Or candidly confess yourself a dunce.

Humour in holiday and sightly trim, B. These were the chief: each interval of night Sublimity and Attic taste, combin'd, Was grac'd with many an undulating light,

To polish, furnish, and delight, the mind. In less illustrious bards his beauty shone

Then Pope, as harmony itself exact,
A meteor, or a star; in these the Sun.

In verse well disciplin'd, complete, compact,
The nightingale may claim the topmast bough, Gave virtue and morality a grace,
While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face,
Like him unnotic'd, I, and such as I,

Levied a tax of wonder and applause,
Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly; Ev'n on the fools that trampled on their laws.
Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land,

But he (his musical finesse was such,
An ell or two of prospect we command:

So nice his ear, so delicate his touch)
But never peep beyond the thorny bound,

Made poetry a mere mechanic art;
Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round. And ev'ry warbler has his tune by heart.
In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart

Nature imparting her satiric gift,
Had faded, poetry was not an art;

Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, Language, above all teaching, or if taught,

With droll sobriety they rais'd a smile Only by gratitude and glowing thought,

At Folly's cost, themselves unmov'd the while. Elegant as simplicity, and warm

That constellation set, the world in vain As ecstasy, unmanacled by form,

Must hope to look upon their like again. Not prompted, as in our degen’rate days,

A. Are we then left?-B. Not wholly in the dark ; By low ambition and the thirst of praise,

Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark, Was natural as is the flowing stream,

Sufficient to redeem the modern race And yet magnificent-A God the theme !

From total night and absolute disgrace. That theme on Earth exhausted, though above

While servile trick and imitative knack 'T is found as everlasting as his love,

Confine the million in the beaten track,
Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human things Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road,
The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings;

Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad.
But still, while Virtue kindled his delight,

Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one ; The song was moral, and so far was right.

Short his career indeed, but ably run ; 'T was thus till Luxury seduc'd the mind

Churchill; himself, unconscious of his pow'rs, To joys less innocent, as less' retin'd;

In penury consum'd his idle hours; Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal; he crown'd

And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown, The brimming goblet, seiz'd the thyrsus, bound Was left to spring by vigour of his own. His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field

Lifted at length, by dignity of thought Of wild imagination, and there reelid,

And dint of genius, to an affluent lot,
The victim of his own lascivious fires,

He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap,
And, dizzy with delight, profan'd the sacred wires. And took, too often, there his easy nap.
Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome If brighter beams than all he threw not forth,
This bedlam part; and others nearer home.

'T was negligence in him, not want of worth. When Cromwell fought for pow'r, and while he

Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse, reign'd

Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force, The proud protector of the pow'r he gain'd,

Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, Religion, harsh, intolerant, austere,

Always at speed, and never drawing bit, Parent of manuers like herself severe,

He struck the lyre in such a careless mood, Drew a rough copy of the Christian face

And so disdain'd the rules he understood, Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace ;

The laurel seem'd to wait on his command, The dark and sullen humour of the time

He snatch'd it rudely from the Muses' hand. Judg'd ev'ry effort of the Muse a crime;

Nature, exerting an unwearied pow'r, Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast,

Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev'ry flow'r; Was lamber in an age so void of taste;

Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads But when the second Charles assum'd the sway, The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads: And arts reviv'd beneath a softer day,

She fills profuse ten thousand little throats Then, like a bow long forc'd into a curve,

With music, modulating all their notes; The mind, releas'd from too constrain'd a nerve,

And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds upFlew to it's first position with a spring,

known, That made the vaulted roofs of pleasure ring.

With artless airs and concerts of her own:


But seldom (as if fearful of expense)

And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence

With more than mortal music on his tongue, Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought,

That He, who died below, and reigns above, Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought ; Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. Fancy, that from the bow, that spans the sky,

For, after all, if merely to beguile, Brings colours, dipp'd in Heav'n, that never die; By, flowing numbers and a flow'ry style, A soul exalted above Earth, a mind

The tædium that the lazy rich endure, Skill'd in the characters that form mankind;

Which now and then sweet poetry may cure; And, as the Sun in rising beauty dress'd,

Or, if to see the name of idle self, Looks to the westward from the dappled east, Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, And marks, whatever clouds may interpose,

To float a bubble on the breath of Fame, Ere yet his race begins, it's glorious close !

Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim, An eye like his to catch the distant goal;

Debas'd to servile purposes of pride, Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll,

How are the pow'rs of genius misapplied ! Like his to shed illuminating rays

The gift, whose office is the Giver's praise, On ev'ry scene and subject it surveys:

To trace him in his word, his works, his ways ! Thus grac'd, the man asserts a poet's name,

Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invite And the world cheerfully admits the claims.

Mankind to share in the divine delight, Pity Religion has so seldom found

Distorted from it's use and just design, A skilful guide into poetic ground!

To make the pitiful possessor shine. The flow'rs would spring where'er she deign'd to stray, To pnrchase, at the fool-frequented fair And ev'ry Muse attend her in her way.

Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear, Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend,

Is profanation of the basest kindAnd many a compliment politely penn'd;

Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind. But, unattir'd in that becoming vest

A. Hail Sterphold, then; and Hopkins, hail! Religion weaves for her, and half undress’d,

B. Amen. Stands in the desert, shiv'ring and forlorn,

If flattry, folly, lust, employ the pen ; A wintry figure, like a wither'd thorn.

If acrimony, slander, and abuse, The shelves are full, all other themes are sped; Give it a charge to blacken and traduce ; Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread. Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease, Satire has long since done his best; and curst

With all that fancy can invent to please, And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst;

Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, Fancy has sported all her pow'rs away

One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. In tales, in trifles, and in children's play;

A. 'T would thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, And 't is the sad complaint, and almost true,

To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. B. No matter-we could shift when they were T were new indeed to see a bard all fire,

not ; Touch'd with a coal from Heav'n, assume the lyre, And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.


Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri,
Nec percussa juvant fluctu tam litora, nec quæ
Saxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles.

VIRG. Eccl. y.

Though Nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To ev'ry man his modicum of sense,
And Conversation in it's better part
May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture, and the sowing of the soil.
Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse;
Not more distinct from barmony divine,
The constant creaking of a country sign.
As Alphabets in ivory employ,
Hour after hour, the yet unletter'd boy,
Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee
Those seeds of science call'd his A B C;
So language in the mouths of the adult,
Witn ; it's insignificant result,

And if it weigh th' importance of a fly,
The scales are false, or algebra a lie.
Sacred interpreter of human thought,
How few respect or use thee as they ought!
But all shall give account of ev'ry wrong,
Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue;
Who prostitute it in the cause of vice,
Or sell their glory at a market-price;
Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon,
The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon.

There is a prurience in the speech of some,
Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb:
His wise forbearance has their end in view,
They fill their measure, and receive their due.
The heathen law-givers of ancient days,
Name almost worthy of a Christian's praise,
Would drive them forth from the resort of men,
And shut up ev'ry satyr in his den.
O come not ye near innocence and truth,
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth !

Too of play,

A toy to sport with, and pass time away.
Collect at ev'ning what the day brought forth,
Compress the sum into it's solid worth,

Infectious as impure, your blighting pow'r

Vociferated logic kills me quite, Taints in its rudiments the promis’d flow'r;

A noisy man is always in the right, It's odour perish’d, and it's charming hue,

I twirl my thumbs, fall back into a chair, Thenceforth 't is hateful, for it smells of you.

Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, Not ev'n the vigorous and headlong rage

And, when I hope his blunders are all out, Of adolescence, or a firmer age,

Reply discreetly~" To be sure-no doubt!" Affords a plea allowable or just

Dubius is such a scrupulous good manFor making speech the pamperer of lust;

Yes-you may catch him tripping, if you can. But hen the breath of age commits the fault,

He would not with a peremptory tone, 'T is nauseous as the vapour of a vault.

Asgert the nose upon his face his own; So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene,

With hesitation admirably slow, No longer fraitful, and no longer green;

He humbly, hopes--presumes-it may be so. The sapless wood divested of the bark,

His evidence, if he were call'd by law Grows fungous, and takes fire at ev'ry spark.

