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These all their care expand on outward show O thou, myself! abroad our counsels roam,
For wealth and fame; 'för fame alone the beau. And, like all husbands, take no care at home.
Of late at White's was vouiz Florello seen : Come from thyseit, and a by-stander be;
How blank his look, hoiv discomposid his mien! With others' eyes thy own deporument see;
So hard it proves in grief sincere to feign! And while their ails thou dost with pity view,
Suok were nis spirits, for his coat was plain. Conceive, hard task, that thon art morial too,

Next day his breast regain' iis wonted peace, Thou 100 art wounded with the common dart,
His health was mended with a silver lace, And love of Fame lies throbbing at thy heart :
A curious artist long inur'il 10 toils

And what wise means to gain it hast thou chose? Oi gentler sort, will combs and fragrant oils, Know, Fame and Fortune both are made of prose. Wiether by chance, or by some god inspird, Is thy ambition sweating for a rhyme, So touch'd lis curls, his inignay soul was fir'd. Thou unambitious fool, at this late time? The well-swoln ties an equal homage cluim, This noon oflife? The seasons mend their pace, And either shouller has iis save of tame: And with a nimbler step the season's chace ; His sumptnous watch-case, tho' conceald it lies, While I a moment name, a moment's past; Like a good conscience, soli) joy supplies. I'm nearer death in this verse than the last; He only thinks himself (so far from rain) What then is to be done? Be wise with speed ; Stanhope in wit, in breeding Deloraine. A fool at forty is a fool indeed. Whene'er by seeining chance he throws his eye And whai so foolish as the chace of Fame ? On mirrors Aushing with his Tyrian dye, How vain the prize: how impotent our aim ! With how sublime a transport leaps his heart! For what are men who grasp at praise sublime, But fate ordains the dearest friends must part. But bubbles on the rapid stream of time, In active measures brought from France he That rise and fall, and swell, and are no more, wheels,

Born and forgot, ten thousand in an hour ! And triumphs conscious of his learned heels. Should this verse live, () Lumley! may it be

So have I seen, on some bright summer's day, A monument of gratitude to thee: A calf of genius, debonair and gay,

Whose early furor I must own with shame, Dance on the bank, as if inspir'd by fame, So loog my patron, and so late my theme. Fond of the pretty fellow in the stream.

Morose is sunk with shame whene'er surpris'd
In linen clean, or peruke undisguis’d.
No sublunary chance liis vestments fear,

To the Right Honorable Mr. Dodington.
Valued, like leopards, as their spots appear.
A fam'd surtout he wears which once was blue,

- Tanto major Fama sitis est, quam Virtutis

Juv. Sat. 10. And his foot swims in a capacious shoe. One day his wife (for who can wires reclaim?) Long, Dodington, in debt, I long have sought Lavelld her barbarous needle at his fame.

To ease the burthen of my grateful thought: Birt open force was vain; by night she went, And now a poet's gratitude you see And when he slept surpris'd the darling rent; Grant him two favors, and he 'll ask for three; Where yawn'd the frize is now become a doubi, For whose the present glory or the gain? And glory at one entrance quite shut out You give protection, I a worthless strain,

He scorns Florello, and Florello him; Yon love, and feel the poet's sacred flaine,
This hates the filthy creature, that the prim.. And know the basis of a solid fame;
Thus in each other both these fools despise Tho' prone to like, yet cautious to commend,
Their own dear selves, with indiscerning eyes; You read with all the malice of a friend;
Their methods various, but alike their aim ; Nor favor my attempts that way alone,
The sloven and the fopling are the same. But more to raise my verse, conceal your own.

Ye Whigs and Tories, thus it fares with you, All ill-tim'd modesty! Turn ages o'er,
When party-rage too warmly you pursue ; When wanted Britain bright examples more ?
Then both club nonsense and impetuous pride, Her learning and her genius tco decars,
And folly joins whom sentiments divide; And dark and cold are her declining days;
You vent your spleen, as monkeys when they As if men now were of another cast,
pass

They meanly live on alms of ages past. Scratch at the mimic monkey in the glass, Men still are men, and they who boldly dare, While both are one; and henceforth be it known, Shall triumph o'er the sons of cold despair ; Fools of both sides shall stand for fools alone. Or, if they fail, they justly still take place

“But who art thou!" methinks Florello cries: Of such who run in debt for their disgrace : "Of all thy species art thou only wise?" Who borrow much, then fairly make it known, Since smallest things can give our sins a twitch, And damn it with improreinents of their As crossing straws retard a passing witch,

own. Forello, thou my monitor shall be ;

We bring some new materials, and what's old I u conjure thus sone profit out of thee. New-cast with care, and in no borrow'd mould,

SATIRE III.

