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Tom manages his knight at such a rate,
He beats the Frenchman, and he marries Kate.
So fondly the wise mother lov'd the child,
She quite undid him, left he shou'd be spoild.
This news the widow of the neighb’ring grange
Heard with surprize - But I, said the, will change
This unsuccessful method, and my Jerry,
I'll answer for't, fhall never thus miscarry.
Prate with the maid! No-him I'll breed up shyly,
And every servant shall respect him highly.
No trifling monfieur here shall give advice;
I'll have some senior-fellow, grave and wise,
From either of our universities.
She said "Tis done The honest man with pains
Gender and number, mood and tense explains;
Jerry goes thro' his daily task and thrives,
From in speech be to th' apple-tree arrives.
- Then studious reads what Belgian authors writ,
And drains whole nomenclators for their wit:
From thence apace he grows accomplish'd fully,
Has read Corderius, and has heard of Tully.
Shou'd Oxford next, or Paris be his chance ?
The last prevails, and he's equip'd for France.
He goes— fees every thing that rare and new is,
And hunts like any alderman, with Lewis ;
Till some great fortune, or mamma's command,
Again restores him to the British ftrand,
Then, welcome Sir, to bless your native land,
But see the proper vacancy present,
And up he comes full fraught for parliament.
Then first his noble heart begins to sink,
Fain would he speak, but knows not how to think :
Howe'er he'll needs launch out beyond his reach,
Fer who ne'er made a theme, makes no good speech,
Hence the loud laugh, and scornful sneer arise,
Hence round and round the piquant raill'ry flies,
And thus (sad shame) tho' now he's twenty-four,
He's finely lath'd that ne'er was lafh'd before.
While each mean time, or commoner or peer,
Who pass'd the discipline in practice here,
Convinc'd applauds the doctor's wholsome plan,
Who made the youngster smart to save the man.
For what tho’ fome the good old man desert,
Grow learn’d with ease, and grasp the shade of art,
For us, we foster here no vain pretence,
Nor fill with empty pride the void of sense ;
We rise with pains, nor think the labour light
To speak like Romans, and like Romans write.
'Tis ours to court with care the learned throng,
To catch their spirit as we gain their tongue;
To enjoy the charms in Cæsar's works that shine,
And learn to glow at Virgil's lofty line.
'Twas thus you mov'd, and thus in riper years,
With such superior luftre fill your spheres ;
learn'd to rise, nor can you blame If as we tread your steps we hope your fame.
And oh! may Westminster for ever view
Sons after sons succeed, and all like
you; May every doubt your great examples clear, And Education fix her empire here.
A LETTER to Sir ROBERT WALPOLE.
By the late HENRY FIELDING, Efq;
HILE at the helm of state you ride,
Our nation's envy and its pride;
While foreign courts with wonder gaze,
And justly all your counsels praise,
Which, in contempt of faction's force,
Steer, tho' oppos'd, a steady course,
Wou'd you not wonder, Sir, to view
Your bard a greater man than you
And yet the sequel proves it true.
You know, Sir, certain ancient fellows
Philosophers, and others tell us,
That no alliance e'er between
Greatness and happiness is seen;
If so, may heaven still deny
To you, to be as great as I.
Besides, we 're taught, it does behove us,
To think those greater who ’re above us :
Another inftance of my glory,
Who live above you twice two story,
And from my garret can look down,
As from an hill, on half the town,
Greatness by poets still is painted,
With many followers acquainted :
This too does in my favour speak,
Your levée is but twice a week,
From mine I can exclude but one day;
My door is quiet on a Sunday.
The distance too at which they bow,
Does my superior greatness shew.
Familiar you to admiration,
May be approach'd by all the nation,
While I, like Great Mogul in Indo,
Am never seen but at a window.
The family that dines the latest,
Is in our street esteem'd the greatest,
But greater him we surely call,
Who hardly deigns to dine at all.
If with my greatness you 're offended,
The fault is easily amended:
You have it, Sir, within your power
To take your humble servant lower.
An EPISTLE from the Elector of BAVARIA
to the French King, after the Battle of RAMILLIES.
Fyet, great Sir, your heart can comfort know,
And the returning fighs less frequent flow;
If yet your ear can suffer Anna's fame,
And bear, without a start, her MARLBRO's name;
If half the slain o'er wide Ramillia fpread,
Are yet forgot, and in your fancy dead :
Attend, and be yourself, while I recite
(Oh! that I only can of losses write!)
To what a mighty sum our ills amount,
And give a faithful, tho'a fad account.
Let not Bavaria be condemn'd unheard,
Nor, 'till examin'd, have his conduct clear'd;
Charge not on me alone that fatal day,
Your own commanders bore too great a sway.,
Think! Sir, with pity think! what I have loft,
My native realms and my paternal coast,
All that a firm confed'rate could bestow,
Ev'n faith and fame, if you believe the foe.
Think what a heavy load o'erwhelms my breast,
With its own sorrows and with yours oppreft;