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If sentiment were sacrific'd to sound,

Language, above all teaching, or if taught,
And truth cut short to make a period round, Only by gratitude and glowing thought,
I judg'd a man of sense could scarce do worse, Elegant as simplicity, and warm
Than caper in the morris-dance of verse.

As ecstasy, unmanacled by form,
B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit,

Not prompted, as in our degen'rate days, And some wits flag through fear of losing it. By low ambition and the thirst of praise, Give me the line, that plows its stately course Was natural as is the flowing stream, Like a proud swan, conq'ring the stream by force; And yet magnificent—a God the theme ! That, like some cottage-beauty, strikes the heart, That theme on Earth exhausted, though above Quite unindebted to the tricks of art.

"Tis found as everlasting as his love, When Labor and when Dullness, club in hand, Man lavish'u all his thoughts on human thingsLike the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand, The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings ; Beating alternately, in measur'd time,

But still, while Virtue kindled his delight, The clock-work tintinnabulum of rhyme,

The song was moral, and so far was right. Exact and regular the sounds will be ;

"Twas thus till Luxury seduc'd the mind But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. To joys less innocent, as less refind;

From him, who rears a poem lank and long, Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal; he crown'd To him who strains his all into a song;

The brimming goblet, seiz'd the thyrsus, bound Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air,

His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field All birks and braes, though he was never there ; Of wild imagination, and there reelid, Or, having whelp'd a prologue with great pains, The victim of his own lascivious fires, Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; And, dizzy with delight, profan'd the sacred wires. A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke- Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome An art contriv’d to advertise a joke,

This bedlam part; and others nearer home. (reign'd So that the jest is clearly to be seen,

When Cromwell fought for pow'r, and while he Not in the words—but in the gap between: The proud protector of the pow'r he gain'd, Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,

Religion, harsh, intolerant, austere, The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.

Parent of manners like herself severe, To dally much with subjects mean and low, Drew a rough copy of the Christian face Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace ; Neglected talents rust into decay,

The dark and sullen humor of the time And ev'ry effort ends in push-pin play.

Judg'd ev'ry effort of the Muse a crime; The man that means success, should soar above Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove;

Was lumber in an age so void of taste : Else summoning the Muse to such a theme, But when the second Charles assum'd the sway, The fruit of all her labor is whipp'd cream. And arts reviv'd beneath a softer day, As if an eagle flew aloft, and then

Then, like a bow long forc'd into a curve, Stoop'd from its highest pitch to pounce a wren. | The mind, releas’d from too constrain'd a nerve, As if the poet, purposing to wed,

Flew to its first position with a spring, Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. That made the vaulted roofs of pleasure ring.

Ages elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appear’d, His court, the dissolute and hateful school And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard. Of Wantonness, where vice was tanght by rule, To carry nature lengths unknown before, Swarm'd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.

With brutal lust as ever Circe made. Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times, From these a long succession, in the rage And shot a day-spring into distant climes, Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age; Ennobling ev'ry region that he chose ;

Nor ceas'd, till, ever anxious to redress He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose;

The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, And, tedious years of Gothic darkness pass’d, The Muse instructed a well-nurtur'd train Emerg'd all splendor in our isle at last.

Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,

And claim the palm for purity of song, Then show far off their shining plumes again. That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. A. Is genius only found in epic lays ?

Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense, Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. That neither gave nor would endure offence, Make their heroic pow'rs your own at once, Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, Or candidly confess yourself a dunce.

The puppy pack, that had defil'd the scene.
B. These were the chief: each interval of night In front of these came Addison. In him
Was grac'd with many an undulating light, Humor in holiday and sightly trim,
In less illustrious bards his beauty shone

Sublimity and Attic taste, combin'd,
A meteor, or a star; in these the Sun.

To polish, furnish, and delight, the mind.
The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, Then Pope, as harmony itself exact,
While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. In verse well-disciplin'd, complete, compact,
Like him unnotic'd, I, and such as I,

Gave virtue and morality a grace,
Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly; That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face,
Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land, Levied a tax of wonder and applause,
An ell or two of prospect we command ;

Ev'n on the fools that trampled on their laws. But never peep beyond the thorny bound,

But he (his musical finesse was such, Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round. So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart

Made poetry a mere mechanic art; Had faded, poetry was not an art;

And ev'ry warbler has his tune by heart.

