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One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed,

Can all desert in sciences exceed.

'Tis great delight to laugh at some men's ways; ROBERT MARQUIS OF NORMANBY.

But a much greater to give merit praise.
Our morning's gay and shining ;

The days our joys declare ;
At evening no repining;
And night's all void of care.

A fond transported mother

Where'er my foolish bent to public good, Was often heard to cry,

Or fonder zeal for some misguided prince, Oh, where is such an other

Shall make my dangerous humour understood, So bless'd by Heaven as I?

For changing ministers for men of sense : A child at first was wanting ;

When, vainly proud to show my public care, Now such a son is sent,

And ev'n asham'd to see three nations fool'd, As parents most lamenting

I shall no longer bear a wretched share In him would find content.

In ruling ill, or being over-rul'd : A child of whom kind Heaven

Then, as old lechers in a winter's night Not only hope bestows,

To yawning hearers all their pranks disclose ; But has already given

And what decay deprives them of delight, Him all our hopes propose.

Supply with vain endeavours to impose : The happy sire's possessing

Just so shall I as idly entertain His share in such a boy,

Some stripling patriots, fond of seeming wise; Adds still a greater blessing

Tell how I still could great employments gain, To all my other joy.

Without concealing truths, or whispering lies! But ah! this shiny weather

Boast of succeeding in my country's cause Became too hot at last ;

Ev'n against some almost too high to blame ; Black clouds began to gather,

Whom, when advanc'd beyond the reach of laws, And all the sky o'ercast.

I oft' had ridiculd to sense and shame: So fierce a fever rages,

Say, I resisted the most potent fraud ; We all fie drown'd in tears;

But friendless merit openly approv'd; And dismal sad presages

And that I was above the being awd Come thundering in our ears.

Not only by my prince, but those hc lov'd: The doubts that made us languish

Who knows but my example then may please Did worse, far worse than kill.

Such noble, hopeful spirits as appear Yet, oh, with all their anguish,

Willing to slight their pleasures and their ease, Would we had doubted still !

For fame and honour? till at last they hear, But why so much digression,

After much trouble bome, and danger run, This fatal loss to show?

The crown assisted, and my country serv'd ; Alas, there's no expression

Without good fortune I had been undone, Can tell a parent's woc !

Without a good estate I might have starv'd.



With age decay'd, with courts and business tir'd,
Caring for nothing but what ease requir'd,
Too serious now a wanton Muse to court,
And from the critics safe arriv'd in port;
I little thought of lanching forth again,
Ainidst adventurous rovers of the pen ;
And, after some small undeserv'd success,
Thus hazarding at last to make it less.

Encoiniums suit not this censorious time,
Itself a subject for satiric rhyme;
Ignorance honour'd, Wit and Worth defam'd,
Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blam'd.
But to this genius, join'd with so much art,
Such various learning mix'd in every part,
Poets are bound a loud applause to pay;
Apollo bids it, and they must obey.

And yet so wondrous, so sublime a thing,
As the great Mjad, scarce could make me sing ;
Except I justly could at once commend
A good companion, and as firm a friend.

A Famous assembly was summond of late :
To crown a new Laureat, came Phabus in state,
With all that Montfaucon himself could desire,
His bow, laurel, harp, and abundance of fire.
At Bartlemew-fair ne'er did bullies so justle,
No country-election o'er made such a bustle:
From garret, mint, tavern, they all post away,
Some thirsting for sack, some ambitious of bay.
All came with full contidence, flush'd with vain

Froin Cibber and Durfey, to Prior and Pope.
Pha:bus smikd on these last, but yet ne'ertheless,
Said, he hop'd they had got enough by the press.
With a huge inountain-load of heroical lumber,
Which from Tonson to Curll every press had groau'd



Came Blackmore, and cry'd, “Look, all these are And so spying one who came only to gaze, my lays,

A hater of verse, and despiser of plays; Bat at present I beg you'd but read my Essays." To him in great form, without any delay, Lampooners and critics rush'd in like a tide,

('Though a zealous fanatic) presented the bay, Stern Dennis and Gildon came first side-by side. All the wits stood astonish'd at hearing the god Apollo confess'd that their lashes had stings, So gravely pronounce an election so odd; But beadles and hangmen were never chose kings. And though Prior and Popc only laugh'd in his face, Steele long had so cunningly manag'd the town,

Most others were ready w sjuk in the place. He could not be blam'd for expecting the crown; Yet some thought the vacancy open was kept, Apolo demurr'd as to granting his wish,

Concluding the bigot would never accept : But wish'd him good luck in his project of fish. But the hypocrite told them, he well understood, Lame Congreve, unable such things to endure,