Milton.

Late

Late times the verse may read, if these refuse, Their front supplies what their ambition lacks; And from sour critics vindicate the Muse. They know a thousand lords behind their backs.

“ Your work is long,"the critics cry: 'tis true, Coutil is apt to wink upon a peer, And lengthens still, to take in fools like you : When turn'd away, with a familiar leer; Shorten my labor, if its length you blanic: And Hervey's eyes, unmercifully keen, For, grow but wise, yon rob me of my game: Hare murder'd fups by whom she ne'er was seen; As hunted hags, who, while the dogs purstie, Niger adopts stray libels, wisely prone Renounce their four legs, and start up on two.

To covet shame still greater than his owD; Like the bold bird upon the banks of Nile, Bathyllus in the winter of threescore That picks the teeth of the dire crocodile, Belies his innocence, and keeps a whore. Will I enjoy (dread feast !) the critics' rage, Absence of mind Brabantio turns to fame, And with the fell destroyer feed my page. Learns to mistake, nor knows his brother's name; For what ambitious fools are more to blame Has words and thoughts in nice disorder sel, Than those who plunder in the critic's name? And takes a memorandum to forgel. Good authors damn'd, have their revenge in this, Thus vain, nor knowing what adorns or blots, To see what wretches gain the praise they miss. Men forge the patents that create them sots. Balbutius, muMed in his sable cloak,

As love of pleasure into pain betrays, Like an old Druid from his hollow oak, So most grow infamous thro' love of praise. As ravens solemn, and as boding, cries, But whence for praise can such an ardor sise, Ten thousand worlds for the three unities ! When those who bring that incense we despise ! Ye doctors sage, who thro' Parnassus'teach, For such the vanity of great and small, Or quit the tub, or practise what you preach. Conteinpt goes round, and all men laugh at all.

One judges as the weather dictaies ; right Nor can ev'n Satire blame them, for 'tis true The poem is at noon, and wrong at night : They must have ample cause for what they do. Anoiher judges by a surer gaye,

O fruitful Britain: doubtless thou wast meant An author's principles or parentage :

A nurse of fools to stock the Continent Since his great ancestors in Flanders fell, Tho' Phabus and the Nine for ever mow, The poem, doubtless, must be written well : Rank folly underneath the scythe will grow: Another julges by the writer's look :

The plenteous harvest calls me forward still, Another judges for he bought the book: [keep, Till I surpass in length my lawyer's bill; Some judge, their knack of judging wrong 1o A Welch descent which well-paid heralds damn; Some jurige, because it is too soon to sleep. Or, longer still, a Dutchman's epigram. Thus all will judge, and with one single aim ; When cloy'd, in fury I throw down my pen; To gain themselves, not give the writer, fame. In comes a coxcombi

, and I write again. The very best ambitiously advise,

See ! Tityrus with merriment possest, Half to serve you, and half to pass for wise. Is burst with laughter ere he hears the jest; None are at leisure others to reward :

What need he stay? for, when the joke is o'er, They scarce will damn but out of self-regard. His teeth will be no whiter than before. Critics on verse, as squibs on triumph wait, Is there of these, ye fair! se great a dearth, Proclaim the glory, and augment the state ; That you need purchase monkies for your mirth? Hot, envious, noisy, prond, the scribbling fry Some, vain of paintings, bid the world admire; Burn, hiss,and bounce, waste paper, stink,and die. Of houses some, nay, houses that they hire; Railon, my friends! what more myrersecan crown Some (perfect wisdom !) of a beauteous wife

, Than Compton's sinile, and your obliging frown? And boast, like Cordeliers, a scourge for life.