Nature imparting her satiric gift,

Stands in the desert, shiv'ring and forlorn, Her serious mirth, 10 Arbuthnot and Swift,

A wint'ry figure, like a wither'd thorn. With droll sobriety they rais'd a smile

The shelves are full, all other themes are sped ; At Folly's cost, themselves unmov'd the while. Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread, That constellation set, the world in vain

Satire has long since done his best; and curst
Must hope to look upon their like again.

And lothesome Ribaldry has done his worst;
A. Are we then left?-B. Not wholly in the dark; Fancy has sported all her pow'rs away
Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark, In tales, in trifles, and in children's play ;
Sufficient to redeem the modern race

And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true,
From total night and absolute disgrace.

Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. While servile trick and imitative knack

'were new indeed 10 see a bard all fire, Confine the million in the beaten track,

Touch'd with a coal from Heav'n, assume the lyre Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, Snulls up the wind, and Alings himself abroad. With more than mortal music on his tongue, Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one;

That He, who died below, and reigns above,
Short his career indeed, but ably run;

Inspires the song, and that his name is Love.
Churchill; himself, unconscious of his pow'rs, For, after all, if merely to beguile,
In penury consum'd his idle hours;

By Rowing numbers and a flow'ry style,
And, like a scatler'd seed at random sown,

The ledium that the lazy rich endure, Was left to spring by vigor of his own.

Which now and then sweet poetry may cure ; Lified at length, by dignity of thought

Or, if to see the name of idle self, And dint of genius, to an afuent lot,

Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap,

To float a bubble on the breath of Fame,
And took, too often, there his easy nap.

Prompt his endeavor and engage his aim,
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth, Debas'd to servile purposes of pride,
'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. How are the pow’rs of genius misapplied !
Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse,

The gift, whose office is the Giver's praise,
Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force, To trace him in his word, his works, his ways!
Spendthrift alike of money and of wit,

Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invite Always at speed, and never drawing bit,

Mankind to share in the divine delight, He struck the lyre in such a careless mood, Distorted from its use and just design, And so disdain'd the rules he understood,

To make the pitiful possessor shine. The laurel seem'd to wait on his command, To purchase, at the fool-freqnented fair He snatch'd it rudely from the Muses' hand. Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear, Nature, exerting an unwearied pow'r,

Is profanation of the basest kind
Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev'ry flow'r; Proof of a trilling and a worthless mind.
Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads A. Hail Sternbold, then; and Hopkins, hail -
The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads :

B. Amen.
She fills profuse ten thousand little throats If flatt’ry, folly, lust, employ the pen;
With music, modulating all their notes ;

If acrimony, slander, and abuse,
And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds un- Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;

Though Butler's wit, l'ope's numbers, Prior's ease, With artless airs and concerts of her own : With all that fancy can invent to please But seldom (as if fearful of expense)

Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence

One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought,

A. "Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe,
Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought; To dash the pen through all that you proscribe.
Fancy, that from the bow, that spans the sky, B. No matter—we could shift when they were not;
Brings colors, dipp'd in Heav'n, that never die; And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.
A soul exalted above Earth, a mind
Skilld in the characters that form mankind ;
And, as the Sun in rising beauty dress'd,
Looks to the westward from the dappled east,

And marks, whatever clouds may interpose,
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close ;

Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri,
An eye like his to catch the distant goal ;

Nec percussa juvant fluctu tam litora, nec qua

Saxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles.
Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll,

Virg. Ecl. v.
Like his to shed illuminating rays
On ev'ry scene and subject it surveys :

Though Nature weigh our talents, and dispense
Thus grac'd, the man asserts a poet's name, To ev'ry man bis modicum of sense,
And the world cheerfully admits the claim. And Conversation in its better part
Pity Religion has so seldom found

May be esteem'd a gist, and not an art, A skilful guide into poetic ground!

Yet much depends, as in the tiller’s toil, The flow'rs would spring where'er she deign'd to On culture, and the sowing of the soil. stray,

Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse, And ev'ry Muse attend her in her way.

But talking is not always to converse ;
Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, Not more distinct from harmony divine,
And many a compliment politely penn'd; The constant creaking of a country sign.
But, unattir'd in that becoming vest

As Alphabets in ivory employ,
Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd, Hour after hour, the yet unlotter'd boy.

Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee

Ye pow'rs who rule the tongue, if such there are, Those seeds of science callid his A B C;

And make colloquial happiness your care, So language in the mouths of the adult,

Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, Witness its insignificant result,

A duel in the form of a debate. Too often proves an implement of play,

The clash of arguments and jar of words, A toy to sport with, and pass time away.

Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, Collect at ev'ning what the day brought forth, Decide no question with their tedious length, Compress the sum into its solid worth,

For opposition gives opinion strength, And if it weigh th' importance of a fly,

Divert the champions prodigal of breath, The scales are false, or algebra a lie.

And put the peaceably-dispos'd to death. Sacred interpreter of human thought,

O thwart me not, Sir Soph, at ev'ry turn, How few respect or use thee as they ought! Nor carp at ev'ry flaw you may discern; But all shall give aocount of ev'ry wrong,

Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, Who dare dishonor or defile the tongue;

I am not surely always in the wrong ; Who prostitute it in the cause of vice,

'Tis hard if all is false that I advance, Or sell their glory at a market-price ;

A fool must now and then be right by chance. Who vote for bire, or point it with lampoon, Not that all freedom of dissent I blame; The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buf- No—there I grant the privilege I claim ; foon.

A disputable point is no man's ground; There is a prurience in the speech of some, Rove where you please, 'tis common all around Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them Discourse may want an animated No, dumb:

To brush the surface, and to make it flow;
His wise forbearance has their end in view, But still remember, if you mean to please,
They fill their measure, and receive their due. To press your point with modesty and ease.
The heathen lawgivers of ancient days,

The mark, at which my juster aim I take,
Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise, Is contradiction for its own dear sake.
Would drive them forth from the resort of men, Set your opinion at whatever pitch,
And shut up ev'ry satyr in his den.

Knots and impediments make something hitch; O come not ye near innocence and truth,

Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain, Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth !

Your thread of argument is snapp'd again; Infectious as impure, your blighting pow'r The wrangler, rather than accord with you, Taints in its rudiments the promis'd flow'r;

Will judge himself deceivid, and prove it 100. Its odor perish'd, and its charming hue,

Vociferated logic kills me quite, Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. A noisy man is always in the right, Not ev’n the vigorous and headlong rage

I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, of adolescence, or a firmer age,

Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare, Affords a plea allowable or just

And, when I hope his blunders are all out, For making speech the pamperer of lust;

Reply discreetly—“To be sure—no doubt!" But when the breath of age commits the fault, Dubius is such a scrupulous good man"Tis nauseous as the vapor of a vault.

Yes—you may catch him tripping, if you can. So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene,

He would not, with a peremptory tone, No longer fruitful, and no longer green;

Assert the nose upon his face his own;
The sapless wood, divested of the bark,

With hesitation admirably slow;
Grows fungous, and takes fire at ev'ry spark. He humbly hopes-presumes—it may be so.

Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife- His evidence, if he were callid by law
Some men have surely then a peaceful life ; To swear to some enormity he saw,
Whatever subject occupy discourse,

For want of prominence and just relief, The feats of Vestris, or the naval force,

Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. Asseveration blust'ring in your face

Through constant dread of giving truth offence, Makes contradiction such a hopeless case :

He ties up all his hearers in suspense ; In ev'ry tale they tell, or false or true,

Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not; Well known, or such as no man ever knew, What he remembers seems to have forgot; They fix attention, heedless of your pain, His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall, With oaths like rivets forc'd into the brain ; Centring at last in having none at all. And ev'n when sober truth prevails throughout, Yet, though he tease and balk your list’ning ear, They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. He makes one useful point exceeding clear; A Persian, humble servant of the Sun,

Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none,

A sceptic in philosophy may seem, Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address,

Reduc'd to practice, his beloved rule With adjurations ev'ry word impress,

Would only prove him a consummate fool; Suppos'd the man a bishop, or at least,

Useless in him alike both brain and speech, God's name so much upon his lips, a priest; Fate having plac'd all truth above his reach, Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs, His ambiguities his total sum, And begg'd an int'rest in his frequent pray'rs. He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb.

Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferr'd, Where men of judgment creep and feel their way
Henceforth associate in one common herd; The positive pronounce without dismay;
Religion, virtue, reason, common-sense,

Their want of light and intellect supplied
Pronounce your human form a false pretence; By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride.
A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks,

Without the means of knowing right from wrong, Who yet betrays his secret by his works.