Though the function was wicked, the stipend was Of Apollo begg'd either a crown or a cure;

good. To refuse such a writer, Apollo was loth,

At last in rush'd Eusden, and cry'd, “ Who shall And almost inclin'd to have granted him both.

have it, When Buckingham came, he scarce card to be Apollo begg'd pardon, and granted his claim;

But I, the true laureat, to whom the king gave it?" seen, Till Phabus desir'd his old friend to walk in;

But vow'd though, till then he ne'er heard of his
But a laureat peer had never been known,
The commoners claim'd that place as their own.
Yet if the kind god had been ne'er so inclin'd
To break an old rule, yet he well knew his mind,
Who of such preferinent would only make sport,

And laugh'd at all suitors for places at court.
Notwithstanding this law,yet Lansdowne was nam'd, Hear, for once, a poet preach.

Since in vain our parsons teach,
But Apollo with kindness his indolence blam'd,

Vice has lost its very name, And said he would choose him, but that he should

Skill and cozenage thought the same; fear

Only playing well the game.
An employment of trouble he never could bear.

Foul contrivances we see
A prelate' for wit and for cloquence fam'd, Call'd but ingenuity:
Apollo soon miss'd, and he needs not be nam’d; Ample fortunes often made
Since, anidst a whole bench, of which some are so Out of frauds in every trade,

Which an aukward child afford
No one of them shines so learn'd and polite. Enough to wed the greatest lord.

The miser starves to raise a son, To Shippen, Apollo was cold with respect,

But, if once the fool is gone, Since he for the state could the Muses neglect :

Years of thrift scarce serve a day, But said, in a greater assembly he shin'd,

Rake-hell squanders all away.
And places were things he had ever declin'd.

Husbands seeking for a place,
Trapp, Young, and Vanbrugh, expected reward, Or toiling for their pay;
For some things writ well : but Apollo declar'd, While their wives undo their race
That one was too fat, the other too rough,

By petticoats and play:
And the third sure already had places enough. Breeding boys to drink and Jice,

Carrying girls to comedies,
Pert Budgell came next, and, demanding the bays, Where mamma's intrigues are shown,
Said, “Those works must be good, which had Addi- Which ere long will be their own.
son's praise;"

Having first at sermon slept,
But Apollo reply'd, “Child Eustace, 'tis known, l'edious day is weekly kept
Most authors will praise whatsoever's their own.'

By worse hypocrites than men, When Philips came forth, as starch as a Quaker,

Till Monday comes to cheat again. Whose simple profession's a Pastoral-maker;

Ev'n among the noblest-born,

Moral virtue is a scorn;
Apoilo advis'd him from playhouse to keep,
And pipe to nought else but his dog and his sheep.

Gratitude, but rare at best,

And fidelity a jest.
Haghes, Fenton, and Gay, came last in the train,

All our wit but party-mocks,
Too modest to ask for the crown they would gain: All our wisdom raising stocks :
Phabus thought them too bashful, and said they counted folly to defend
Fould need

Sinking side, or falling friend,
Mare boldness, if ever they hop'd to succeed. Long an officer may serve,

Prais'd and wounded, he may starre :
Apollo, now driren to a cursed quandary,
Was wishing for Swift, or the fam'd lady Mary:

No receipt, to make him rise,
Nay, had honest Tom Southerne but been within

Like inventing loyal lies. call

We, whose ancestors have shin'd

In arts of peace, and fields of fame,
But at last he grew wanton, and laugh'd at them all :

To ill and idleness inclin'd,
Dr. Atterbury, bishop of Rochester.

Now are grown a public shaine.

Fatal that intestine jar,
Which produc'd our civil war!

Ever since, how sad a race!

WRETCHED mankind ! void of both strength and Senseless, violent, and base !

Dextrous at nothing but at doing ill!
In merit humble, in pretensions high,
Among them none, alas! more weak than I,

And non

more blind : though still worthless

The best I ever spoke, or ever wrote. (thought BANISHED TO BRUSSELS.

But zealous heat exalts the humblest mind;
I Peel a strange impulse, a strong desire, Within my soul such strong impulse I find
(For whut vain thoughts will not a Muse inspire?) The heavenly tribute of due praise to pay:
To sing on lofty subjects, and to raise

Perhaps 'tis sacred, and I must obey.
My own low fame, by writing James's praise.
Oft' have we heard the wonders of his youth,

Yet such the subjects, various, and so high, Observ'd those seeds of fortititude and truth,

Stupendous wonders of the Deity!

Miraculous effects of boundless power !
Which since have spread so wide, so wondrous high,
The good distress'd beneath that shelter lie.

And that as boundless goodness sbining more! In arms more active than ev'n war requird,

All these so numberless my thoughts attend, And in the midst of mighty chiefs admir'd.

