How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modifh Tribe, Dart the quick Taunt, and edge the piercing Gibe? Attentive Truth and Nature to decry, And pierce each Scene with philofophic Eye. To thee were folemn Toys or empty Shew, The Robes of Pleasure and the Veils of Woe: All aid the Farce, and all thy Mirth maintain, Whofe Joys are causeless, or whofe Griefs are vain. Such was the Scorn that fill'd the Sage's Mind, Renew'd at ev'ry Glance on human Kind; How juft that Scorn ere yet thy Voice declare, Search every State, and canvafs ev'ry Prayer. [Gate, (e) Unnumber'd Suppliants crowd Preferment's Athirst for Wealth, and burning to be Great ; Delufive Fortune hears th' inceflant Call, They mount, they fhine, evaporate, and fall. On ev'ry Stage the Foes of Peace attend, Hate dogs their Flight, and Infult mocks their End. Love ends with Hope, the finking Statesman's Door Pours in the morning Worshipper no more; For growing Names the weekly Scribbler lies, To growing Wealth the Dedicator flies, From ev'ry Room defcends the painted Face, That hung the bright Palladium of the Place, And fmoak'd in Kitchens, or in Auctions fold, To better Features yields the Frame of Gold; For now no more we trace in ev'ry Line Heroic worth, Benevolence divine: The Form diftorted juftifies the Fall, And Deteftation rids th' indignant Wall. But will not Britain hear the last Appeal, Sign her Foes doom, or guard her Fav'rites Zeal; Thro' Freedom's Sons no more Remonftrance rings, Degrading Nobles and controuling Kings; Our fupple Tribes reprefs their Patriot Throats, And afk no Questions but the Price of Votes; (e) Ver. 56-107. With weekly Libels and feptennial Ale, In full-blown Dignity, fee Wolfey ftand, Grief aids Difeafe, remember'd Folly ftings, pine, Shall Wolfey's Wealth, with Wolfey's End be thine? What (f) gave great Villiers to th'Affaffin's Knife, (f) Ver. 108-213. When When (g) first the College-rolls receive his Name, The young Enthufiaft quits his Ease for Fame; Through all his Veins the Fever of Renown Spreads from the ftrong Contagion of the Gown ; O'er Bodley's Dome his future Labours fpread, And Bacon's Manfion trembles o'er his Head. Are these thy Views? proceed, illuftrious Youth, And Virtue guard thee to the Throne of Truth! Yet fhould thy Soul indulge the gen'rous Heat, Till captive Science yields her last Retreat ; Should Reafon guide thee with her brightest Ray, And pour on mifty Doubt refiftlefs Day; Should no falfe Kindness lure to loose Delight, Nor Praise relax, nor Difficulty fright; Should tempting Novelty thy Cell refrain, And Sloth effufe her opiate Fumes in vain Should Beauty blunt on Fops her fatal Dart, Nor claim the Triumph of a letter'd Heart; Should no Difeafe thy torpid Veins invade, Nor Melancholy's Phantoms haunt thy Shade; Yet hope not Life from Grief or Danger free, Nor think the Doom of Man revers'd for thee: Deign on the palling World to turn thine Eyes, And paufe awhile from Letters, to be wife; There mark what Ills the Scholar's Life affail, Toil, Envy, Want, the Patron, and the Jail. See Nations flowly wife, and meanly just, To buried Merit raife the tardy Buft. If Dreams yet flatter, once again attend, Hear Lydiar's Life, and Galileo's End. Nor deem, when Learning her latt Prize beftows, The glitt'ring Eminence exempt from Woes; See when the Vulgar 'fcape, defpis'd or aw'd, Rebellion's vengeful Talons feize on Laud. (2) Ver. 114-132. There is a Tradition, that the Study of Friar Bacon, built on an Arch over the Bridge, will fall, when a Man greater than Bacon shall pafs under it. From From meaner Minds, tho' fmaller Fines content From Age to Age in everlafting Debt, Wreaths which at last the dear-bought Right convey On (k) what Foundation ftands the Warrior's How juft his Hopes let Swedish Charles decide; No Dangers fright him, and no Labours tire; War founds the Trump, he rushes to the Field; Peace courts his Hand, but (preads her Charms in vain ; (i) Ver. 133-146. (k) Ver. 147-167. On • On Moscow's Walls till Gothick Standards fly, ; He left the Name, at which the World grew pale, To point a Moral, or adorn a Tale. All (1) Times their Scenes of pompous Woes afford, From Perfia's Tyrant, to Bavaria's Lord. (1) Ver. 168-187. Th |