They always are decisive, clear, and strong; 100

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Where others toil with philosophic force,

of all ambitions man may entertain, 'Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course; The worst, that can invade a fickly brain, Flings at your head conviction in the lump, Is that which angles hourly for surprise, And gains remote conclusions at a jump:

And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. Their own defect, invisible to them,

Credulous infancy, or age as weak, Seen in another, they at once condemn;

Are fillest auditors for such to seek, And, though self-idolizid in ev'ry case,

Who, to please others, will themselves disgrace, Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. Yet please not, but affront you to your face. The cause is plain, and not to be denied,

A great retailer of this curious ware
The proud are always most provok'd by pride. Having unloaded and made many stare,
Few competitions bul engender spite ;

Can this be true ?"—an arch observer cries,
And those the most, where neither has a right. Yes,” (rather mov’d.) " I saw it with these eyes :"

The point of honor has been deem'd of use, Sir! I believe it on that ground alone , To teach good manners, and to curb abuse ; I could not, had I seen it with my own." Admit it true, the consequence is clear,

A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct;
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, The language plain, and incidents well-link'd ;
And, at the bottom barb'rous still and rude, Tell not as new what ev'ry body knows,
We are restrain'd, indeed, but not subdu'd. And, new or old, still hasten to a close;
The very remedy, however sure,

There, centring in a focus round and neat,
Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, Let all your rays of information meet.
And sa vage in its principle appears,

What neither yields us profit nor delighi,
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. Is like a nurse's lullaby at night;
"Tis hard, indeed, if nothing will defend

Guy Earl of Warwick, and fair Eleanore, Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end; Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more. That now and then a hero must decease,

The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, That the surviving world may live in peace. Makes half a sentence at a time enough; Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show

The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, The practice dastardly, and mean, and low; Then pause, and puff—and speak. and pause again That men engage in it coinpellid by force,

Such often, like the tube they so adınire, And fear, not courage, is its proper source : Important triflers! have more smoke than fire. The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear

Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys, Lest foops should censure us, and fools should sneer. Unfriendly to society's chief joys, At least to trample on our Maker's laws,

Thy worst effect is banishing for hours And hazard life for any or no cause,

The sex, whose presence civilizes ours: To rush into a fix'd eternal state

Thou art, indeed, the drug a gard'ner wants, Out of the very flames of rage and hate,

To poison vermin that infest his plants; Or send another shiv'ring to the bar

But are we so to wit and beauty blind, With all the guilt of such unnat'ral war,

As to despise the glory of our kind, Whatever Use may urge, or Honor plead,

And show the softest minds and fairest forms On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed.

As little mercy as he grubs and worms? Am I to set my life upon a throw,

They dare not wait the riotous abuse, Because a bear is rude and surly? No

Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce, A moral, sensible, and well-bred man

When wine has giv'n indecent language birth, Will not affront me ; and no other can.

And forc'd the flood-gates of licentious mirth; Were I empower'd to regulate the lists,

For sea-born Venus her attachment shows They should encounter with well-loaded fists; Still to that element from which she rose, A Trojan combat would be something new, And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb, Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue;

Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. Then each might show, to his admiring friends, Th' emphatic speaker dearly loves t' oppose, In honorable bumps his rich amends,

In contact inconvenient, nose to nose. And carry, in contusions of his skull,

As if the gnomon on his neighbor's phiz, A satisfactory receipt in full.

Touch'd with the magnet, had attracted his. A story, in which native humor reigns, His whisper'd theme. dilated and at large, Is ofien useful, always entertains :

Proves afier all a wind-gun's airy charge, A graver fact, enlisted on your side,

An extract of his diary—no more, May furnish illustration, well applied ;

A tasteless journal of the day before. But sedentary weavers of long tales

He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. Call’d on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again "Tis the most asinine employ on Earth,

Resum'd his purpose, had a world of talk To hear them tell of parentage and birth,

With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. And echo conversations, dull and dry,

I interrupt him with a sudden bowEmbellish'd with—“He said," and “So said I." “ Adieu, dear sir! lest you should lose it now." At ev'ry interview their route the same,

I cannot talk with civet in the room, The repetition makes attention lame:

A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume ; We bustle up with unsuccessful speed,

The sight's enough-no need to smell a beauAnd in the saddest part cry—-" Droll, indeed!" Who thrusts his nose into a raree-show? The path of narrative with care pursue,

His odoriferous attempts 10 please Still making probability your clew;

Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees; On all the vestiges of truth attend,

But we that make no honey, though we sting, And let them guide you to a decent end.

Poets are sometimes apt to maul the thing.