Not all on books their criticism waste; Sometimes thro' pride the sexes change their The genius of a dish some justly taste,

My lord has vapors, and my lady swears : [airs; And eat their way to fame! with anxious thought Then (stranger still!) on turning of the wind, The salmon is refus'd, the turbot bought. My lord wears breeches, and my lady's kind. Impatient art rebukes the sun's delay,

To show the strength and infamy of pride, And bids December yield the fruits of May. By all 'tis follow'd, and by all denied. Their various cares in one great point combine What numbers are there who at once pursue The business of their lives, that is to dine; Praise, and the glory to contemn it, too! Half of their precious day they give the feast, Vincenna knows self-praise betrays to shame, And to a kind digestion spare the rest. And therefore lays a stratagem for fame ; Apicius, here, the taster of the town, Makes his approach in modesty's disguise Feeds twice a-week, to settle their renown. To win applause, and takes it by surprise :

These worthies of the palate guard with care " To err," says he, “in small things, is my fate;" The sacred annals of their bills of fare ;

You know your answer - he's exact in great. In those chose books their panegyrics read, “ Mystyle," says he,"is rude, and full of faults;" And scorn the creatures that for hunger feed; But, oh what sense! what energy of thoughts! If man, by feeding well, commences great, That he wants algebra he must confess, Much more the worm, to whom that man is But not a soul to give our arms success.

To glory some advance a lying claim, (meat. “Ah! that's a hit indeed," Vincenna cries, Thieres of renown, and piiferers of fame! But who in heat of blood was ever wise ?

“ I own

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“I own 'twas wrong, when thousands callid, When Britain calls, th'embroidered patriots run, me back,

And serve their country- if the dance is done; “ To make that hopeless, ill-advis'd attack; " Are we not then allow'd to be polite :"

All say 'twas madness, nor dare I deny; Yes, doubtless, but first set your notions right. “ Sure never fool so well deservd to die." Worth of politeness is the needful ground; Could this deceive in others, to be free, Where that is wanting, this can ne'er be found. It ne'er, Vincenna, could deceive in thee, Triflers not even in trifies can excel; Whose conduct is a comment to thy tongue "Tis solid bodies only polish well. So clear, the dullest cannot take thee wrong. Great, chosen prophet! for these latter days, Thou in one suit wilt thy revenue wear,

To turn a willing world from righteous ways, And haunt the Court, without a prospect there. Well, Heideger, dost thou thy master serve; Are these expedients for renown ! confess

Well has he seen his servant should not starve ; Thy little self, that I may scorn the less. Thou to his name hast splendid temples rais'd,

Be wise, Vincenna, and the Court forsake; In various forms of worship seen him prais'd ; Our fortunes there nor thon nor I shall make. Gaudy devotion, like a Roman, shown ; Even men of merit, ere their point they gain, And sing sweet anthems in a tongue unknowil, In hardy service make a long campaign ; Inferior off'rings to thy god of vice Most manfully besiege the patron's gate, Are duly paid in fiddles, cards, and dice ; And, oft repuls'd, as oft attack the great Thy sacrifice supreme an hundred maids ! With painful art, and application warm, That solemn rite of midnight masquerades ! And take at last some little place by storm; If maids the quite exhausted town denies, Enough to keep two shoes on Sunday clean, An hundred head of cuckolds must xuffice. And starve upon discreetly in Shire-line. Thou smil'st, well pleas'd with the converted! Already this thy fortune can afford,

To see the fifty churches at a stand. (land, Then starve without the favor of my lord. And, that thy minister may never fail, 'Tis true, great fortunes some great men confer; But what thy hand has planted still prevail, But often, even in doing right, they err: Of minor prophets a succession sure, From caprice, not from choice, their favors The propagation of thy zeal secure. come;

Sce commons, peers, and ministers of state, They give, but think it toil to know to whom : In solemn council met, and deep debate! The man that 's nearest, yawning they advance; What godlike enterprise is taking birth? Tis inhumanity to bless by chance.

What wonder opens on th’expecting earth? Ifinerit sues and greatness

is

'Tis done! with loud applause the council rings ; To break its downy trance, I pity both. Fix'd is the fate of whores and fiddle-strings!

