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The goddess then, o'er his anointed head, 'With mystic words, the sacred opinm shed.

KEMARltS.

. or Theobald (as written) was bred an attorney, and son to an attorney, says Mr. Jacob, of Sittenburn, in Kent. He was anthor of some forgotten plays, translations, and other pieces. He was concerned in a paper called the Censor, and a translation of Ovid. 'There is a notorious idiot, one hight Wachum, who, from an under-spur-leather to the law, is become an understrapper to the play-house, who hath lately burlesqued the Metamorphoses of Ovid by & Vile translation, &c. This fellow is concerned U an impertinent paper called the Censor.' Dennis. Rem. on Pope's Hom. p. 9, 10

Ibid. Ozell.] * Mr. John Ozell, if we credit Mr. Jacob, did go to school in Leicestershire, where somebody left him something to live on, when he shall retire from business. He was designed to be sent to Cambridge, in order for priesthood; but he chose rather to be placed in an office of accounts, in the city, being qualified for the same by his skill in arithmetic, and writing the necessary hands. He has obliged the world with many translations of French plays.'—Jacob, lives of Dram. Poets, p.

Mr. Jacob's character of Mr. Ozell seems vastly short of his merits, and he ought to have further justice done him, having since fully confuted all sarcasms on his learning and genins, by an adver* tisement of Sept. 20, 17*29. in a paper called the Weekly Medley, &c. 'As to my learning, this en. vious wretch knew, and every body knows, that the whole bench of bishops, not Irmg ago, were pleased to give me a purse of guineas, for discovering the erroneous translations of the Common-prayer in Por* tuguese, Spanish, French, Italian, &c. As for my genins, let Mr. Cleland show better verses in all Pope's works, than Ozell's version of Boilean's Lti*

And lo I her bird (a monster of a fowl.
Something betwixt a heidegger and owl) so*
Perch'd on his crown. * All hail! and hail again,
My son! the protnis'd land expects thy reign.
Know, Eusden thirsts no more for sack or praise;
He sleeps among the dull of aucient days;
Safe, where no critics damn, no duns molest,
'Where wretched Withers, Ward, and G-ildoo rest,

REMARKS.

trin, which the late lord Halifax was so pleased with, that he complimented him with leave to dedicate it to him, &c. Let him show better and truer poetry in the Rape of the Lock, than in Ozell's Rapt of the Bucket (la Secchia rapitaj.. And Mr. IV> laud and Mr. Gildon publicly declared Ozell's translation of Homer to be, as it was prior, so- likewise superior to Pope's.—Surely, surely, every man is free to deserve well of his country !*—Johu Ozeil.

We cannot but subscribe to such reverend testimonies, as those of the bench of bishops, Mr. To* land, and Mr. Gildon,

Ver. 29O. a heidegger] A strange bird from Swit> erland, and not, as some have supposed, the nameof an eminent person who was a man of parts, and, as was said of Petrouins, arbiter elegantiarum*

Ver. 296. Withers,! See on ver. 146.

Ibid. Gildon] Charles Gildon, a writer of criticisms and libels in the last age, bred at St. Omers with the Jesuits; but renouncing popery, he published Blount's books against the divinity of Christ, the Oracles of Reason, &c. He signalized himself as a critic, having written some very bad plays; abused Mr. P. very scandalously in an anonymous pamphlet of the life of Mr. Wycherley, printed by Curll; in another, called the new rehearsal, printed in 1714; in a third, entitled the complete art of English poetry, in two volumes; and others.

And high-born Howard, more majestic sire,

With fool of quality completes the quire.

Thou, Cibber! thou, his lanrel shalt support.

Folly, my son, has still a fricutl at court. 300

Lift up your gates, ye princes, see him come!

Sound, sound ye viols, be the cat-call dumb!

