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Let the grave judges too the glass forbear, Blind with the glorious blaze ;--to vulgar fight
To play the critic, yet preserve the friend;
A strict integrity, devoid of art; for in the rafh attempt the fools are loft.
The sweetest manners, and sincerelt heart; When once a genius breaks through common rules, A soul where depth of sense and fancy meet; te leads an berd of imitating fools.
A judgment brighten'd by the beams of wit, f Pope, the prince of poets, fick a-bed,
Were ever yours;-be what you were before, J'er steaning coffee bends his aching head, Bc still yourself; the world can ask no more. The fools in public o'er the fragrant draught ncline those heads, that never ach'd or thought.
IMITATION OF SPENSER. This must provoke his mirth or his disdain, Cure his complaint,-or make him sick again. A WELL-KNOWN vase of sovereign use I fing, too, like them, the poet's path pursue,
Pleasing to young and old, and Jordan hight, And keep great Flaccus ever in my view;
The lovely queen, and eke the haughty king But in a diftant view-yet what I write,
Snatch up this vessel in the murky night : n these loose theets, must never see the light;
Ne lives there poor, ne lives there wealthy wight, Epifles, odes, and twenty trifles more,
But uses it in manele brown or green; Chings that are born and dic in half an hour. Sometimes it stands array'd in glossy white; What ! you must dedicate, says sneering Spence, And eft in mighty dortours may be seen Chis year some new performance to the prince :
Of China's fragile earth, with azure flowrets fheen. Though money is your scorn, no doubt in time
The virgin, comely as the dewy rose, rou hope to gain fome vacant fall by rhyme; Here gently sheds the fuftly-whispering rill; ike other poets, were the truth but known, The frannion, who ne shame ne blushing knows, You too admire whatever is your own.
At once the potter's glosiy vase does fill; These wife remarks my modesty confound,
It wbizzes like the waters from a mill. While the laugh rises, and the mirth goes round; Here frouzy housewives clear their loaded reins; Vext at the jeft, yet glad to shun a fray,
The beef-sed justice, who fat ale doth swill, whisk into my coach, and drive away.
Grasps the round-handled jar, and tries, and strains,
(drains. TO MR. SPENCE.
While slowly dribbling down the scanty water PREFIXED TO THE ESSAY ON POPE'S ODYSSEY.
The danie of Fraunce shall without shame convey
This ready needment to its proper place; Tis done-Restor'd by thy inmortal pen,
Yet sall the daughters of the lond of Fay The critic's noble name revives again ;
Learn better amenaunce and decent grace; Once more that great, that injur'd name we see Warm blushes lend a beauty to their face, Shine forth alike in Addison and thee.
For virtue's comely tints their cheeks adorR; Like curs, our critics haunt the poet's fealt, Thus o'er the distant hillocks you may trace And feed on scraps refus’d by every guest;
The purple beamings of the infant morn: From the old Thracian dog they learn'd the way Sweet are our blooming maids--the sweetest creaTo snarl in want, and grumble o'er their prey.
tures born. As though they grudg'd themselves the joys they feel,
None but their husbands or their lovers true Vex'd to be charm’d, and pleas'd against their will.
They trust with management of their aflairs; Such their inverted taste, that we expect
Nor even these their privacy may view, For faults their thanks, for beauties their negled;
When the soft beavys seek the bower by pairs : So the sell snake rejeas the fragrant flowers,
Thensrom the fight accoy'd, like timorous hares,
From mate or bellamour alike they fly ;
Think not, good swain, that these are scornful You read your poet with a poet's flame;
Think not for bate they fhun thine amorous eye, With his, your generous raptures fill aspire; The critic kindles when the bard's on fire.
Soon shall the fair return, nor done thee, youth, But when some lame, some limping line demands
to dye. The friendly succour of your healing hands; While Belgic frows across a charcoal sove The feather of your pen drops balm around, (Replenith'd like the Vestai's lafting fire) (love, And plays, and tickles, while it cures the wound. Bren for whole years, and scorch the parts of
While Pope's immortal labour we survey, No longer parts that can delight inspire, We Rand all dazzled with excess of day,
Erst cave of bliss, now monumental pyre;
O British maid, for ever clean and neat,
For whom I aye will makc my simple lyre,
With double care presegue that dun retreat, Fair Venus' mystic bower, Dan Cupid's feather'd
EPISTLE TO MR. SPENCE. feat.