I grant, at Couri, Philander at his need Tho' bold these truths, thou, Muse, withiruths (Thanks to his lovely wife!) finds friends indeed. like these, Of ev'ry charm and virtue slie's possest.

Wilt none offend whom 'tis a praise to please ; Philander! thou art exquisitely blest,

Let others flatter to be flatter'd; thou, The public envy! Now then, 'tis allow'd, Like just tribunals, bend an awful brow. The man is found who may be justly proud. How terrible it were to common sense, But, see! how sickly is anibition's taste! To write a Satire which gave none offence ! Ambition feeds on trash, and loaths a feast. And, since from life I take the draughts you see, For, lo! Philander, of reproach afraid, If men dislike them, do they censure me? In secret loves his wife, but keeps her maid. Oh then, my Muse! and fools and knaves expose;

Some nymphs sell reputation, others buy, And since thoucanst pot make a friend,inake foes. And love a market where the rates run high. The fool and knave ’ris glorious to oflend, Italian music's sweet because 'tis clear; Ind godlike an attempt the world to mend; Their vanity is tickled, not their ear ; The world, where lucky throws to blockheads Their tastes would lessen, if the prices fell,

fall, And Shakspeare's wretched stuff do quite as well; Knaves know the game, and honest men pay all. Away the disenchanted fair would throng, How hard for real worth to gain its price! And own that English is their mother tongue. A man shall nake his fortune in a trice,

To show how niuch our northern tastes refine, If blest with pliant tho' but slender sense, Imported nymphs our peeresses outshine ; Feign'd modesty, and real impudence. While tradesmen starve, these Philomels are gay; A supple knee, smooth tongue, an easy grace, For generous lords had rather give than pay. A curse within, a smile upon his face, O lavish land! for sound at such expence; A beauteous sister, or convenient wife, But then she saves it in her bills for sense. Are prizes in the lottery of life;

Music I passionately love, 'tis plain, Genius and virtue they will soon defeat, Since for its sake such dramas I sustain. And lodge you in the husom of the great. An opera, like a pillory, may be said

To merit, iš but to provide a pain To nail our ears down, but expose our head. From men's refusing what you ought to gain.

Behold the masquerade's fantastic scene! May, Dodington, this maxiin fail in you, The legislature join'd with Drury-lane. Whoin my presaying thoughts already vicw,

so loth

By

SATIRE IV,

By Walpole's conduct fird, and friendship grac'd, 1 Such useful instruments the weather show,
Still higher in your prince's favor plac'ri; Just as their miercury is bigh or low.
Aud lunding here those awful council's aid, Ficalth chiefly keeps an atheist in the dark;
Which you abroad with such success obey'd ; A fever argues better than a Clarke;
Bearthis from one who hoils your friendship dear; Let but the logie in his pulse decay,
What most we wisli, with case we fancy near. The Grecian he'll renounce, and learn to pray;

"Tbile C- mnourns with an unseigned zeal To the Right Honorable Sir Spencer Comptons C

Th'apostate youth who reason'd once so well.

who makes so inerry with the Creed, Tanto major Famz sitis est, quam He almost thinks he disbelieves indeed; Virtutis

Juv, Sat. 10.

But only thinks so : to give beith their due, ROUND some fair trec th'ambitious woodbine Satan and he believe and tremble 100. grows,

Of some for glory such the boundless rage, Anil breathes hersweets on thesupportinghoughs: That they're the blackest scanrial of their age. So sweet the verse, ih'ambitious verse, should be Narcissus the Tartarian club disclaims; On pardou mine!) that hopes support from thee; Nay, a free-mason with some terror names : Thee, Compton, born o'er senates to preside, Omits no duty, nor can enry say Their dignity to raise, their councils guide; Hle mis-'d these many years the church or play; Deep to discern, and widely to survey, He makes no noise in parliament 'tis true ; And kingdoms' fates without ambition weigh; But pays his debt and visit when 'uis due : Of distant virtues nice extremes to blend, His character and gloves are ever clean; The crow's asserter, and the people's friend. And then, he can cut bow the bowing dean! Nor dust thou scurn, amid sutliner viens, Asmile eternal en luis lips he wears, To listen to ibe labors of the Muse :

Which equally the wise and worthless shares. Thy smiles protect her, while thy talents fire; In gay fatigues this most adaunted chief, And 'tis but halt thy glory to inspire.