Oh where shall I begin, or ever end? Of all Heaven's gifts, no temper is so rare,

But on that theme which ev'n the wise abuse, As so much courage mix'd with so much care. So sacred, so sublime, and so abstruse, When martial fire makes all the spirits boil, Abruptly to break off, wants po excuse. And forces youth to military toil; No wonder it should fiercely then engage :

While others vainly strive to know thee more, Women themselves will venture in a rage:

let me in silent reverence adore; But in the midst of all that furious heat,

Wishing that human power were higher raisid, While so intent on actions brave and great,

Only that thine might be more nobly prais'd! For others' lives to feel such tender fears,

Thrice happy angels in their high degree,
And, careless of his own, to care for theirs,

Created worthy of extolling thee!
Is that composure which a hero makes,
And which illustrious York alone partakes,
With that great man“, whose fame has flown so

Who taught him first the noble art of war. [far,

Oh, wondrous pair! whom equal virtues crown, Oh worthy of each other's vast renown!

Hope to mend Shakespeare! or to match his style! None but Turenne with York could glory share, And none but York deserves so great a master's Too fond of fame, our poet soars too high,

'T'is such a jest would make a Stoic smile.

Yet freely owns he wants the wings to fly :
Scarce was he come to bless his native isle,

So sensitle of his presumptuous thought,
And reap the soft reward of glorious toil,
But, like Alcides, still new dangers call

That he confesses while he does the fault;

This to the fair will no great wonder prove,
His courage forth, and still be vanquish'd all.
At sea, that bloody scene of boundless rage,

Who oft in blushes yield to what they love.
Where floating castles in tierce fanies engage,

Of greatest actions, and of noblest men, (Where Mars himself does frowningly command,

This story most deserves a poet's pen : And by lieutenants only fights at land)

For who cau wish a scene more justly fam'd, For his own fame howe'er he fought before,

When Rome and mighty Julius are but nam'd!

That state of heroes who the world had brar'd! For England's honour yet he ventur'd more. In those black times, when, faction raging high, | Yet loth he was to take so rough a way,

That wondrous man who such a state enslar'd! Valour and Innocence were forc'd to fly, With York they fled; but not deprest his mind,

And after govern'd with so mild a sway. Still, like a diamond in the dust, it shin'd.

At distance now of seventeen bundred years,

Methinks a lovely ravisher appears ;
When from afar his drooping friends beheld
How in distress he ev'n himself excell'd;

Whom, though forbid by virtue to excuse,
How to his envious fate, his country's frown,

A nynıph might pardon, and could scarce refase.
His brother's will, he sacrific'd his own;
They rais'd their hearts, and never doubted more
But that just Heaven would all our joys restore.
So when black clouds surround Heaven's glorious

Tempestuous darkness covering all the place,
If we discern but the least glimmering ray

WHITAEr is Roman honour gone?
Of that bright orb of fire which rules the day,

Where is your ancient virtuc now? The cheerful sight our fainting courage warins,

That valour, which so bright has shone, Fix'd upon that we fear no future harms.

And with the wings of conquest flown,

Must to a haughty master bow:

Who, with our toil, our blood, and all we have beside, * The mareschal de Turenne.

Gorges his ill-got power, bis humour,and his pride






Fearless he will his life expose;
So does a lion or a bear.

To kill a man, llis very virtues threaten those,

The greatest since mankind began? Who more his bold ambition fear.

Learned, eloquent, and wise, How stupid wretches we appear,

Generous, merciful, and brave! Who round the world for wealth and empire roam,

Yet never, never think what slaves we are at home! Yet not too great a sacrifice,
Did, men for this together join,

The liberty of Rome to save,
Quitting the free wild life of Nature ?
What other beast did e'er design

But will not goodness claim regard,
The setting up his fellow-creature,

And does not worth Jeserve reward?
And of two mischiefs choose the greater?
Oh! rather than be slaves to bold imperious men, Does not their country lie at stake?
Give us our wildness, and our woods, our huts and Can they do too much for ber sake?
caves again.

There, secure from lawless sway,

Though dreadful be this doom of fate, Out of Pride or Envy's way ;

Just is that power which governs all :
Living up to Nature's rules,

Better this wondrous man should fall,
Not deprav'd by knaves and fools:
Happily we all should live and harmless as our sheep,

Than a most glorius, virtuous state.
And at last as calınly die as infants fall asleep.




How great a curse has Providence Lo! to prevent this mighty empire's doom,

Thought fit to cast on human kind! From bright unknown abodes of bliss I come,

Learning, courage, cloqnence, The awful genius of majestic Rome.