To swear to some enormity he saw, Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife

For want of prominence and just relief, Some men have surely then a peaceful life:,

Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. Whatever subject occupy discourse,

Through constant dread of giving truth offence, The feats of Vestris, or the naval force,

He ties ap all his hearers in suspense; Asseveration blust'ring in your face

Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not; Makes contradiction such a hopeless case:

What he remembers seems to have forgot; In ev'ry tale tirey tell, or false or true,

His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, Well known, or such as no man ever knew,

Centring at last in having none at all. ney fix attention, heedless of your pain,

Yet, though he tease and balk your list’ning ear, With oaths like rivets forc'd into the brain;

He makes one useful point exceeding clear ; And ev'n when sober truth prevails throughout, Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.

A sceptic in philosophy may seem, A Persian, humble servant of the Sun,

Reduc'd to practice, his beloved rule Who, though devout, yet bigotry, had none,

Would only prove him a consummate fool; Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address,

Useless in him alike both brain and speech, With adjurations ev'ry word impress,

Fate having plac'd all truth above his reach, Suppos'd the man a bishop, or at least,

His ambiguities his total sum, God's name so much upon his lips, a priest;

He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs,

Where men of judgment creep, and feel theis And begg'd an intrest in his frequent pray’rs.

way, Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferrd, The positive pronounce without dismay; Henceforth associate in one common herd;

Their want of light and intellect supplied Religion, virtue, reason, common sense,

By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride. Pronounce your human form a false pretence ;

Without the means of knowing right from wrong, A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks,

They always are decisive, clear, and strong ; Who yet betrays his secret by his works.

Where others toil with philosophic force, Ye pow'rs who rule the tongue, if such there

Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course; are,

Flings at your head conviction in the Jump, And make colloquial happiness your care,

And gains remote conclusions at a jump: Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate,

Their own defect, invisible to them, A duel in the form of a debate.

Seen in another, they at once condemn; The clash of arguments and jar of words,

And, though self-idoliz'd in ev'ry case, Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords,

Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. Decide no question with their tedious length,

The canse is plain, and not to be denied, For opposition gives opinion strength,

The proud are always most provok'd by pride. Divert the champions prodigal of breath,

Few competitions but engender spite; And put the peaceably.dispos’d to death.

And those the most, where neither has a right. O thwart me not, Sir Soph, at ev'ry turn,

The point of honour has been deem'd of use, Nor carp at ev'ry flaw you may discern;

To teach good manners, and to curb abuse; Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue,

Admit it true, the consequence is clear, I am not surely always in the wrong;

Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, 'T is hard if all is false that I advance,

And, at the bottom barb'rous still and rude, A fool must now and then be right by chance. We are restrain'd, indeed, but not subdu'd. Not that all freedom of dissent I blame;

The very remedy, however sure, No-there I grant the privilege I claim ;

Springs from the mischief it intends to care,
A disputable point is no man's ground;


in it's principle appears,
Rove where you please, 't is common all around Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears.
Discourse may want an animated-No,

'T is hard, indeed, if nothing will defend To brush the surface, and to make it flow;

Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end; But still remember, if you mean to please,

That now and then a hero must decease, To press your point with modesty and ease.

That the surviving world may live in peace. The mark, at which my juster aim I take,

Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show Is contradiction for it's own dear sake.

The practice dastardly, and mean, and low; Set your opinion at whatever pitch,

That men engage in it compellid by force, Knots and impediments make something hitch ; And fear, not courage, is it's proper source: Adopt his owu, 't is equally in vain,

The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear Your thread of argument is spapp'd again;

Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sheer. The wrangler, rather than accord with you,

At least to trample on our Maker's laws, Will judge himself deceiv'd, and prove it too.

And bazard life for any or no cause,

To rush into a fix'd eternal state
Ont of the very flames of rage and hate,
Or send another shiv'ring to the bar
With all the guilt of such unnat'ral war,
Whatever Use may urge, or Honour plead,
On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed.
Am I to set my life upon a throw,
Because a bear is rude and surly? No-
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man
Will not affront me; and no other can.
Were I empower'd to regulate the lists,
They should encounter with well-loaded fists;
A Trojan combat would be something new,
Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue;
Then each might show, to his admiring friends,
In honourable bumps his rich amends,
And carry, in contusions of his skull,
A satisfactory receipt in full.