Bring, bring the madding bay, the drunken vine;

The creeping, dirty, courtly ivy join.
And thou! his aid-de-eamp, lead on my sons,
Xrigvht-arm'd with points, antitheses, and puns.
X-et Bawdry, Billingsgate, my danghters dear,
Support his front, and oaths bring up the rear:
And under his, and under Archer's wing,
Gaming and Grub-street skulk behind the king. 310

REMARKS. Ver. 297. Howard] Hon. Edward Howard, author of the British Princes, and a great number of -wonderful pieces, celebrated by the late earls of Dorset and Rocliester, duke of Buckingham, Mi . *Waller, &c.

Ver. 309, 310. under Archer's wing,—Gaming, Wlu'ii the statute against gaming was drawn up, it *was represented, that the king, by ancient custom, plays at hazard one night in the year; and therefore a clanse was inserted, with an exemption as to that particular. Under this pretence, the groom-porter had a room appropriated to gaming all the summer the court was at Kensington, which his majesty accidentally being acquainted with, with a just i ndiunation, prohibited. It is reported the same practice is yet continued wherever the court resides, and the hazard table there open to all the professed gamesters in town.

Greatest and justest sovereign! know you this?
Alas! no more, than Thames calm head can know,
Whose meads his arms drown, or whose corn o'er-
flow. Donne to Queen Elia,

* O! when shall rise a monarch all our own. And I, a nursing-mother, rock the throne; *Twixt prince and people close the curtain draw. Shade him from light, and cover him from law; Fatten the courtier, starve the learned band. And suckle armies, and dry-nurse the land: Till senates nod to lullabies divine, And all be sleep, as at an ode of thine. '

She ceas'd. Then swells the chapel-royal throatGod save king Cibber! mounts in evVy note. 350 Familiar White's, God save king Colley! cries; God save king Colley! Drury-lane replies: To Needham's quick the voice trinmphal rode, But pious Needham dropt the name of God; Back to the Devil the last echoes roll, And Coll! each butcher roars at Hockley-hole.

REMARKS.

Ver. 31[). chapel-royal]. The voices and instruments used in the service of the chapel-royal being also employed in the performance of the birth-da;, and new-year odes.

Ver. 824. But pious Needham] A matron of great fame, and very religious in her way; whose constant prayer it was, that.she might 'get enough by hef profession to leave it off in time, and make her peace with God.' But her fate was not so happy; for being Convicted, and set in the pillory, she was (tn the lasting shame of all her great friends and votaries) so ill used by (he populace, that it put an end to her days.

Ver. 32*. Back to the Devil] The Devil Tavern in Fleet-street, where these odes are usually rehearsed before they are performed at court. Upon which a wit of those times made this epigram: When lanreates make odes, do you ask of what sort?

Do you ask if they're good, or are evil? [court, You may jndge—from the Devil they come to the

And go from the court to the devil.

So -when Jove** block descended from on high {A.% sings thy great forefather Ogilby) Loud thunder co its bottom shook the bog, 34$ And the hoarse nation croak'd,' God save king Log1'

REMARKS. Ver. .128.—Ogilby—God save king Log ! ] See Ogilby's Esop's Fables, where, in the story of the Frogs and their king, this excellent hemistich U to be found.

Our anthor manifests here, and elsewhere, a pro* digtoos tenderness for the bad writers. We see he selects the only good passage, perhaps, in all that ever Ogilby writ! which shows how candid and patient a reader he must have been. What can be more kind and affectionate than the words in the preface to his poems, where he labours to call up all our humanity and forgiveness toward these unlucky men, by the most moderate representation of their case that has ever been given by any authorf

But how much all indulgence is lost upon these people may appear from the just reflection made on their constant conduct and constant late, in the following epigram:

Ye little wits, that gleam'd a-while,

When Pope vouchsaf'd a ray,
Alas! depriv'd of his kind smile,
How soon ye fade away!

To compass Phaibus' car about,

Thus empty vapours rise.
Each lends his clond to put him out,

That reard him to the skies-
Alas! those skies are not your sphere;

There he shall ever burn:
Weep, weep, and fall! for earth ye were,

And must to earth return.

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