Tóm manages his knight at
He beats the Frenchman, and he marries Kate.
So fondly the wife mother lov'd the child,
She quite undid him, left he fhou'd be spoil'd.
This news the widow of the neighb'ring grange
Heard with furprize But I, faid fhe, 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
And every fervant fhall refpect him highly.
No trifling monfieur here fhall give advice;
I'll have some senior-fellow, grave and wise,
From either of our univerfities.
She faid 'Tis done-The honeft man with pains
Gender and number, mood and tenfe explains;
Jerry goes thro' his daily task and thrives,
From in fpeech be to th' apple-tree arrives.
-Then ftudious 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 laft 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 fome great fortune, or mamma's command,
Again restores him to the British ftrand,
Then, welcome Sir, to bless your native land.
But fee the proper vacancy prefent,
And up he comes full fraught for parliament.
Then firft his noble heart begins to fink,
Fain would he fpeak, 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 fcornful fneer arife,
- Hence round and round the piquant raill'ry flies,
And thus (fad fhame) tho' now he's twenty-four,
'He's finely lafh'd that ne'er was lafh'd before.
While each mean time, or commoner or peer,
Who pafs'd the difcipline in practice here,
Convinc'd applauds the doctor's wholsome plan,
Who made the youngfter smart to fave the man.
For what tho' fome the good old man defert,
Grow learn'd with ease, and grasp the shade of art,
For us, we fofter here no vain pretence,
Nor fill with empty pride the void of sense;
We rife 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 Cæfar's works that shine,
And learn to glow at Virgil's lofty line.
'Twas thus you mov'd, and thus in riper years,
With fuch fuperior luftre fill your spheres ;
'T'was thus you learn'd to rife, nor can you blame
If as we tread your fteps we hope your fame.
And oh! may Westminster for ever view
Sons after fons fucceed, 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
Our nation's envy and its pride;
While foreign courts with wonder gaze,
And justly all your counfels 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 fequel proves it true.
You know, Sir, certain ancient fellows
Philofophers, and others tell us,
That no alliance e'er between
Greatness and happiness is seen;
If fo, may heaven still deny
To you, to be as great as I.
Befides, 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 ftill 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 fuperior greatness shew.
Familiar you to admiration,
May be approach'd by all the nation,
While I, like Great Mogul in Indo,
Am never feen but at a window.
The family that dines the lateft,
Is in our street esteem'd the greatest,
But greater him we furely call,
Who hardly deigns to dine at all.
If with my greatnefs you 're offended,
The fault is eafily amended:
You have it, Sir, within your power
To take your humble fervant lower.
An EPISTLE from the Elector of BAVARIA to the FRENCH King, after the Battle of RAMILLIES.
F yet, great Sir, your heart can comfort know,
And the returning fighs lefs frequent flow;
If yet your ear can fuffer ANNA's fame,
And bear, without a start, her MARLBRO's name;
If half the flain 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 loffes write!)
To what a mighty fum 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 forrows and with yours oppreft;
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