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'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort,

By way of wholesome curb upon our pride,
What makes some sick, and others a-la-mort : To fear each other, fearing none beside.
An argument of cogence, we may say,

The cause, perhaps, inquiry may descry,
Why such a one should keep himself away. Self-searching with an introverted eye,

A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see, Conceald within an unsuspected part, Quite as absurd, though not so light as he:

The vainest corner of our own vain heart: A shallow brain behind a serious mask,

For ever aiming at the world's esteem, An oracle within an empty cask,

Our self-importance ruins its own scheme;
The solemn fop; significant and budge ;

In other eyes our talents rarely shown,
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ; Become at length so splendid in our own,
He says but little, and that little said

We dare not risk them into public view,
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. Lest they miscarry of what seems their due.
His wit invites you by his looks to come,

True modesty is a discerning grace, But when you knock it never is at home :

And only blushes in the proper place; 'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage,

But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear, Some handsome present, as your hopes presage ;

Where 'tis a shame to be asham'd t'appear : 'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove

Humility the parent of the first, An absent friend's fidelity and love;

The last by Vanity produc'd and nurs'd. But when unpackd, your disappointment groans The circle form'd, we sit in silent state, To find it stuff'u with brickbats, earth, and stones. Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate;

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, “ Yes, ma'am," and No, ma'am,” utter'd softly, In making known how oft they have been sick,

show And give us in recitals of disease

Ev'ry five minutes how the minutes go; A doctor's trouble, but without the fees;

Each individual suff'ring a constraint
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, Poetry may, but colors cannot, paint,
How an emetic or cathartic sped ;

As if in close committee on the sky,
Nothing is slightly touch’d, much less forgot, Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry;
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. And finds a changing clime a happy source
Now the disteinper, spite of draught or pill, Of wise reflection, and well-tim'd discourse.
Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill; We next inquire, but softly and by stealth,
And now-alas, for unforeseen mishaps !

Like conservators of the public health,
They put on a damp night-cap, and relapse ; Of epidemic throats, if such there are,
They thought they must have died, they were so bad; And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh.
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues,

Some fretful tempers wince at ev'ry touch, Filld up at last with interesting news, You always do too little, or too much:

Who danc'd with whom, and who are like to wed, You speak with life, in hopes to entertain,

And who is hang'u, and who is brought to bed :
Your elevated voice goes through the brain; But fear to call a more important cause,
You fall at once into a lower key,

As if 't were treason against English laws.
That's worse-the drone-pipe of an humblebee. The visit paid, with ecstasy we come,
The southern sash adınits too strong a light, As from a sev'n years' transportation, home,
You rise and drop the curtain—now 'tis night. And there resume an unembarrass'd brow,
He shakcs with cold-you stir the fire and strive Recov’ring what we lost we know not how,
To make a blaze-that's roasting him alive. The faculties, that seem'd reduc'd to nought,
Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish; Expression and the privilege of thought.
With sole—that's just the sort he would not wish. The reeking, roaring hero of the chase,
Ho takes what he at first profess'd to lothe,

I give him over as a desp'rate case.
And in due time feeds heartily on both ;

Physicians write in hopes to work a cure,
Yot still, o'erclouded with a constant frown, Never, if honest ones, when death is sure ;
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. And though the fox he follows may be tam'd,
Your hope to please him vain on ev'ry plan, A mere fox-follower never is reclaim'd.
Himself should work that wonder, if he can- Some farrier should prescribe his proper course,
Alas! his efforts double his distress,

Whose only fit companion is his horse ;
He likes yours little, and his own still less. Or if, deserving of a better doom,
Thus always teasing chers, always teas'd, The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom.
His only pleasure is—10 be displeas'd.

Yet ev'n the rogue that serves him, though he I pity bashful men, who feel the pain

stand, of fancied scorn and undeserv'd disdain,

To take his honor's orders, cap in hand, And bear the marks upon a blushing face

Prefers his fellow-grooms with much good sense, Of needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace. Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. Our sensibilities are so acule,

If neither horse nor groom affect the squire, The fear of being silent makes us mute.

Where can at last his jockeyship retire ? We sometimes think we could a speech produce O to the club, the scene of savage joys, Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose; The school of coarse good fellowship and noise ; But being tried, it dies upon the lip,

There, in the sweet society of those Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip:

Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose, Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,

Let him improve his talent if he can,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man.
Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd; Man's heart had been impenetrably seald,
It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd,

Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field

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