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His raiment decent, his complexion fair,

Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. And half he welcomes in the shivering pair ; Then near approaching, father, hail! he cry'd, One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, And hail, my son, the reverend sire reply'd ; And nature's fervour through their limbs recalls. Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, And talk of various kind deceived the road;

(Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine; Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part, And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, While in their age they differ, join in heart.

A ready warning bid them part in peace. Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,

With still remark the pondering hermit view'd, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

In one so rich, a life so poor and rude ; Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day And why should such, within himself he cry'd, Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey; Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ? Nature in silence bid the world repose;

But what new marks of wonder soon took place, When near the road a stately palace rose :

In every settling feature of his face ; There, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, When from his vest the young companion bore Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass ; That cup the generous landlord own'd before, It chanc'd the noble master of the dome

And paid profusely with the precious bowl Still made his house the wandering stranger's home : The stinted kindness of this churlish soul. Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;
Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.

The sun emerging opes an azure sky;
The pair arrive: the livery'd servants wait ; A fresher green the smelling leaves display,
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate. And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day :
The table groans with costly piles of food,

The weather courts them from the poor retreat,
And all is more than hospitably good.

And the glad master bolts the wary gate. Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.

wrought At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, With all the travel of uncertain thought; Along the wide canals the zephyrs play :

His partner's acts without their cause appear, Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here : And shake the neighbouring wood, to banish sleep. Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, Up rise the guests, obedient to the call :

Lost and confounded with the various shows. An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall;

Now night's dim shades again involve the sky, Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd,

Again the wanderers want a place to lie ;
Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste. Again they search, and find a lodging nigh.
Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch they go ; The soil improved around, the mansion neat,
And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe : And neither poorly low, nor idly great:
His cup was vanish’d; for in secret guise

It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind,
The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. Content, and not for praise but virtue kind.
As one who spies a serpent in his way,

Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, Glistening and basking in the summer ray,

Then bless the mansion, and the master greet: Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near,

Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; The courteous master hears, and thus replies : So seem'd the sire; when far upon the road,

Without a vain, without a grudging heart,
The shining spoil his wily partner show'd.

To him who gives us all, I yield a part;
He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, From him you come, for him accept it here,
And much he wish'd but durst not ask to part: A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.
Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread :
That generous actions meet a base reward.

They talk of virtue till the time of bed,
While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, When the grave household round his hall repair,
The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; Warn’d by a bell, and close the hours with prayer.
A sound in air presag'd approaching rain,

At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, And beasts to covert scud across the plain.

Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose; Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept, To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat.

Near the clos'd cradle where an infant slept, 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, And writh'd his neck : the landlord's little pride, And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around ; O strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and dy'd. Its owner's temper, timorous and severe,

Horror of horrors ! what! his only son ! Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there.

How look'd our hermit when the fact was done! As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew;

And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began, Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, And o'er their

heads loud rolling thunders ran. He flies, but trembling fails to fly with speed. Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, His steps the youth pursues ; the country lay Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way: At length some pity warm’d the master's breast A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er ('Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest); Was nice to find; the servant trod before ;

Long arms of oaks an open bridge supply'd,

The great, vain man, who fared on costly food, And deep the waves beneath the bending glide. Whose life was too luxurious to be good; The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in ;. And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine ; Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head,

Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.

Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, The mean suspicious wretch, whose bolted door He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wandering poor; Detested wretch !_But scarce his speech began, With him I left the cup, to teach his mind When the strange partner seem'd no longer man : That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. His youthful face grew more serenely sweet ; Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair ; Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, Celestial odours breathe through purpled air ; With heaping coals of fire upon its head; And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. And loose from dross the silver runs below. The form ethereal burst upon his sight,

Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, And moves in all the majesty of light.

But now the child half wean'd his heart from God;
Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, (Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain,
Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do;

And measur'd back his steps to earth again.
Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, To what excesses had his dotage run?
And in a calm his settling temper ends.

But God, to save the father, took the son.
But silence here the beauteous angel broke

To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, (The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke):

(And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow): Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, In sweet memorial rise before the throne :

Now owns in tears the punishment was just. These charms success in our bright region find, But now had all his fortune felt a wrack, And force an angel down to calm thy mind; Had that false servant sped in safety back; For this commission'd, I forsook the sky;

This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal, Nay, cease to kneel_Thy fellow-servant 1.

