When black ambition stains a public caufe, A monarch's sword when mad vain-glory draws, Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fear, Nor Boileau turn the feather to a star.

Not so, when diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from Virtue's shrine,

Her priestess Muse forbids the good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.
There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than such as Anstis cafts into the grave;
Far other stars than * and ** wear,
And may defcend to Mornington from Stair;
(Such as on Hough's unfullied mitre shine,

Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine);
Let Envy howl, while heaven's whole chorus fings,
And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let Flatt'rý fick'ning fee the incense rife,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies:
Truth guards the Poet, sanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verse as mean as mine.

Yes, the last pen for freedom let me draw, When truth stands trembling on the edge of law; Here, last of Britons! let your names be read; Are none, none living! let me praise the dead; And, for that cause which made your fathers Fall by the votes of their degen'rate line. [shine, F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Effsays on Man.

§22. IMITATIONS OF HORACE. Pope.

EPISTLE VII.

Imitated in the Manner of Dr. Swift.

'Tis true, my Lord, I gave my word
I would be with you, June the third;
Chang'd it to Auguft; and, in short,
Have kept it as you do at Court.
You humour me when I am fick,
Why not when I am fplenetic?
In town, what objects could I meet?
The shops shut up in ev'ry street,
And fun'rals black'ning all the doors,
And yet more melancholy whores:
And what a dust in ev'ry place!
And a thin Court that wants your face,
And fevers raging up and down,
And W and H both in town!

"The dog-days are no more the cafe." 'Tis true, but winter comes apace: Then fouthward let your bard retire, Hold out some months 'twixt fun and fire, And you shall fee, the first warm weather, Me and the butterflies together.

My lord, your favours well I know; 'Tis with distinction you bestow; And not to ev'ry one that comes, Just as a Scotsman does his plums. "Pray, take them, fir; enough 's a feafts "Eat fome, and pocket up the rest." What, rob your boys, those pretty rogues? "No, fir, you'll leave them to the hogs." Thus fools with compliments befiege ye, Contriving never to oblige ye.

Scatter your favours on a fop,
Ingratitude 's the certain crop ;
And 'tis but just; I'll tell you wherefore,
You give the things you never care for.
A wife man always is or shou'd
Be mighty ready to do good;
But makes a diff'rence in his thought
Betwixt a guinea and a groat.

Now this I 'll fay; you'll find in me
A fafe companion, and a free;
But if you'd have me always near-
A word, pray, in your Honour's ear.
I hope it is your refolution

To give me back my Constitution!
The fprightly wit, the lively eye,
Th' engaging smile, the gaiety,
That langh'd down many a fummer fun,
And kept you up so oft till one;
And all that voluntary vein,
As when Belinda rais'd my strain.

A weazel once made shift to flink
In at a corn-loft thro' a chink;'
But, having amply stuff'd his skin,
Could not get out as he got in:
Which one belonging to the house
('Twas not a man, it was a mouse)
Observing, cried, "You 'scape not fo;
"Lean as you came, fir, you must go."

Sir, you may spare your application,
I 'm no fuch beast, nor his relation;
Nor one that temperance advance,
Cramm'd to the throat with Ortolans:
Extremely ready to refign
All that may make me none of mine.
South-fea fubfcriptions take who please,
Leave me but liberty and ease.
Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child,
Who prais'd my modesty, and smil'd.
Give me, I cried (enough for me),
My bread, and independency!
So bought an annual rent or two,
And liv'd-just as you see I do;
Near fifty, and without a wife,
I trust that finking fund, my life.
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well;
Shrink back to my paternal cell,
A little house, with trees a-row,
And, like its master, very low.
There died my father, no man's debtor-
And there I 'll die, nor worse nor better.

To fet this matter full before ye,
Our old friend Swift will tell his story:
"Harley, the nation's great fupport,"
But you may read it, I stop short.

We.., now I have all this and more,

I ask act to increase my store;

But here a grievance feems to lie,

A's is mine but till I die;

Lan't out think 't would found more clever

"To me, and to my heirs for ever."

If I ne'er got or loft a groat

by any trick or any fault;

And if I pray by reason's rules,
And not like forty other fools,
Astas: "Vouchfare, O gracious Maker!
*Tagathis and t' other acre;

key will and pleasure,
Drapingh to find a treafure;"
my ftation fits,
ext in my right wits:
Almighty Providence!
Want you gave me, competence:
tiene in these shades compofe
wating in verfe as true as profe;
new'd from ali th' ambitious scene,

dby pride, nor funk by spleen.'

1. I'm perfectly content,
hat live on this fide Trent;

the Channel twice a year,
dfix months with statesmen here.

aut by all means come to town,
for the lervice of the crown.

the Dean will be of use;
actorkim up, take no excuse."
the danger of the feas,
inters ne'er think of these;
ecot five hundred pound,

where the money 's found:
much more in debt,
they ne'er confider'd yet.

Mr. Dean, go change your gown,
Lord know you 're come to town."

in haste away,
ing it is levee-day;

Honour in a pound,
by a triple circle round,
with ribbons blue and green;

I thrust myself between?
obferves me thus perplex'd,
zing, whispers to the next,
haght the Dean had been too proud

the here among a crowd."

ter, in a furly fit,
De I have more zeal than wit;
ager to express your love,
e'er confider whom you shove,
rudly press before a Duke."
I am pleas'd with this rebuke,
take it kindly meant to shew
I defire the world should know,
Set a whisper, and withdraw ;
en twenty fools I never faw

with petitions fairly penn'd,
hing I would ftand their friend,
Thumbly offers me his cafe,
Tabegs my int'reft for
place:

A

a

andred other men's affairs,

de bets, are humming in my ears.

