If ev'ry wheel of that unweary'd mill,

That turn'd ten thousand verses, now stands still?

But, after all, what would you have me do, 80 When out of twenty I can please not two? When this, Heroics only deigns to praise, Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays ? One likes the pheasant's wing, and one the leg; The vulgar boil, the learned roast an egg: Hard task to hit the palate of such guests, When Oldfield loves what Dartincuf detests!

85

But grant I may relapse, for want of grace, Again to rhyme, can London be the place? Who there his Muse, or self, or soul, attends, 90 In crowds, and courts, law, bus'ness, feasts, and friends?

My counsel sends to execute a deed;

A poet begs me I will hear him read.

In Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there--
At ten, for certain, sir, in Bloomsb❜ry-square---95
Before the Lords, at twelve, my cause comes on-
There's a rehearsal, sir, exact at one.

• Oh! but a wit can study in the streets,

And raise his mind above the mob he meets.' Not quite so well, however, as one ought; 100 A hackney-coach may chance to spoil a thought; And then a nodding beam, or pig of lead, God knows, may hurt the very ablest head. Have you not seen, at Guildhall's narrow pass, Two aldermen dispute it with an ass?

105

And peers give way, exalted as they are,
Ev'n to their own s-r-v--nce in a car?

Go, lofty poet! and in such a crowd
Sing thy sonorous verse-but not aloud.
Alas! to grottoes and to groves we run,
To ease and silence, ev'ry Muse's son:
Blackmore himself, for any grand effort,

110

Would drink and dose at Tooting or Earl's-court. How shall I rhyme in this eternal roar?

How match the bards whom none e'er match'd before?

115

The man who, stretch'd in Isis' calm retreat, To books and study gives sev'n years complete, See! strow'd with learned dust, his nightcap on, He walks an object new beneath the sun! 119 The boys flock round him, and the people stare: So stiff, so mute! some statue you would swear Stept from his pedestal to take the air!

And here, while Town, and Court, and City, roars,
With mobs, and duns, and soldiers at their doors,
Shall I in London act this idle part,
123
Composing songs for fools to get by heart?

The Temple late two brother Serjeants saw,
Who deem'd each other oracles of law;
With equal talents these congenial souls,

One lull'd th' Exchequer, and one stunn'd the

Rolls;

Each had a gravity would make you split,
And shook his head at Murray as a wit.

130

''Twas, sir, your law'—and," sir, your clo"quence,"

"Your's Cowper's manner-and your's Talbot's

sense.

Thus we dispose of all poetic merit,

135

Your's Milton's genius, and mine Homer's spirit. Call Tibbald Shakespeare, and he'll swear the Nine, Dear Cibber! never match'd one ode of thine. Lord! how we strut through Merlin's cave, to see No poets there but Stephen, you, and me. 140

Walk with respect behind, while we at ease Weave laurel crowns, and take what names we please.

· My dear Tibullus!' if that will not do,

Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you ;

'Or, I'm content, allow me Dryden's strains, 145
• And you shall rise up Otway for your pains.'
Much do I suffer, much, to keep in peace
This jealous, waspish, wrong-head, rhyming, race;
And much must flatter, if the whim should bite,
To court applause by printing what I write. 150
But let the fit pass o'er; I'm wise enough
To stop my ears to their confounded stuff.

In vain bad rhymers all mankind reject:

156

They treat themselves with most profound respect.
'Tis to small purpose that you hold your tongue,
Each prais'd within, is happy all day long.
But how severely with themselves proceed
The men, who write such verse as we can read?

Their own strict judges, not a word they spare That wants of force, or light, or weight, or care; Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place, 161 Nay, though at court (perhaps) it may find grace: Such they'll degrade; and, sometimes in its stead, In downright charity revive the dead;

Mark where a bold expressive phrase appears, 165 Bright through the rubbish of some hundred years; Command old words, that long have slept, to wake, Words that wise Bacon, or brave Rawleigh, spake; Or bid the new be English ages hence,

175

(For Use will father what's begot by Sense) 170
Pour the full tide of eloquence along,
Serenely pure, and yet divinely strong,
Rich with the treasures of each foreign tongue;
Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine,
But show no mercy to an empty line;
Then polish all with so much life and ease
You think 'tis Nature, and a knack to please:
But ease in writing flows from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.'
If such the plague, and pains, to write by rule,
Better (say I) be pleas'd, and play the fool; 181
Call, if you will, bad rhyming a disease;
It gives men happiness, or leaves them ease.
There liv'd in primo Georgii (they record)
A worthy member, no small fool, a lord;
Who, though the House was up, delighted sate,
Heard, noted, answer'd, as in full debate;

185

In all, but this, a man of sober life,
Fond of his friend, and civil to his wife;
Not quite a madman, though a pasty fell, 190
And much too wise to walk into a well.

Him the damn'd doctors, and his friends, immur'd, They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd; in short, they cur'd:

Whereat the gentleman began to stare

My friends! (he cry'd) p-x take you for your

care!

That from a patriot of distinguish'd note

195

Have bled and purg'd me to a simple vote.'
Well, on the whole, plain prose, must be my
fate!

Wisdom (curse on it!) will come soon, or late.
There is a time when poets will grow dull; 200
I'll ev'n leave verses to the boys at school:
To rules of poetry no more confin'd,

I'll learn to smooth and harmonize my mind,
Teach ev'ry thought within its bounds to roll,
And keep the equal measure of the soul.

205

Soon as I enter at my country door My mind resumes the thread it dropp'd before; Thoughts, which at Hyde-park Corner I forgot, Meet, and rejoin me, in the pensive grot: There all alone, and compliments apart, I ask these sober questions of my heart :

210

If, when the more you drink the more you crave, You tell the doctor; when the more you have