And what a fund of charity would fail ! Then know the truth of government divine, Thus Heaven instructs thy mind : this trial o'er, And let these scruples be no longer thine.

Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more. The Maker justly claims that world he made, On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, In this the right of Providence is laid ;

The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. Its sacred majesty through all depends

Thus look'd Elisha when, to mount on high, On using second means to work his ends :

His master took the chariot of the sky; "Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, The fiery pomp ascending left to view, The Power exerts his attributes on high ;

The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too. Your actions uses nor controls your will,

The bending hermit here a prayer begun,
And bids the doubting sons of men be still. “Lord ! as in Heaven, on earth thy will be done :”

What strange events can strike with more surprise, Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place,
Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes ? And passd a life of piety and peace.
Yet, taught by these, confess th' Almighty just,
And where you can't unriddle learn to trust!

PRIOR-A.D. 1664-1721.

Calliope, and God knows who.
To add no more invectives to it,
You spoil'd the youth, to make a poet.
In common justice, Sir, there's no man
That makes the whore, but keeps the woman.
Among all honest Christian people,
Whoe'er break limbs, maintains the cripple.

The sum of all I have to say,
Is, that you'd put me in some way ;
And your petitioner shall pray-

There's one thing more I had almost slipt,
But that may do as well in postscript:
My friend Charles Montague's preferr’d;
Nor would I have it long observ'd,
That one mouse eats, while t'other's stary'd.


WHEN crowding folks, with strange ill faces,
Were making legs, and begging places,
And some with patents, some with merit,
Tir'd out my good Lord Dorset's spirit:
Sneaking I stood amongst the crew,
Desiring much to speak with you.
I waited while the clock struck thrice,
And footman brought out fifty lies ;
Till, patience vext, and legs grown weary,
I thought it was in vain to tarry:
But did opine it might be better,
By penny-post to send a letter.
Now if you miss of this epistle,
I'm baulk'd again, and may go whistle.
My business, Sir, you'll quickly guess,
Is to desire some little place ;
And fair pretensions I have for't,
Much need, and very small desert.
Whene'er I writ to you, I wanted ;
I always begg'd, you always granted.
Now, as you took me up when little,
Gave me my learning and my vittle ;
Ask'd for me, from my lord, things fitting,
Kind as I'd been your own begetting ;
Confirm what formerly you've given,
Nor leave me now at six and seven,
As Sunderland has left Mun Stephen.

No family, that takes a whelp
When first he laps, and scarce can yelp,
Neglects or turns him out of gate
When he's grown up to dog's estate :
Nor parish, if they once adopt
The spurious brats by strollers dropt,
Leave them, when grown up lusty fellows,
To the wide world, that is, the gallows:
No, thank them for their love, that's worse
Than if they'd throttled them at nurse.

My uncle, rest his soul ! when living,
Might have contriv'd me ways of thriving;
Taught me with cyder to replenish
My vats, or ebbing tide of Rhenish.
So when for hock I drew prickt white-wine,
Swear't had the flavour, and was right wine,
Or sent me with ten pounds to Furni.
val's inn, to some good rogue-attorney ;
Where now, by forging deeds, and cheating,
I'd found some handsome ways of getting.

All this you made me quit, to follow
That sneaking whey-fac'd god Apollo;
Sent me among a fiddling crew
Of folks, I'd never seen nor knew,

Burleigh, May 14, 1689.
As once a twelvemonth to the priest,
Holy at Rome, here Antichrist,
The Spanish king presents a jennet,
To show his love that's all that's in it:
For if his holiness would thump
His reverend bum 'gainst horse's rump,
He might b'equipt from his own stable
With one niore white, and eke more able :
Or as, with gondolas and men, his
Good excellence the Duke of Venice
(I wish, for rhyme, 't had been the king)
Sails out, and gives the gulf a ring ;
Which trick of state, he wisely maintains,
Keeps kindness up 'twixt old acquaintance;
For else, in honest truth, the sea
Has much less need of gold than he :
Or, not to rove, and pump one's fancy
For Popish similes beyond sea ;
As folks from mud-wall'd tenemerit
Bring landlords pepper-corn for rent ;
Present a turkey, or a hen,

To those might better spare them ten :-
Ev'n so, with all submission, I
(For first men instance, then apply)
Send you each year a homely letter,
Who may return me much a better.