In Imitation of Horace, Epit. X. Bost 1. So may your hours soft-sliding Real away, Unknown to gnarring lander and to bale, Health from the bard who loves the ruralis O'er seas of bliss peace guide her gondelay, To the more noble bard that haunts the court Ne bitter dole impest the passing gale.
In every other point of life we chime, O! sweeter than the lilies of the dale,
Like two soft lines when coupled into rbyme. In your soft breasts the fruits of joyance grow. I praise a spacious villa to the sky, Ne fell despair be here with visage pale, You a close garret full five stories high; Brave be the youth from whom your bosoms I revel here in nature's varied sweets, glow,
You in the nobler fcepts of London ftreets. Ne other joy but you the faithful friplings know. I left the court, and here at ease reclin'd,
Am happier than the king who staid behind: EPISTLE TO J. PITT, Esq.
Twelve ftiffing dishes I could scarce live o'a,
At home I dine with luxury on four. In Imitation of Horace, Epift. 1V. Book I. Where would a man of judgment choose a fex,
But in a wholesome, rural, fost retreat ? DEAR SIR,
Where hills adorn the mansion they delen!! To all my trifles you attend, Where could he better aniwer nature's end? Bur drop the critic to indulge the friend,
Here from the sea the melting breezes rise, And with most Christian patience lose your Unbind the snow, and warm the wintery kie; time,
Here gentle gales the dog-star's hear allay, To hear me preach, or pester you with rhyme. And softly breathing cool the sultry day, Here with my books or friend I spend the day, How free from cares, from dangers and affright But how at Kingston pass your hours away? In pleasing dreams I pass the filent night! Say, Mall we see some plan with ravish'd eyes, Does not the variegated inarble yield Some future pile in miniature arise ?
To the gay colours of the flowery field? (A model to excel in every part
Can the New-river's artificial streams, Judicious Jones, or great Palladio's art)
Or the thick waters of the troubled Thames, Or fome new bill, that, when the house is met, In many a winding rusty pipe convey'd, Shall claim their thanks, and pay the nation's debt? Or dash'd and broken down a deed cascade, Or have you study'd in the silent wood
With our clear fylvan streams in sweetness The sacred duties of the wise and good?
That in eternal rills run bubbling by; Nature, who form'd you, nobly crown'd the In dimples o'er the polish'd pebbles pass, whole
Glide o'er the sands, or glitter through the With a strong body, and as firmy a soul :
And yet in town the country proípeds pleat, The praise is yours to finish every part
Where stately colonades are flank'd with tres With all th' embellishinents of taste and art. On a whole country looks the master dort Some see in canker'd heaps their riches rollid, With pride, where scarce five acres are biser. Your bounty gives new lustre to your gold, Yet nature, though repell'd, maintains her pa Could your dead father hope a greater bliss, And in her turn the triumphs over art; Or your surviving parent more than this? The handmaid now may prejudice our tafs, Than such a son a lover of the laws,
But the fair mistress will prevail at laft. And ever true to honour's glorious cause : That man must smart at lalt whose puzzledice Who scorns all parties, though by parties fought : Milakes in life false colours for the right; Who greatly thinks, and truly speaks his thought : As the poor dupe is sure his life to rue, With all the chalte severity of sense,
Who takes a pinchheck guinea for a true Truth, judgment, wit, and manly eloquence. The wretch, whose frantic pride kind forest : So in his youth great Cato was rever'd,
crowns, By Pompey courted, and by Cæsar fear'd : Grows twice as abject when the goddess from: Both he disdain 'd alike with godlike pride, As he, who rises when his head turns round, For Rome and Liberty he liv'dand dy'd. Mult tumble iwice as heavy to the ground In each perfection as you rise fo fait,
Then love, not grandeur, 'ris a splendid curf; Well may you think each day may be your last. The more the love, the harder the divorce. Uncommon worth is still with sate at strife, We live far happier by these gurgling springs
, Still inconsistent with a length of life.
Than staceimen courtiers, counsellors, or birtu The future time is ever in your power,
The stag expellid the courser from the plais; Then 'tis clear gain to seize the present hour; What can be do?--he begs the aid of man; Break from the serious thought, and laugh away He takes the bit and proudly bears away In Pimpern walls one idle easy day.