Patient of idleness beyond beliet, Vex'd at a public fame so justiy won, Most charitably lends ihe town his face The jealous Chremes is with spleen undone. For ornament, in ev'ry public place: Chremes, for airy pensions of renown, As sure as cards he to th' assembly comes, Devotes his service to the state and crown) ; And is the furniture of drawing-rooms. Allschemes he knows, and knowingallinproves; When ombre calls, his hand and heart are free: Tho' Britain's thankless, still this patriot loves. And, join'd to two, he fails not--to make threť, But patriots differ: some may slied their blood, Narcissus is the glory of his race ; He drinks his coffee, for the public good; For who does nothing with a better grace? Consults the sacred steam, and there foresces To deck my list by nature were designed What storms or sunshine Providence decrees; Such shining expletives of human kind, knows for each day the weather of our fate : Who want, while ihre'blank life theydreamalong, A quidnunc is an almanack of state.

Sense to be right, and passion to be wrong. You smile, and think this statesman void ofuse, To counterpoise this hero of the mode, Why may not time his secret worth produce? Some for renown are singular and odd : Since apes can roast the choice Castanian nut, What other men dislike is sure to please ; Since stęcds of genius are expert at put, Of all mankind, these dear antipodes; Since half the senate “ not content" can say, Thro' pride, not malice, they run counter still; Geese nations save, and puppies plots betray. And birth-days are their days of dressing ill. What makes him model realms and counsel Arbuthnot is a fool, and F

a sage, An incapacity for smaller things. [kings ? S--ly will fright you, E-engage ; Poor Chremes can't conduct his own estate, By nature streams run backward, flame descends, And thence has undertaken Europe's fate. Siones mount, and S-x is the worst of friends.

Gehenno leaves the realm to Chremes' skill, They take their rest by day, and wake by uight, And boldly claims a province higher still. And blush if you surprise them in the right; To raise a name, th' ambitious boy has got If they by chance blurt out, ere well aware, At once a Bible and a shoulder-knot; A swan is white, or Queensberry is fair. Deep in the secret he looks thro’ the whole Nothing exceeds in ridicule, no doubt, And pities the dull rogue that saves his soul ; A fool in fashion, but a fool that 's out; To talk with rev'rence you must take good heed, His passion for absurdity's so strong, Nor shock his tender reason with the Creed. He cannot bear a rival in the wrong. Howe'er, well-bred, in public he complies, Tho'wrongthemode,comply; more sense is shown Obliging friends alone with blasphemies. In wearing others' follies than your own.

Pecrage is poison, good estates are bad If what is out of fashion most you prize, For this disease; poor rogues run seldorn mad. Methinks you should endeavour to be wise. Have not attainders brought uphop'd relief, But what in oddness can be more sublime And falling stocks quite cur'd at unbelief? [force; Than S, the foremost tuyinan of his time ? While the sun shines Blunt talks with wond'rous His nice ambition lies in curious fancies, But thunder mars sınall beer, and weak discourse. His daughter's portion a rich shell enhances ;

And

And Ashmole's baby-bouse is, in his view, Or that his shining page (provoking fate!)
Britannia's golden mine, a rich Peru!

Defends sirloing which sons of dulness eat?
How his eyes languish ! how his thoughts adore What toe to verse without compassion hears,
That printed coat which Joseph never wore ! What cruel prose-man cau rcfrain from tears,
He shows on holidays a sacred pin [chin. When the poor Nuse, forless than half-a-crown,
That touch'd the ruff that touchiil queen Buse's A prostituie on cvery bulk in town,

"Since that yreat dearth our chronicles deplore, with other whores indone, tho' not in print, "Since the greaiplague thatswept as many more, Clubs credit for Geneva in the Mint?

