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One heav'n-inspir’d invents a frock, or hood :
The taylor now cuts out, and men grow good. ..
Another quits his stockings, breeches, shirt, :
Because he fancies virtue dwells with dirt:
While all concur to take away the stress
From weightier points, and lay it on the less. ^..
Anxious each paltry relique to preserve
Of him, whose hungry friends they leave to starve, ,
Harrass’d by watchings, abstinence, and chains;
Strangers to joys, familiar grown with pains ;.. .
To all the means of virtue they attend
With strictest care, and only miss the end. Í
Can scripture teach us, or can sense persuade,...
That man for such employments e’er was made ? ,
Far be that thought! But let us now relate
A character as opposite, as great,
In him, who living gave to Athens fame,
And, by his death, immortaliz'd her shame.
Great scourge of sophists! he from heaven brought down,
And plac'd true wisdom on th’ usurper's throne :
Philosopher in all things, but pretence;
He taught what they neglected, common sense.
They o'er the stiff Lyceum form’d to rule ;
He, o'er mankind; all Athens was his school.
The sober tradesman, and smart petit-maitre,
Great lords, and wits, in their own eyes still greater,
With him grew wife; unknowing they were taught;
He spoke like them, though not like them he thought:
Nor wept, nor laughd, at man's perverted state;
But left to women this, to ideots that.
View him with sophists fam’d for fierce contest,
Or crown'd with roses at the jovial feast;
Insulted by a peevish, noify wife, s i
Or at the bar foredoom'd to lose his life; ; ;
What moving words Aow from his artless tongue,
Sublime with ease, with condescension strong!
Yet scorn'd to flatter vice, or virtue blame;
Nor chang’d to please, but pleas'd because the same;
The same by friends caress’d, by foes withstood,.
Still unaffected, cheerful, mild, and good. .
Behold one pagan, drawn in colours faint,
Outshine ten thousand monks, though each a faint ! :
Here let us fix our foot, hence take our view,
And learn to try false merit by the true.
We see, when reason stagnates in the brain,.
The dregs of fancy cloud its purest vein; n · But circulation betwixt mind and mind Extends its course, and renders it refin'd. .
When warm with youth we tread the Aow'ry way,
All nature charms, and every scene looks gay;
Each object gratifies each sense in turn,
Whilst now for rattles, now for nymphs we burn;
Enslavd by friendship's or by love's soft smile,
We ne'er suspect, because we mean no guile: 4:
'Till, fush'd with hope from views of past success,
We lay on some main trifle all our stress;
When lo! the mistress or the friend betrays,
And the whole fancied cheat of life displays :
Stun'd with an ill that from ourselves arose ;
For instinct ruld, when reason should have chofe ;
We fly for comfort to some lonely scene,
Victims henceforth of dirt, and drink, and spleen.
But let no obstacles that cross our views,
Pervert our talents from their destin'd use;
For, as upon life's hill we upwards press,
Our views will be obstructed less and less.
Be all false delicacy far away,
Left it from nature lead us quite aftray ;
And for th' imagin'd vice of human race,
Destroy our virtue, or our parts debase ;
Since God with reason joins to make us own,
That 'tis not good for man to be alone.
On the Death of Col. CHARLES Ross, in the
Action at Fontenoy. Written May 1745.
H ILE, lost to all his former mirth,
WV. Britannia's genius bends to earth,
And mourns the fatat day;
While, staind with blood, he strives to tear
Unseemly from his sea-green hair
The wreaths of cheerful May;
The thoughts which musing pity pays,
And fond remembrance loves to raise,
Your faithful hours attend;
Still fancy, to herself unkind,
Awakes to grief the loften d mind,
And points the bleeding friend."
By rapid Scheld's descending wave
His country's vows shall bless the grave,
Where-e'er the youth is laid:
That facred spot the village hind
With every sweetest turf shall bind,
And peace protect the shade.
O’er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,
Aërial forms shall fit at eve
And bend the pensive head!
And, fall’n to save his injur'd land,
Imperial Honour's aweful hand
Shall point his lonely bed !
The warlike dead of every age,
Who fill the fair recording page,
Shall leave their fainted rest:
And, half-reclining on his spear,
Each wond’ring Chief by turns appear,
To hail the blooming guest.