Then take it, Sir, as it was writ,
To pay respect, and not show wit:
Nor look askew at what it saith ;
There's no petition in it-'faith.

Here some would scratch their heads, and try What they should write, and how, and why;

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But I conceive, such folks are quite in
Mistakes, in theory of writing.
If once for principle 'tis laid,
That thought is trouble to the head ;
I argue thus : the world agrees
That he writes well, who writes with ease :
Then he, by sequel logical,
Writes best that never thinks at all.

Verse comes from heaven, like inward light;
Mere human pains can ne'er come by't;
The god, not we, the poem makes ;
We only tell folks what he speaks.
Hence, when anatomists discourse,
How like brutes' organs are to ours;
They grant, if higher powers think fit,
A bear might soon be made a wit;
And that, for any thing in natnre,
Pigs might squeak love-odes, dogs bark satire.

Memnon, though stone, was counted vocal; But 'twas the god, meanwhile, that spoke all. Rome oft has heard a cross haranguing, With prompting priest behind the hanging : The wooden head resolv'd the question While you and Pettis help'd the jest on.

Your crabbed rogues, that read Lucretius, Are against gods, you know; and teach us, The gods make not the poet; but The thesis, vice-versa put, Should Hebrew-wise be understood ; And means, the poet makes the god.

Egyptian gardeners thus are said to
Have set the leeks they after pray'd to;
And Romish bakers praise the deity
They chipp'd while yet in its paniety.

That when you poets swear and cry,
The god inspires; I rave, I die ;
If inward wind does truly swell ye,
'T must be the cholic in your belly :
That writing is but just like dice,
And lucky mains make people wise :
That jumbled words, if fortune throw 'em,
Shall, well as Dryden, form a poem;
Or make a speech, correct and witty,
As you know who at the committee.

So atoms dancing round the centre,
They urge, made all things at a venture.

But, granting matters should be spoke
By method, rather than by luck;
This may confine their younger styles,
Whom Dryden pedagogues at Will's;
But never could be meant to tie
Authentic wits, like you and I :
For as young children, who are tied in
Go-carts, to keep their steps from sliding ;
When members knit, and legs grow stronger,
Make use of such machine no longer ;
But leap pro libitu, and scout
On horse call'd hobby, or without;
So when at school we first declaim,
Old Busby walks us in a theme,

props support our infant vein,
And help the rickets in the brain :
But, when our souls their force dilate,
And thoughts grow up to wit's estate ;
In verse or prose, we write or chat,
Not sixpence matter upon what.

'Tis not how well an author says ;
But 'tis how much, that gathers praise.
Tonson, who is himself a wit,
Counts writers' merits by the sheet.
Thus each should down with all he thinks,
As boys eat bread, to fill up chinks.

Kind Sir, I should be glad to see you ;
I hope y' are well ; so God be wi' you ;
Was all I thought at first to write :
But things since then are alter'd quite;
Fancies flow in, and Muse flies high :
So God knows when ny clack will lie:
I must, Sir, prattle on, as afore,
And beg your pardon yet this half-hour.

So at pure barn of loud Non-con,
Where with my grannum I have gone,
When Lobb had sifted all his text,
And I well hop'd the pudding next;
6. Now to apply,” has plagu'd me more
Than all his villain cant before.

For your religion, first, of her,
Your friends do savoury things aver ;
They say, she's honest as your claret,
Nor sour'd with cant, nor stumm’d with merit;
Your chamber is the sole retreat
Of chaplains every Sunday night :
Of grace, no doubt, a certain sign,
When layman herds with man divine;
For if their fame be justly great,
· Who would no Popish nuncio treat ;
That his is greater, we must grant,
Who will treat nuncios Protestant.
One single positive weighs more,
You know, than negatives a score.

In politics, I hear, you're stanch,
Directly bent against the French ;
Deny to have your free-born toe
Dragoon'd into a wooden shoe:
Are in no plots; but fairly drive at
The public welfare, in your private ;
And will for England's glory try
Turks, Jews, and Jesuits, to defy,
And keep your places till you die.