Was ever vear inblest as this:" he 'll cry; Ye bards! why will you sing tho' uninspir'd ? “ It has bot brought us one new butterfly! Ye bards! why will you starve to be admir'd? In times that sufler such learn i men as these, Defunct by Priæbuis laws, beyoud redress, Unhappy I---y! how came you to please? Why will your spectres haunt the frighted press? Nou gandy butterflies are Lico's game;

Bad metre, that excrescence of the head, But, in effect, his chace is much the samc. Like hair, will sprout altho' the poet's dead. Warm in pursuit, he levees all the great,

All other trades demand; versc-inakers beg : Staunch to the foot of title and estate.

A dedication is d woolenler; Where'er their lordships go, they never find

And barren Labeo, the true mumper's filhion, Or Lico or their shadoivs lag behind :

Exposes borrow'd brais to more compassion. He sets them sure, where'er their lordships ruu, Tho' such myself, vile bords I discommend; Clase at their elbows as a morning (lun; Nay more, lliu' gentle Damon is my friend, As if their grandeur by contagion wrought,

Is 't then a crime to write?" Iftalenis rare And fame was, like a lever, to be caught: Proclain the god, the crime is to forbear; But, after seven years dance from place to place, for some iho' lew, there are large-ininded men, The Dane* is more familiar with his grace.

Who watch unscen the labors of ihe pen, Who'd be a crutch to prop a rotten peer ;

Who know the Muse's worth; and therefore Or living pendant dangling at his ear,

court, For ever whisp’ring secrets which were blown

Their deeds her theme, their bounty her support, For months before, by trumpets, thro’ the town? Who serve unask'd the least presence to wit; Who'd be a glass, with flattering grinace, My sole excuse, alas ! for having writ. Still to reflect the tempter of his face?

Will Harcourt pardon, if I dare commend Or happy pin to stick upon his sleeve, . [leave? Harcourt, with zeal a patron and a friend? When my lord's gracious, and rouehsafes it Argyle true wit is studious to restore ; Or cushion, when his heaviness shall please And Dorset smiles if Picbus smil'd before. To loll, or thump it for his better ease? Pembroke in years the long-lov'd arts adınires, Or a vilc butt, för noon or niglit bespoke, And Henrietta like a Muse inspires. When the peer rashly swears he 'll club his joke? But, ah! not inspiration can obtain Who'd shake with laughter tho he cou'd not The Fame which poets languish for in vain. find

How mad ibeir aim who thirst for glory strive, His lordship's jest? or, if his nose broke wind, To grasp whiat no man can possess alive! For blessings to the gods profoundly bow – Faine's a reversion in which men take place That can cry chimney-streep, or drive a plough? (O late reversion !) at their own decease. With terms like these how mean the tribe that This truth sagacious Linot knows so well, close !

He starves his authors, that their works may sell. Scarce meaner they who terms like these impose. That fame is wealth, fantastic poels cry;

But what's the iribe most likely to comply : That wealtia is fame, another clan reply,
The men of ink, or antient authors lie; Who know no guilt, no scandal, but in rags :
The writing tribe, who shameless auctions hold And swell in just proportion to their bags.
Of praise, by inch of candle to be sold. Nor only the low-born, deforın'd, and old,
All inen they flatter, but themselves the most Think glory nothing but the beams of gold;
With deathless fanie, their everlasting boust: The first young lord which in the Mall you
For fame do cully makes so much her jest,

incet As her old constant spark, the bard protest.

Shall match the verjesthunks in Lombard-street, Bozle shines in council, Mordaunt in the fight, From rescued candles ends who rais'd a sun, “Pelham's magnificent -- but I can write; And starves to join a penny to a pluin. " And what's to my great soul lil:e glory dear?" A bcardless miser! 'ris a guilt unknown Till some god whispers in his tingling car, To fornier times, à scandal all our own! That fame's unwholesome, taken without in tat; Of ardent lorers, the true modern band And life is best sustain'd by what is eat: Will morigage Celia to redeem their land. Grown lean and wise, he curses what he writ; For love, young, noble, rich Castalio dies; And wishes all his wants were in his wit. Name but the fair, lore swells into his eyes.

Ah! what avails it, when his dinner's lost, Divine Monimia, iby tond fears lay down, That his triumphant name adorns a post? Norival can prevail but---ball-a-crown.

Ha

A Danish dog.

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