His new ally; he fights and wins the day; You'll find your rhyming kinsman well in case, But, ruin'd by success, be strives in vain For ever fix'd to the delicious place.
To quit his master and the curb again. Though not like I with corpulenceo'ergrown So from the fear of want most wretches As, For he has twenty cures, and I but onc.
But lose theis nobift wealth, theis habuly
To their imperious paffions they fubmit,
Pleas's and transported with thy name I tend
EPISTLE TO MR. SPENCE,
W ben Tutor to Lord Middlesex. 'o seek two cures, when scarce 1 merit one. fiches, 'tis true, some fervice may afford,
IN IMITATION OF HORACE, BOOK I. EPIST XVIII. lut oftner play the tyrant o'er their lord.
Spence, with a friend you past the hours away loney I scorn, but keep a little fill,
In pointed jokes, yet innocently gay : o pay my doctor's, or my lawyer's bill.
You ever differ'd from a flatterer miore, rom Encombe's soft romantic scenes I write,
Than a chatte lady from a flaunting whore. seep sunk in eale, in pleasure and delight;
'Tis true you rallied every fault you found, et, though her gen'rous lord himself is here,
But gently tickled, while you cur'd the wound: fwould be one pleasure more, could you appear.
Unlike the paultry poets of the town,
And fill impose on every soul they meet
Rudeness for sense, and ribaldry for wit :
Who, though half-starv’d, in spite of time and you can leave for books the crowded court,
place, nd generous Bourdeaux for a glats of Port, Repeat their rhymes, though dinner stays for grace: o these sweet folitudes without delay
And as their poverty their dresses fic, reak from the world's impertinence away. They think of course a sloven is a wit; Soon as the fun the face of nature gilds, But senfe (a truth these coxcombs ne'er susped) or health and pleasure will we range the fields; Lies juit 'twixt affectation and neglect. 'er her gay scenes and opening beautics run, One step till lower, if you can, defiend, 'hile all the vast creation is our own.
To the mean wretch, the great man's humble ut when his golden globe with faded light
friend : ields to the folemn empire of the night; That moving thade, that pendant at his ear, nd in her suber majesty the moon
That two-legg'd dog, fill pawing on the peer. Tith milder glories mounts her silver throne; Studying his looks, and watching at the board, midst ten thousand orbs with splendour crown'd, He gapes to catch the droppings of my lord; hat pour their tributary beans around; [fighe And, tickled to the soul at every joke, hrough the long levellid tube our strengthen's Like a press'd watch, repeats what c'other spoke : wall mark dilind the spangles of the nighe; Echo to nonsense ! such a scene to hear ! rom world to world fall dart the boundless eye, 'Tis just like Punch and his interpreter. nd tretch from star to star, fronı íky to fky. On trifles some are earnestly absurd, The buzzing infect families appear,
You'll think the world depends on ev'ry word. Vhen suns unbind the rigour of the year;
What, is not every mortal free to speak ? ruick glance the myriads round the evening Tll give my reafons, though I break my neck. bower,
And what's the question ?-if it shines or rains, ofts of a day, or nations of an hour.
Whether 'ris twelve or fifteen miles to Staines, Stonish'd we shall see th' unfolding race,
The wretch reduc'd to rags by every vice, retch'd out in bulk, within the polish'd glass; Pride, projects, races, mistresses, and dice, hrough whose small convex a new world we fpy, | The rich rogue shuns, though full as bad as he, e'er seen before, but by a teraph's eye!
And knows a quarrel is good husbandry. > long in darkness shut from human kind
'Tis strange, cries Peter, you are out of pelf, ay half God's wonders to a point confin'd! I'm sure I thought you wiser than myself; ut in one peopled drop we now survey
Yet gives him nothing--but advice too late, pride of power some little monster play; Retrench, or rather mortgage your estate, 'ér tribes inviGble he reigns alone,
I can advance the sum,-'uis best for both; nd ftruts a tyrant of a world his own.
But henceforth cut your coat to match your cloth, Now will we study Homer's awful page,
A minister, in mere revenge and sport, ow warm our souls with Pindar's noble rage: Shall give his foc a palery place at court. o English lays shall Flaccus' lyre be strung, The dupe for every royal birth-day buys nd lofty Virgil speak the British tongue. New horses, coaches, clothes, and liveries; imortal Virgil! at thy facred name
Plies at the levee, and distinguish'd there Eremble now, and now I pant for fame;
Lives on the royal whifper for a year; ith eager hopes this moment I aspire
His wenches fine in Brussels and Brocade! o catch or emulate thy glorious fire ;
And now the wretch, ridiculoully mad, he next pursue the rafh attempt no more, Draws on his banker, mortgages and fails, or drop the quill, bow, wonder, and adore ; Then to the country runs away from jails : thy trong genius overcome and aw'd!
There ruin'd by the court he tells a vote 1.a: frs from heaven: thas fpirit of a God! To the next burgers, as of old he bought;
Rubs down the steeds which once his chariot bore, 'Tis a fine thing, some think, a lord to kiet; Or sweeps the town, which once he ferv'd before. I wish his tradesmen could but think fo too.
But, by this roving meteor led, I tend He gives his word-then all your hopes are gez Beyond my theme, forgetful of my friend. He gives his honour-then your quite ur.done. Then take advice ; I preach not out of time, His and some women's love the same are found; When good lord Middlesex is bent on rhyme. You rafhly board a fire-ship, and are drown'd.
Their humour check'd, or inclination cross'd, Most folks fo partial to themselves are giden, Sometimes the friendship of the great is loft. They hate a temper differing from their own Unlefs call'd out to wench, be sure comply, The grave abhor the gay, the gay the sad, Hunt when he hunts, and lay the fathers by: And formalifs pronounce the witry mad: For your reward you gain his love, and dine The sot, who drinks fix bottles in a place, On the best venison and the best French wine, Swears at the Ainchers who refuse their glass Nor to Lord ***** make the observation, Would you not pass for an ill-natur'd man, How the twelve peers have answer’d their creation, Comply with every humour that you can. Nor in your wine or wrath betray your trust, Pope will instruct you how to pass away Be filent ftill, and obftinately just :
Your time like him, and never lose a day; Explore no secrets, draw no characters,
From hopes or fears your quiet to defend, For echo will repeat, and walls have cars : To all mankind as to yourself a friend, Nor let a busy fool a secret know,
And, facred from the world, retir'd, unknot, A secret gripes him till he lets it go :
To lead a life with mortals like his owo. Words are like bullets, and we wish in vain, When to delicious Pimperne I retire, When once discharg'd, to call them back again. What greater bliss, my Spence, can I defore!
Contented there my easy hours I spend
With maps, globes, books, my bottle, and a E Defend, dear Spence, the honest and the civil, There can I live upon my income fill, But to cry up a rascal--that's the devil.
E’en though the house should pass the Quraisy Who guards a good man's character, 'tis known,
bill: At the same time protects and guards his own. Yet to my share should some good prebend For as with houses' tis with people's names, I think myself of size to fill a stall. A fhed may set a palace all on flames;
For life or wealth let Heaven my lot affiga, The-fire neglected on the cottage preys,
A firm and even soul fhall fill be mine. But mounts at lait into a general blaze.
VIDA'S ART OF POETRY.
To the Righe Honourable PHILIP, EARL STANHOPE, VISCOUNT MAHON, AND BARON ELVASTON,
THIS TRANSLATION IS DEDICATED, BY IS LORDSUIP'S NUMBLE SERVANT AND CRAFLI
| While Gallia waits for thy auspicious reigning Give me, yc sacred muses, to impart
Till age completes the monarch in the mas; The hidden secrets of your tuncful art;
Mean time the muse may bring some fmia. Give me your awful mysteries to fing,
To charm thy anguis, and suspend tby gräi, Unlock, and open wide, your sacred spring; While guilty fortune's stern decrees detais While from his infancy the bard I lead,
Thee and thy brother in the realms of Sport: And see him on your mountain's lofty head; Far, far transported from your native pizce, Direct his course, and point him out the road Your country's, father's, and your friend's * To fing in epic strains an hero or a god. (praise, brace!
What youth, whose generous bolom pants for Such are the terms the cruel fates impose Will dare with me to beat those arduous ways? On your great father, struggling with his en O'er high Parnaflus' painful ftecps to go,
Such are their hard conditions they reçada And leave the groveling multitude below: The sons to purchase, and redeem the fire. Where the glad muses ling, and form the choir, But yet, brave youth, from grid, from While bright Apollo strikes the silver lyre, Fate may relent, and heaven grow mild as Approach thou first, great Francis, nor refuse At lait perhaps the glorious day may con, To pay due honours to the sacred nose; The day that brings our royal exile to:
When, to the native realms in peace restor'd, Some happy objects by mere chance are brought The ravilh'd crowds shall hail their paling lord ; From hidden causes to the wandering thought; When each transported city Ihall rejoice,
Which if once loft, you labour long in vain
To catch th' ideal fugitives again.
Explore the ancients with a watchful eye,
Lay all their charms and elegancies by, With me at large o'er high Parnaisus rove, Then to their use the precious spoils apply. Range every bower, and sport in every grove. At first without the least restraint compose,
First then observe, that verse is ne'er confin'd And mould the future poem into prose; To one fix'd measure, or determin’d kind; A full and proper series to maintain, Though at its birth it sung the gods alone,
And draw the juit connection in a chain; And then religion claim'd it for her own; By stated bounds your progress to controul, In facred Irains address'd the Deity,
To join the parts, and regulate the whole. And spoke a language worthy of the sky;
And now 'tis time to spread the opening faile New chemes succeeding bards began to choose, Wide to the wanton winds and flattering gales; And in a wider field engag'd the muse;
'Tis time we now prescribe the genuine laws The common bulk of subjects to rehearse
To raise the beauteous fabric with applause; In all the rich varieties of verse.
But first some method requisite appears Yet none of all with equal honours shine
To forın the boy, and mould his tender years. (But those which celebrate the power divine) In vain the bard the sacred wreath pursues, To those exalted measures, which declare
Unless train'd up and season'd to the muse. The deeds of heroes, and the sons of war.
Soon as the prattling innocent shall reach From hence posterity the name bestow'd
To the first use and rudiments of speech, On this rich present of the Delphic god;
Ev’n then, by Helicon he ought to rove, Fame says, Phæmonoe in this measure gave Ev'n then the tuneful nine should win his love Apollo's answers from the Pythian cave.
By just degrees. But make his guide your choice But ere you write, consult your strength and For his chalte phrase and elegance of voice; choose
That he at first successfully may teach A theme proportion'd jusly to your muse. The methods, laws, and discipline of speech; For though in chief these precepts are bestow'd Lest the young charge, miltaking right and wrongs On him who sings an hero or a god;
With vicious habits prejudice his tongue. To other themes their general use extend
Habits, whose subele feeds may mock your art, And serves in different views to different ends. And spread their roots and poison through his Whether the lofty muse with tragic rage
(wretch, Would proudly stalk in buskins on the stage;
Whence none fall move me to approve the Or in fost elegies our pity move,
Who wildly borne above the vulgar reach,
The pride of pedants, the delight of fools;
Yet choose the fainted waters of the lake. 'S Free and spontaneous the smooth numbers glide, Let no such pest approach the blooming care, Where choice determines, and our wills prefide; Deprave his style, and violate his ear; But, at command, we toil with fruitless pain, Bui far, oh far, to some remoter place. And drag th' involuntary load in vain.
Drive the vile wretch to teach a barbarous race. Nor, at its birth, indulge your warm defire, Now to the muse's stream the pupil bring, On the first glimmering of the sacred fire ; To drink large draughts of the Pierian spring; Defer the mighty talk; and weigh your power
And from his birth the facred bard adore, And every part in every view explore;
Nurft by the nine, on Mincio's flowery fhore; And let the theme in different prospects roll And alk the gods his numbers to inspire, Deep in your thoughts, and grow into the soul. With like invention, majesty, and fire. But ere with fails unfurl'd you fly away,
He reads Ascanius' weds with equal flame, And cleave the bofom of the boundless fea; And longs with him to run at nobler game. A fund of words and images prepare,
For youths of ages paft he makes his moan, And lay the brighe materials up with care, And learns to pity years fo like his own; Which at due time, occafion may produce, Which with too fwife, and too levere a doom, All rang'd in order for the poet's use.
The face of war had hurried to the tomb.