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The jocund thunder wakes th' enliven'd hounds, The fleecy ball their busy fingers cull,
Ye shady woods where once I usd to rove, And hanging woods resound the flying war: Alike indulgent to the Muse and Love; The tuneful noise the sprightly courser hears, Ye murm’ring streams that in meanders roll, Paws the green turf, and rich his tremblingears: The sweet composers of the pensive soul; The slacken'l rein now gives him all his speel
, Farewell! -- the city calls me from your bow's: Pack flies the rapid ground beneath the steed; Farewell, amusing thoughts, and peaceful hours! Ilills,dales and foresis, far behind remain, (train. While the warm scent drawsonthedeep-mouth'd Where shall the trembling bare a shelter find? S 51. Love of Fame, the Universal Passion. Hark! death advances in cach gust osusind!
Young New stratageips and doubling wiles she tries; Now circling turns, and now at larje she fics; To his Grace the Duke of Dorset. Till, spent at last,she pants and heaves for breath, Thenlays her down, and waits devouring death.
Tanto major Famæ sitis est, quiadi Virtutis
JUT, SAT.10, Butstay,advent'rous Muse! hast thou the force To wind the twisted horn, to guide the horse? My verse is Satire; Dorset, lend your ear, To keep thy seat unmor’d, last thou the skill, And patronise a WIuse you cannot fear; O’er the high gate, and down the headlong hill? To Poets sacred is a Dorsei's name, Canst thou the stay's laborious chace direct, Their wonted passport thro' the gates of fame; Or the strong fox thro'all his arts detect? It bribes the partial reader into praise, The theme demands a more experienc'd lay: And throws a glory round the shelter'd lays ; Ye mighty hunters! spare this weak essay. The dazzled judgement fewer faults can see,
O happy plains, remote from war’s alarms, And gives applause to B-e, or to me. And all the ravages of hostile arms!
But you decime the mistress we pursue : And happy shepherds, who, secure from fear, Others are fond of Fame, but Fame of you. On open downs preserve your ileeey care! Intructive Satire, iruc to virtue's cause, Whosespaciousbarnsgroan with increasingstore, Thou shining supplement of public laws ! And whirling Hails disjoint the crackling floor! When Hatter'd crimes of a licentious age No barbarous soldier, bent on cruel poil, Reproach our silence, and demand our rage ; Spreads desolation o'er your firtile soil: Wheu purchas'u follies from each distant land, No trampling steed lays waste the ripen'd grain, Like aris, inprove in Britain's skilful hand: Nor crackling fires devour the promi'd gain : When the law shows her teeth, but dares porbite, No flaming beacons cast their blaze afar, And Soutlı-Sea treasures are not brought to light, The dreadful signal of invasive war:
When churchmen scripture for the classics quit; No trumpet's clangor womds the mother's car, Polite aj ostales from God's grace to wit; And calls the lover from his swooning fair. When men grow great from their revenue spent;
What happiness the rural maid attends, And fly from bailiffs into parliament;
cach senseless wretch for nature's boast,
And satirize witli noihing- but their praise? No midnight masquerade her beauty wears, Why slumber: l'ope, wholeadsthetunefalsırain, And health, not paint, the finding blooin repairs. Nor hears that virte which he loves,complain? If love's soft passion in her bosom rcign, Donne, Dorser, Dryden, Rochester are deait, An equal passion warms her happy swain : And guilt's chios foe in Addison is filed; No home-bred jars her quiet state control, Congreve, who crown d with laurels fairly won, Nor watchful jealousy torments her soul; Sits smiling at the goal while others run, With secret joy she sees her little race Ile will not write; and (more provoking still!) Ilang on her breast, and her small cottage grace, Yegods! he will not write, and Nævius will.
Doubly Donbly distrest, what author shall we find Noris't enough all hearts are swoln with pride, Discreetly darins, and severely kind,
Fler pow'r is mighty, as her realın is wide.
The love of praise, howe'er conceald by art, This passion with a pimple have I seen [dead.
Tis Tory, Wig; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads, It makes dear self on well-bred tongues prevail,
Some go to church, proud humbly to repent, My lord comes forward; forward let him come!
If virtues at his noble hand you crave, When they have got their picture tow'rds a book; You bid him raise his fathers from the grave. Or pompous title, like a gaudy sign
Men shouldpressforward in fame's glorious chace; Meant to betray dull sots to wretched wine. Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.