"To-morrow my appeal comes on;
"Without your help the cause is gone-"
The Duke expects my Lord and you,
About fome great affairs, at two-
"Put my Lord Bolingbroke in mind,
"To get my warrant quickly fign'd:
"Contider, 'tis my first request."
Be fatisfied, I 'll do my best:
Then presently he falls to tease.
"You may for certain, if you please;
" I doubt not, if his Lordship knew-
"And, Mr. Dean, one word from you-"

'Tis (let me fee) three years and more

(October next it will be four)
Since Harley bid me first attend,
And chose me for a humble friend;
Would take me in his coach to chat,
And question me of this and that;

As, 'What's o'clock,' and 'How's the wind?"

My Lord and he are grown fo great,

Always together tête-à-tête; "What, they admire him for his jokes "See but the fortune of fome folks!" There flies about a strange report Of fome express arriv'd at Court: I 'm stopp'd by all the fools I meet, And catechis'd in ev'ry street.

You, Mr. Dean, frequent the Great; "Inform us, will the Emp'ror treat? "Or do the prints and papers lie ?" Faith, Sir, you know as much as I. "Ah, Doctor, how you love to jeft! "'Tis now no secret"-I protest 'Tis one to me-" Then tell us, pray, "When are the troops to have their pay?" And, tho' I folemnly declare I know no more than my Lord Mayor, They stand amaz'd, and think me grown The clofest mortal ever known.

Thus, in a fea of folly toft, My choiceft hours of life are loft; Yet always wishing to retreat, Oh, could I see my country feat! There, leaning near a gentle brook, Sleep, or peruse some ancient book; And there in sweet oblivion drown Thofe cares that haunt the court and town. Oh charming noons, and nights divine! Or when I fup, or when I dine,

My

My friends above, my folks below,
Chatting and laughing all a-row,
The beans and bacon fet before 'em,
The grace-cup ferv'd with all decorum:
Each willing to be pleas'd, and please,
And even the very dogs at ease!
Here no man prates of idle things,
How this or that Italian fings,
A neighbour's madness, or his spouse's,
Or what's in either of the houses:
But fomething much more our concern,
And quite a fcandal not to learn :
Which is the happier, or the wifer,
A man of merit, or a mifer ?
Whether we ought to choose our friends
For their own worth, or our own ends?
What good, or better, we may call,
And what, the very best of all?

Our friend Dan Prior told (you know)
A tale extremely à propos :
Name a town life, and in a trice
He had a story of two mice.
Once on a time, so runs the fable,
A country mouse, right hofpitable,
Receiv'd a town mouse at his board,
Just as a farmer might a lord.
A frugal mouse upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his friend, and had a foul:
Knew what was handsome, and would do 't,
On juft occafion, coute qui coute.
He brought him bacon (nothing lean),
Pudding that might have pleas'd a dean;
Cheefe, fuch as men in Suffolk make,
But with'd it Stilton for his fake;
Yet, to his guest tho' no way sparing,
He ate himself the rind and paring.
Our courtier fcarce would touch a bit,
But shew'd his breeding and his wit:
He did his beit to feem to eat,
And cried: "I vow you 're mighty neat.
"But, Lord! my friend, the favage scene!
"For God's fake, come and live with men :

Confider, mice like men must die, "Both small and great, both you and I : " Then spend your life in joy and sport; "This doctrine, friend, I learn'd at court."

The veriest hermit in the nation

ODE I. BOOK IV.
To Venus.

AGAIN? new tumults in my breaft Ah spare me, Venus! let me, let me rest! I am not now, alas! the man

As in the gentle reign of my queen Anne.
Ah found no more thy foft alarms,
Nor circle fober fifty with thy charms!
Mother too fierce of dear defires!
Turn, turn, to willing hearts your wanton fi
To number five direct your doves,
There fpread round Murray all your bloom
Noble and young, who strikes the heart
With ev'ry sprightly, ev'ry decent, part;
Equal, the injur'd to defend,
To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend.
He, with a hundred arts refin'd,
Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind
To him each rival shall fubmit,
Make but his riches equal to his wit.
Then shall thy form the marble grace

Away they come, thro' thick and thin,
To a tall house near Lincoln's-Inn:
'Twas on the night of a debate,
When all their lordthips had fat late.

His house embofom'd in the grove, Sacred to focial life and focial love,

Shall glitter o'er the pendant green,
Where Thames reflects the vifionary (cene:
Thither the filver founding lyres
Shall call the fimiling loves and young defires:
There ev'ry grace and muse shall throng,

Exalt the dance, or animate the fong;
There youths and nymphs, in concert gay,
Shall hail the rifing, close the parting day.
With me, alas! those joys are o'er;
For me the vernal garlands bloom no more.
Adieu, 'fond hope of mutual fire!
The still-believing, still renew'd defire;
Adieu, the heart-expanding bowl!
And all the kind deceivers of the foul!

B