Yet fuch as owe the law their ears,
We find employ'd as engineers :
This view my forward zeal so shocks,
In vain they hold the money-box.
At fuch a conduct, which intends
By vicious means such virtuous ends,
I laugh off Spleen, and keep my pence
From fpoiling Indian innocence.
Yet philofophic love of ease
I fuffer not to prove disease,
But rife up in the virtuous cause
Of a free prefs, and equal laws.
The press restrain'd! nefandous thought!
In vain our fires have nobly fought :
While free from force the prefs remains,
Virtue and Freedom cheer our plains,
And Learning largeffes bestows,
And keeps uncenfur'd open houfe.
We to the nation's publick mart
Our works of wit, and schemes of art,
And philofophic good this way,
Like water-carriage, cheap convey.
This tree, which knowledge fo affords,
Inquifitors with flaming fwords
From lay-approach with zeal defend,
Left their own paradife should end.
The prefs from her fecundous womb
Brought forth the arts of Greece and Rome;
Her offspring, fkill'd in logick war,
Truth's banner wav'd in open air;
The monster Superftition fled,
And hid in shade its Gorgon head;
And lawless pow'r, the long-kept field,
By reafon quell'd, was forc'd to yield.
This nurse of arts, and freedom's fence
To chain, is treafon against sense;
And, Liberty, thy thoufand tongues
None filence, who defign no wrongs;
For those, that use the gag's restraint,
First rob, before they stop complaint.
Since disappointment galls within,
And fubjugates the foul to Spleen,
Most schemes, as money-fnares, I hate,
And bite not at projector's bait.
Sufficient wrecks appear each day,
And yet fresh fools are cast away.
Ere well the bubbled can turn round,
Their painted vessel runs aground;
Or in deep feas it oversets
By a fierce hurricane of debts;
Or helm-directors in one trip.
Freight first embezzled, fink the ship.
Such was of late a corporation,
The brazen ferpent of the nation,
Which, when hard accidents diftrefs'd,
The poor muft look at to be blest,
And thence expect, with paper feal'd
By fraud and us'ry, to be heal'd.
I in no foul-confumption wait
Whole years at levees of the great,
And hungry hopes regale the while
On the spare diet of a smile.
There you may fee the idol ftand
With mirror in his wanton hand;
Above, below, now here, now there
He throws about the funny glare:
Crowds pant, and prefs to feize the prize,
The gay
delufion of their eyes.
When Fancy tries her limning skill
To draw and colour at her will,
And raise and round the figures well,
And fhew her talent to excel,
I guard my heart, left it should woo
Unreal beauties Fancy drew,
And difappointed, feel despair
At lofs of things that never were.
When I lean politicians mark
Grazing on æther in the park ;
Who e'er on wing with open throats
Fly at debates, expreffes, votes,
Juft in the manner swallows ufe,
Catching their airy food of news;
Whose latrant ftomachs oft molest
The deep-laid plans their dreams fuggeft;
Or fee fome poet penfive fit,
Fondly mistaking Spleen for Wit;
Who, tho' fhort-winded, ftill will aim
To found the epick trump of Fame;
Who ftill on Phoebus' fmiles will doat,
Nor learn conviction from his coat;
I bless my stars, I never knew
Whimseys, which close purfu'd, undo,
And have from old experience been
Both parent and the child of Spleen.
These fubjects of Apollo's ftate,
Who from falfe fire derive their fate,
With airy purchases undone
Of lands, which none lend money on,
Born dull, had follow'd thriving ways,
Nor loft one hour to gather bays.
Their fancies first delirious grew,
And scenes ideal took for true.
Fine to the fight Parnaffus lies,
And with falfe prospects cheats their eyes ;
The fabled gods the poets fing,
A feafon of perpetual spring,
Brooks, flow'ry fields, and groves of trees,
Affording sweets and fimiles,
Gay dreams infpir'd in myrtle bow'rs,
And wreaths of undecaying flow'rs,
Apollo's harp with airs divine,
The facred mufick of the Nine,
Views of the temple rais'd to Fame,
And for a vacant nitch proud aim,
Ravish their fouls, and plainly fhew
What Fancy's sketching power can do.
They will attempt the mountain steep,
Where on the top, like dreams in fleep,
The Mufes revelations fhew,
That find men crack'd, or make them fo,
You friend, like me, the trade of rhyme
Avoid, elab'rate wafte of time,
Nor are content to be undone,
To pafs for Phoebus' crazy fon.
Poems, the hop-grounds of the brain,
Afford the most uncertain gain;
And lott'ries never tempt the wife
With blanks fo many to a prize.
I only tranfient vifits pay,
Meeting the Mufes in my way,
Scarce known to the faftidious dames,
Nor skill'd to call them by their names.
Nor can their paffports in thefe days,
Your profit warrant, or your praise.
On poems by their dictates writ,
Criticks, as fworn appraisers, fit,
And, mere upholst'rers, in a trice
On gems and painting fet a price.
These tayl'ring artists for our lays
Invent cramp'd rules, and with ftrait stays
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