If at his title - had dropt his quill, Let high birth triumph! what can be more T-might have passed for a great genius still; Nothing- - but merit in a low estate. [great? But T—-, alas! (excuse him if you can) To Virtue's burblest son let none prefer Is now a scribbler, who was once a man. Vice, tho’ descended from the Conqueror.
Imperious some a classic fame demand, Shall men, like figures, pass for high or base, For heaping up with a laborious hand Slight or important, only by their place? A waggen load of meanings for one word, Titles are marks of honest men and wise ; While A's depos'd, and B with pomp restor’d. The fool or knave that wears a title, lies.
Some for renown on scraps of learning doat, They that on glorious ancestors enlarge, And think they grow immortal as they quote. Produce their debt instead of their discharge, To patchwork learn'd quotations are allied; Dorset, let those who proudly boast their line, Both strive to make our poverty our pride. Like thee, in worth hereditary shine. On glass how witty is a noble peer!
Vaiu as false greatness is, the Muse mist own Did ever diamond cost a man so dear? We want not fools to buy that Bristol stone.
Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Mean sons of Earth, who on a South Sea tide Which, if uufortunately well, they feign, Of full success swain into wealth and pride, On death-bels some in conscious glory lie, Knock with a purse of gold at Anstis' gate, Since of the doctor in the node they die ; And beg to be descended from the great. Whose wondrous skillis, headsman-like, to know When men of infamy to grandeur oar, For better pay to give a surer blow.
They lighta torch to show their shame the more. Of folly, vice, disease, men proud we see : Those governments which curb not evils, cause; And (stranger still) of blockheads flattery, And a rich knave 's a libel on our laws. Those praise defames ; as if a fool should mean Belus with solid glory will be crown'd; By spitting on your face to make it clean! He buys no phantom, no vain empty sound;
But builds himself a name; and to be great, What bodily fatigue is half so bad?
With anxious care they labor to be glad,
Those dear destroyers of the tedious day! When, lo! my Lord to some small corner ruins, That wheel of fojos! that saunter of the town! And leaves state-rooms to strangers and duns. Call it diversion, and the pill goes down ;
The man who builds, and wants wherewith to Fools grin on fools; and Stoic-like support, Provides a home from which to ruw away. [pay, Without one sigh, the pleasures of a court. In Britain what is many a lordly scat, Courts can give nothing to the wise and good, But a discharge in full for
But scorn of pomp, and love of solitude. In smaller compass lies Pygmalion's fame; High stations tuniult, but not bliss, create : Not doines, but antique statues, are his fame. None think the great unhappy, but the great. Noif-i-n's selfınore Pariancharmshasknown, Fools gaze and envy: envy darts a sting, Nor is good Pembroke more in love with stone, Which makes a swain as wretched as a king. The bailiffs come (rude men, profanely bold !) I envy none their pageantry and show; And bid him turn his Venus into gold.
I envy none the zilding of their woe. No, sirs," he cries; “ I'll sooner rot in jail ! Give me, indulgent gods! with mind serene, “Shall Grecian arts be truck'd forEnglish buil?" And guiltless heart, io range the sylvan scene. Such heads might make their very bustos laugh, No splendid poverty, no smiling care, His daughter starves, but * Cleopatra 's safe, No well-bred bate, or servile grandeur there ;
Men overloaded with a large estate There pleasing objects useful thoughts suggest, May spill their treasure in a nice conceit: The sense is ravishd, and the soul is blest; The rich may be polite; but, oh! 'uis sad On ev'ry thorn lelightful wisdom grows, To say you 're curious, when we swear you're In ev'ry'rill a sweet instruction flows : By your revenue measure your expence, [ınad. But soine untaught o'erhear the whispering rill, And to your funds and acres join your sense : In spite of sacred leisure, blockheads still; No man is blest by accident or guess,
Nor shoots up folly to a nobler bloom
But how, my Muse, canst thou refuse so long Say, dear Hippolitus (whose drink is ale,
And Ringwood opens on the tainted ground,
whose love is constant as the wind; With pride inverted of their honors lost. Cits, who prefer a guinea to mankind; But against reason sure 'tis equal sin
Fewer grave ?ords to Scroope discreetly bend; To boast of merely being out or in.
