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To see ten thousand baneful arts combined
320 Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare: Sure, scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy; Sure, these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah, turn thine eyes 325 Where the poor houseless shivering female lies: She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn;
330 Now lost to all—her friends, her virtue, fledNear her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour When idly, first, ambitious of the town,
335 She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train,
350 Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around,
360 The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only sheltered thefts of harmless love.
Good Heaven! what sorrows gloomed that parting day That called them from their native walks away, When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,
365 Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, And took a long farewell, and wished in vain For seats like these beyond the western main, And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 370 The good old sire the first prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
375 The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for a father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And blest the cot where every pleasure rose, And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear, Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief.
O Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 385 How ill exchanged are things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own:
390 At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe;
Even now the devastation is begun,
RETALIATION Of old, when Scarron his companions invited, Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united; If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish, Let each guest bring himself—and he brings the best dish: Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains ; 5 Our Burke shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains; Our Will shall be wild-fowl of excellent flavor, And Dick with his pepper shall heighten the savor; Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall obtain; And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain; Our Garrick 's a salad, for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree; To make out the dinner, full certain I am That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb, That Hickey 's a capon, and, by the same rule,
15 Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool. At a dinner so various, at such a repast, Who'd not be a glutton and stick to the last? Here, waiter, more wine! let me sit while I'm able, Till all my companions sink under the table; Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, Let me ponder and tell what I think of the dead.
Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such
Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
Here lies David Garrick: describe me who can
55 An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man; As an actor, confest without rival to shine; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line. Yet with talents like these, and an excellent heart, The man had his failings, a dupe to his art: Like an ill-judging beauty his colours he spread, And beplastered with rouge his own natural red; On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting'T was only that when he was off he was acting. With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
65 He turned and he varied full ten times a day: Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick If they were not his own by finessing and trick; He cast off his friends as a huntsman his pack, For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back. 70 Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came, And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; Till, his relish grown callous, almost to disease, Who peppered the highest was surest to please. But let us be candid, and speak out our mind:
75 If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind;