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The boys flock round him, and the people ftare: So ftiff, fo mute! fome ftatue you would fwear, Stept from its pedestal to take the air!

And here, while town, and court,

and city roars,

With mobs, and duns, and foldiers, at their doors;
Shall I, in London, act this idle part?
Compofing fongs, for fools to get by heart?

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The Temple late two brother sergeants saw,
Who deem'd each other oracles of law;
With equal talents, these congenial fouls,
One lull'd th' Exchequer, and one stunn'd the Rolls
Each had a gravity would make you split,
And shook his head at Murray, as a wit. (quence «.
>> 'Twas, Sir, your law « →→→→ and » Sir, your elo-
>> Yours, Cowper's manner «— -and » yours, Talbot's
Thus we difpofe of all poetic merit, (fenfe «.
Yours Milton's genius, and mine Homer's spirit.
Call Tibbald Shakespear, and he'll fwear the Nine,
Dear Cibber! never match'd one ode of thine.
Lord! how we strut thro' Merlin's Cave, to see
No poets there, but Stephen, you and me..
Walk with refpe&t behind, while we at ease
Weave laurel crowns, and take what names we please.
» My dear Tibullus «<! if that will not do,
» Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you :

» Or, I'm content, allow me Dryden's strains,
» And you shall rise up Otway for your pains «<,
Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in peace
This jealous, waspish, wrong-head, rhyming race;
And much muft flatter, if the whim should bite
To court applaufe by printing what I write :

But let the fit pass o'er, I'm wife enough,
To ftop my ears to their confounded stuff.

In vain, bad rhymers all mankind reject,
They treat themselves with most profound refpe&;
'Tis to final! purpose that you hold your tongue,
Each prais'd within, is happy all day long :
But how feverely with themselves proceed
The men, who write fuch verfe as we can read?
Their own ftrict judges, not a word they spare,
That wants or force, or light, or weight, or care,
Howe'er unwillingly it quits its place,

Nay tho' at court ( perhaps) it may find grace:
Such they'll degrade; and fometimes, in its ftead,
In downright charity revive the dead!

Mark where a bold expreffive phrase appears,

Bright thro' the rubbish of some hundred years;
Command old words that long have flept, to wake,
Words, that wife Bacon, or brave Rawleigh spake;
Or bid the new be English, ages hence,
(For use will father what's begot by sense )
Pour the full tide of eloquence along,

Serenely pure, and yet divinely ftrong,
Rich with the treafures of each foreign tongue;
Prune the luxuriant, the uncouth refine,
But show no mercy to an empty line:
Then polish all, with fo much life and ease,
You think 'tis nature, and a knack to please:
>> But cafe in writing flows from art, not chance;
As thofe move eafieft who have learn'd to dance c
If fuch the plague and pains to write by rule,
Better (fay 1) be pleas'd, and play the fool;

Call, if you will, bad rhyming a disease,
It gives men happiness, or leaves them cafe.
There liv'd in primo Georgii (they record )
A worthy member, no small fool, a lord ;
Who, tho' the house was up, delighted sate,
Heard, noted, answer'd, as in full debate :
In all but this, a man of sober life,
Fond of his friend, and civil to his wife;
Not quite a madman, tho' a pasty feil,
And much too wife to walk into a well.

Him, the damn'd doctors and his friends immur'd,

They bled, they cupp'd, they purg'd; in short, they Whereat the gentleman began to ftare

take you

(cur'd:

fate:

My friends! he cry'd, p-x
for your care!
That from a patriot of distinguish'd note,
Have bled and purg'd me to a simple vote.
Well, on the whole, plain profe must be my
Wisdom ( curfe on it) will come foon or late.
There is a time when poets will grow dull:
I'll e'en leave verses to the boys at school:
To rules of poetry no more confin'd,
I'll learn to fmooth and harmonize my mind,
Teach ev'ry thought within its bounds to roll,
And keep the equal measure of the foul.
Soon as I enter at my country door,
My mind resumes the thread it dropt before;
Thoughts, which at Hyde-park-corner I forgot,
Meet and rejoin me, in the penfive grot.
There all alone, and compliments apart,

I ask these sober questions of my heart.

If, when the more you drink, the more you crave,

You tell the doctor; when the more you have,
The more you want, why not with equal ease
Confefs as well your folly, as disease?
The heart refolves this matter in a trice,
» Men only feel the finart, but not the vice «<.
When golden Angels ceaie to cure the evil,
You give all royal witchcraft to the Devil:
When fervile chaplains cry, that birth and place
Indue a peer with honour, truth, and grace,
Look in that breast, most dirty D-! be fair,
Say, can you find out one fuch lodger there?
Yet ftill, not heeding what your heart can teach,
You go to church to hear these flatt'rers preach.
Indeed, could wealth beftow or wit or merit,
A grain of courage, or a spark of spirit,
The wifeft man might blush, I must agree,
If D*** lov'd fixpence, more than he.

If there be truth in law, and use can give
A property, that's
yours on which you live.
Delightful Abs-court, if its fields afford

Their fruits to you, confeffes you its lord:
All worldly's hens, nay, partridge, sold to town,
His ven'fon too, a guinea makes your own:
He bought at thousands, what with better wit
You purchase as you want, and bit by bit;
Now, or long fince, what diff'rence will be found?
You pay a penny, and he paid a pound.

Heathcote himself, and fuch large-acred men
Lords of fat E'sham, or of Lincoln fen,
Buy ev'ry stick of wood that lends them heat,
Buy ev'ry pullet they afford to eat.

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Yet these are wights, who fondly call their own
Half that the Dev'l o'erlooks from Lincoln town,
The laws of God, as well as of the land,
Abhor, a perpetuity should stand :

Estates have wings, and hang in Fortune's pow'r
Loofe on the point of ev'ry wav'ring hour,
Ready, by force, or of your own accord,
By fale, at least by death, to change their lord.
Man and for ever? wretch! what wou'dit thou have?
Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave.

All vaft poffeffions ( just the same the case
Whether you call them villa, park, or chase)
Alas, my Bathurft! what will they avail?
Join Cotswood hills to Saperton's fair dale,
Let rifing granaries and temples here,
There mingled farms and pyramids appear,
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak,
Enclofe whole downs in walls, 'tis all a joke!
Inexorable Death shall level all,

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and stones, and farms, and farmer fall.

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And trees
Gold, filver, iv'ry, vases sculptur'd high,
Paint, marble, gems, and robes of Perfian dye,
There are who have not; and thank heav'n there are
Who, if they have not, think not worth their care.
Talk what you will oftafte, my friend, you'll find
Two of a face, as foon as of a mind.
Why, of two brothers, rich and restlefs one
Plows, burns, manures, and toils from fun to fun;
The other flights, for women, fports, and wines,
All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines:
Why one like Bu➡with pay and scorn content

D

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