And fewer shocks a statesmau gives his friend. What nunbers here,thro' odd ambition, strive Is there a man of an eternal vein, To see the most transported things alive! Who lulls the town in winter with his strain, As if by joy desert was linderstood,
At Baih in summer chants the reigning lass, And all the fortunate were wise or good. And sweetly whistles as the waters pass ? Hence achiug bosoms wear a visage gay, Is there a tongue, like Delia's over her сир, And stiflèd groans frequent the ball and play. That runs for ages without winding up? Completely dress’d by † Monteuel, and grimace, Is there whom his tenth Epic mounts to fame? They take their birth-day suit, and public face; Such, and such only, mnight exhaust my theme, Their smiles are only part of what they wear, Nor would these heroes of the task be glad, Put off at night with lady B's hair. For who can write so fast as nuen run mad?
* 4 famous statue
† A famous taylor.
With what, ( Codrus! is thiy fancy smit? To the Right Honorable the Earl of Scarborough. The ilow'r of learning, and the bloom of wit
. The gaudy shelves with crimson bindings glow, -Tanto major Famæ sitis est, quam And Epictetus is a perfect beau. Virtutis.
JUV, SAT, 10.
How fii for thee bound up in crimson too, My Wise, proceed, and reach thy destin'd end, Gilt, and like thein devoted to the view! Tho'roil and danger the bold task attend. Thy books are furniture. Methinks 'tis hard Heroes and girls make other poems fine, That science should be purchas'd by the yard ; Plain satire calls for sense in ev'ry line : And Tonon, turu'd upholsterer, send home Then, to what swarmıs thy faults I dare expose ! The gilded leather to fit up thy room. All friends to vice and folly are thy fues ; If not to some peculiar end assign'd, When such the foe, a war eternal wage, Study 's the specious trilling of the mind; Tis most ill-nature to repress thy rage,
Or is at best a secondary aim, And if these strains some nobler Vusc excite, A chace for sport alone, and not for game: I'll glory in the verse I did not write. If so, sure they who the mere volume prize,
So weak are haman kind by nature made, But love the thicket where the quarry lies. Or to such weakness by their vice betray'd, On buying books Lorenzo long was bent, Almighiy Vanity! to thee they owe
But found ai length that it reduc'd his rent. Their zest of pleasure, and their balm of woe. His farins were flown; when lo! a sale comes on, Thu, like the sun, all colors dost contain, A choice collection! What is to be done? Varving like rays of light on drops of rain ;, Hle sells his last, for he the whole will buy; Forevry soul tinds reason to be proud, Sells ev'n his house, nay wants whereon to lie; Two' his d and hooted by the pointing crowd. So high the gen'rons ardor of the man
Warm in pursuit of foxes and renown, For Romans, Greeks, and Orientals ran.
Is Codrus’ erudite ambition shown.
To pay a sage
who says that he can read, Nor are those enemies I mention'd all; Who titles knows, and indexes has seen, Beware, O Florist, oliy ambition's fall.
But leaves to what lies between :
Accept this verse; if Satire can agree Serene, quoth Adam, 'Lo!'twas-crush'd by me: With so consummate an huinanity., “ Fallen is the Baal to which thou bow'dšt thy But know, my Lord, if you resent the wrong, • knee."
That on your candor I obtrude my song; "Butall inen want amusement,andwhatcrime 'Tis Satire's just revenge on that fair name, " “ In such a Paradise to fool their time?" Which all their malice eannot make her theme. None, but why proud of this? To Fame they soar; By your example would Hilario mend, We grant they're idle, if they 'll ask no more. How would it grace the talents of my friend,
We smile at Florists ! we despise their joy, Who, with the charms of his own genius smii,
For, though he is a wit, he is no fool.
Nor make a frailty of an excellence. short-liv'd Hower, and which has often sprung His brisk attack on block heads we should prize, Froin solid aris, as Florio's out of dung. Were not his jest as Hippant with the wise, * This refers to the first Sacire.
The name of a tulip.
Survey with envy,
He spares nor friend nor fve; but calls to mind, Whilst these what nature gave disown thro' pride Like doms-day, all the faults of all mankind. Others affect whar nature bias denied ;
Who thu' wit tickles! ückling is usafe, What nature has denied fools will pursue, If still 'tis painful while it makes us laugh. As apes are ever walking upon iwo. TV ho, for the poor renown of being smart, Crassus, a graceful sage, our awe and sport! Would leave a sting within a brother's heart? Supports grave forms, forforms the sage support;
Parts may be prais'd, good nature is ador'd ; He hems -- and cries, with an important air, Then draw your wit as seldom as your sword, “ If yonder clouds withdraw, it will be fair;" And never on the weak; or you
appear Then quotes the Stagyrite to prove it true ; As there no hero, no great genius here. And adds, “ The Icaru'd delight in souocthing As in smooth oil the razor best is wet,
«« new." So wit is by politeness sharpest set.
Is 't not enough the blockhead scarce can read, Their want of edge from their offence is seen; but must he wisely look and gravely plead? Both pain us least when exquisitely keen. As far a formalist from wisdom sits,
The fanie men give, is for the joy i hey find; In judging eyes, as libertines from wits.
Horace has sail and that decides the case If that a just offence to Marcus gave,
"Tis sweet to trifle in a proper place. Say, Marcus, which art thou-a fool, orknare? Yet subtle wighıs (co blind are mortal men, For all but such with caution I forbore ; Tho' Satire couch them with her keenesi pen), Thal ihou wast either, I ne'er knew before ; For ever will hang out a solenın face, I know thee now, both what thou art, and who; To put off nonsense with a better grace ; No mask so good but Marcus must shine through; As pedlars with some hero's hicad make bold, False names are vain, thy lines their author tell, Hustrious mark where pins are to be sold. Thy best concealment had been writing well; What's the bent brow,orneckinthought reclin'd? But thou a brave neglect of Fame has shown, The body's wisclom to conceal the mind. Of others' fame, great genius! and thy own. A man of sense can artifice disdain, Write on unheeded, and this maxiin know : As inen of wealth may venture to go plain; The man who pardons, disappoints his foe. And be this truth eternal pe'er forgot
In malice to proud wits, some proudly lull Solemnity 's a corer for a sot. Their peevish reason, vain of being dull; [souls, I find the fool, when I behold the screen; When some home-joke has stung their solemn For 'tis the wise man's int'rest to be seen. In vengeance they determine -- to be fools ; Hence, Scarborough, that openness of heart, Thro' spleen, that little nature gave, make less, And just disdain for that poor nimic art; Quite zealous in the ways of heaviness ; Hence (inanly praise !) that manner nobly free, îi lumps inanimate a fondness take,
Which all aclmire, and I commend in thee. Ani disinherit sons that are awake.
With gen'rous scorn hov: oft hast thousurrey'd, These, when their utmost renoun they wouldspit, Of court and town the noon-tide masquerade, Most barbarously tell you —" he's a wit." Where swarms of knares thevizorquite disgrace, Poor negroes thus, to show your burning spite And hide secure behind a naked face! To Cacodæmons, say they ’re der ilish white. Where nature's end of language is declind,
Lampridius from the bottom of his breast And men talk only to conceal the mind; Sighs o'er one child, but triumphs in the rest. Where gen'rous hearts the greatest hazard run, How just is grief! one carries in his head And he who trusts a brother is undone! A less proportion of the father's lead ; My brother swore it, therefore it is true; And is in danger, without special grace, O strange induction, and at court quite new. To rise above a Justice of the Peace.
As well thou might'st aver, thou simple swain, The dunghill-breed of men a diamond scorn, "Tis just, and therefore I my cause shall gain." And feel a passion for a grain of corn; With such odd maxims to thy flocks retreat, Some stupid, plodding, money-loving wight, Nor furnish mirth for ministers of state. Who wins their hearts by knowing black from Some master spirit far beyond the throng white,
Refin'd in ill, more rightly bent on wrong, Who with much pains exerting all his sense, With exquisite discernment play their game, Can range arightliss:illings, pounds, andpence. More nice of conduct, and nore fair of fame. This booby father crares a booby son,
The neatly injur'd thinks his thanks are due, And by Heaven's blessinythinks himself undone. Robb’d of his right, and good opinion too: Wants of all kinds are made to Fame a plea; False honor, pride's first-Lorn, this clan controls, One learns to lisp, another not to see; Who wisely part with nothing but their souls. Miss D toitering catches at your hand : Albertus hugs himself in ravish'd thought, as ever thing so pretty born to stand ? To find a peerage is so cheaply bought. Letters sent to the Author, signed Durcus,