For me, whom wandering fortune threw
From what I lov'd, the town and you :
Let me just tell you how my time is
Past in a country life. Imprimis,
As soon as Phæbus' rays inspect us,
First, Sir, I read, and then I breakfast;
So on, till 'foresaid god does set,
I sometimes study, sometimes eat.
Thus, of your heroes and brave boys,
With whom old Homer makes such noise,
The greatest actions I can find,
Are, that they did their work, and din'd.

The books, of which I'm chiefly fond,
Are such as you have whilom conn'd;
That treat of China's civil law,
And subjects' rights in Golconda ;
Of highway elephants at Ceylon,
That rob in clans, like men o'th' Highland;
Of apes that storm or keep a town,
As well almost as Count Lauzun;
Of unicorns and alligators,
Elks, mermaids, mummies, witches, satyrs,
And twenty other stranger matters ;

At distance through an artful glass

To the mind's eye things well appear : They lose their forms, and make a mass

Confus'd and black if brought too near.

Which, though they're things I've no concern in,
Make all our grooms admire my learning.

Critics I read on other men,
And hypers upon them again ;
From whose remarks I give opinion
On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one.

Then all your wits that fileer and sham,
Down from Don Quixote to Tom Tram;
From whom I jests and puns purloin,
And slily put them off for mine:
Fond to be thought a country wit:
The rest when fate and you think fit.

Sometimes I climb my mare, and kick her
To bottled ale, and neighbouring vicar;
Sometimes at Stamford take a quart,
Squire Shephard's health_With all my heart.

Thus without much delight or grief,
I fool away an idle life:
Till Shadwell from the town retires
(Chok'd up with fame and sea-coal fires)
To bless the wood with peaceful lyric:
Then hey for praise and panegyric;
Justice restor'd, and nations freed,
And wreaths round William's glorious head.

If we see right, we see our woes :

Then what avails it to have eyes ?
From ignorance our comfort flows:

The only wretched are the wise.
We wearied should lie down in death :

This cheat of life would take no more; If you thought fame but empty breath,

Í Phillis but a perjur'd whore.




HOWE'ER, 'tis well, that while mankind

Through fate's perverse meander errs, He can imagin'd pleasures find,

To combat against real cares. Fancies and notions he pursues,

Which ne'er had being but in thought; Each, like the Grecian artist, woos

The image he himself has wrought.

THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS. IN IMITATION OF A GREEK IDYLLIUM. CELIA and I the other day Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea : The setting sun adorn'd the coast, His beams entire, his fierceness lost : And, on the surface of the deep, The winds lay only not asleep. The nymph did like the scene appear, Serenely pleasant, calmly fair: Soft fell her words, as flew the air, With secret joy I heard her say, That she would never miss one day A walk so fine, a sight so gay.

But, oh the change the winds grow high ;
Impending tempests charge the sky :
The lightning flies, the thunder roars ;
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horror of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight:
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.

Once more at least look back, said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good humour drest;.
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee :
"Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon thy boundless depth of love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.

But when vain doubt and groundless fear
Do that dear foolish bosom tear;
When the big lip and watery eye
Tell me, the rising storm is nigh;
"Tis then, thou art yon angry main,
Deform’d by winds, and dash'd by rain ;
And the poor sailor, that must try
Its fury, labours less than I.

Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make,
While love and fate still drive me back :
Forc'd to dote on thee thy own way,
I chide thee first, and then obey.
Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh,
I with thee, or without thee, die.

Against experience he believes ;

He argues against demonstration ; Pleas'd, when his reason he deceives;

And sets his judgment by his passion. The hoary fool, who many days

Has struggled with continued sorrow, Renews his hope, and blindly lays

The desperate bet upon to-morrow. To-morrow comes ; 'tis noon, 'tis night;

This day like all the former flies : Yet on he runs, to seek delight

To-morrow, till to-night he dies. Our hopes, like towering falcons, aim

At objects in an airy height: The little pleasure of the game

Is from afar to view the flight.

Our anxious pains we, all the day,

In search of what we like, employ: Scorning at night the worthless prey,

We find the labour gave the joy.

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