A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains :
A graver fact, enlisted on your side,
May furnish illustration, well applied ;
But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
'T is the most asinine employ on earth,
To hear them tell of parantage and birth,
And echo conversations, dull and dry,
Embellish'd with—" He said,” and “ So said I.”
At ev'ry interview their route the same,
The repetition makes attention lame;
We bustle up with unsuccessful speed,
And in the saddest part cry—“ Droll, indeed !”
The path of narrative with care pursue,
Still making probability your clew;
On all the vestiges of truth attend,
And let them guide you to a decent end,
Of all mbitions man may entertain,
The worst, that can invade a fickly brain,
Is that which angles hourly for surprise,
And baits it's hook with prodigies and lies.
Credulous infancy, or age as weak,
Are fittest auditors for such to seek,
Who, to please others, will themselves disgrace,
Yet please not, but affront you to your face.
A great retailer of this curious ware
Having unloaded and made many stare,
“ Can this be true ?"-an arch observer cries,
“ Yes,” (rather mov’d,)“I saw it with these

But are we so to wit and beauty blind,
As to despise the glory of our kind,
And show the softest minds and fairest forms
As little mercy, as he grubs and worms?
They dare not wait the riotons abuse,
Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce,
When wine has giv'n indecent language birth,
And forc'd the flood-gates of licentious mirth;
For sea-born Venus her attachment shows
Still to that element, from which she rose,
And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb,
Sips meek infusions of a milder herb.

Th’emphatic speaker dearly loves l'oppose,
In contact inconvenient, nose to nose.
As if the gnoinon on his neighbour's phiz,
Touch'd with the magnet, had attracted his.
His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large,
Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge,
An extract of his diary-no more,
A tasteless journal of the day before.
He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain,
Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again,
Resum'd his purpose, had a world of talk
With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk.
I interrupt him with a sudden bow
' Adieu, dear sir! lest you should lose it now.”

I cannot talk with civet in the room,
A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume ;
The sight's enough--no need to smell a beau-
Who thrusts his nose into a raree-show?
His odoriferous attempts to please
Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees;
Bat we that make no honey, though we sting,
Poets are sometimes apt to maul the thing.
'T is wrong to bring into a mix'd resort,
What makes some sick, and others à-la-mort:
An argument of cogence, we may say,
Why such a one should keep himself away.

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see,
Quite as absurd, though not so light as he:
A shallow brain behind a serious mask,
An oracle within an empty cask,
The solemn fop; significant and budge;
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge;
He says but little, and that little said
Owes all it's weight, like loaded dice, to lead.
His wit invites you by his looks to come,
But when you knock it never is at home:
'T is like a parcel sent you by the stage,
Some handsome present, as your hopes presage;
"T is heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove
An absent friend's fidelity and love;
But when unpack’d, your disappointment groans
To find it stuff’d with brick-bats, earth, and stones.

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick,
In making known how oft they have been sick,
And give us in recitals of disease
A doctor's trouble, but without the fees;
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed,
How an emetic or cathartic sped;
Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot,
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot.
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill,
Victorions seem'd, and now the doctor's skill;
And nowalas, for unforeseen mishaps !
They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ;
They thought they must have died, they were so

eyes :"

“Sir! I believe it on that ground alone;
I could not, had I seen it with my own."

A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct;
The language plain, and incidents well link’d;
Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows,
And, new or old, still hasten to a close ;
There, centring in a focus round and neat,
Let all your rays of information meet.
What neither yields us profit nor delight,
Is like a nurse's lullaby at night ;
Guy Earl of Warwick, and fair Eleanore,
Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more.

Tbe pipe, with soletnn interposing puff,
Makes half a sentence at a time enough ;
The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,
Then pause, and puff--and speak, and pause again.
Such, often, like the tube they so admire,
Important triflers ! have more smoke than fire.
Pernicious weed ! whose scent the fair annoys,
Unfriendly to society's chief joys,
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
The sex, whose presence civilizes ours :
Thou art, indeed, the drug a gard'ner wants,
To poison vermin that infest his plants ;


Their peevish hearers almost wish they had.

Some fretful tempers wince at ev'ry touch, You always do too little, or too much : You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, Your elevated voice goes through the brain;

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