The gentlest nature, noblest mind,

Were intermixt in one alone;
Great is her danger : but I will engage

Yet in one moincnt overthrown.
Some few, the master-souls of all this age,
To do an act of just heroic rage.

Could chance, or seuscless atoms, join

To form a soul so great as his ?
'Tis hard, a man so great should fall so low; Or would those powers we hold divine
More hard to let so brave a people bow

Destroy their own chietmaster-piece ?
To one themselves have rais'd, who scorns them where so much difficulty lies,

The doubtful are the only wise.
Yet, oh! I grieve that Brutus should be stain'd, And, what must more perplex our thoughts,
Wbose life, excepting this one act, remain'd Great Jove the best of Romans sends,
So pure, that future times will think it feign'd. To do the very worst of faults,
But only he can make the rest combine;

And kill the kindest of his friends. The very life and soul of their design,

All this is far above our reach,
The centre, where those mighty spirits join.

Whatever priests presume to preach.
C'nthinking ren no sort of scruples make ;
Others do ill, only for mischiet's sake;
Bat er'n the best are guilty hy mistake.

Thus some for envy, or revenge, intend

TO MARCUS BRUTUS. To bring the bold usurper to his end :

Our scene is Athens. And great Athens nam'd, But for his country Brutus stabs bis friends

What soul so dull as not to be intiam'd ?
Methinks, at mentioning that sacred place,
A reverend awe appears in every face,
For men so fam'd, of such prodigious parts,
As taught the world all sciences and arts.

Amidst all these ye shall behold a man

The most applauded since mankind began, TELL, oh! tell me, whence arise

Out-shining ev'n those Greeks ' ho most excel, These disorders in our skies?

Whose life was one fix'd course of doing well. Rome's great genius wildly gaz'd,

Oh! who can therefore without tears attend And the gods seein all amaz'd.

On such a life, and such a fatal end?

But here our author, besides other faults Know, in sight of this day's Sun,

Of ill expressions, and of vulgar thoughts, Such a deed is to be done,

Commits one crime that needs an act of grace, Black enough to shroud the light

And breaks the law of unity of place: Of all this world in dismal night.

Yet to s ch noble patriots, ofercome

By factious violence, and banish'd Rome,

Athens alone a fit retreat could yield;
What is this deed?

And where can Brutus fall, but in Philippi beldi






Some critics judge ev'n love itself too mean That free-born spirits should obey
A care to mix in such a lofty scene,

Wretches, who know not how to sway!
And with those ancient bards of Greece believe
Friendship has stronger charms to please or grieve:

Late we repent our hasty choice,
But our more amorous poet, finding love

In vain bemoan so quick a turn. Amidst all other cares, still shines above,

Hark all to Rome's united voice! Lets not the best of Romans end their lives

Better that we a while had borne

Ev'n all those ills which most displease, Without just softness for the kindest wives. Yet, if ye think his gentle nature such

Than sought a cure far worse than the disease. As to have soften'd this great tale too much, Soon will your eyes grow dry, and passion fall, When ye reflect 'tis all but conjugal.

This to the few and knowing was addrest; And now 'tis fit I should salute the rest. Most reverend dull judges ofthe pit,

Our vows thus cheerfully we sing, By Nature curs'd with the wrong side of wit !

While martial music fires our blood; You need not care, whate'er you see to-night, Let all the neighbouring echoes ring How ill some players act, or poets write ;

With clamours for our country's good: Should our mistakes be never so notorious, Ani, for reward, of the just gods we claim You'll have the joy of being rrore censorious : A life with freedom, or a di ath with fame. Show your small talent then, let that suffice ye; But grow not vain upon it, I advise ye:

May Rome be freed from wars alarms, Each petty critic can objections raise,

And taxes beavy to be borne; The greatest skill is knowing when to praise. May she beware of foreign arms,

And send them back with noble scorn : And, for reward, &c.

May she no more confide in friends,

Who nothing farther understood,

Than only, for their private ends,
Dark is the maze poor mortals tread;

To waste her wealth, and spill her blood: Wisdom itself a guide will need:

And for reward, &c. We little thought, when Cæsar bled,

Our senators, great Jove, restrain That a worse Cesar would succeed..

From private piques, they prudence call; And are we under such a curse,

From the low thoughts of little gain, We cannot change but for the worse ?

And hazarding the losing all :
With fair pretence of foreign force,

And, for reward, &c.
By which Rome must herself enthral;
These, without blushes or remorse,

The shining arms with haste prepare,
Proscribe the best, impoverish all.

Then to the glorious combat fly; The Gauls themselves, our greatest foes,

Our minds unclogg'd with farther care, Could act no mischiefs worse than those.

Except to overcome or die :

And, for reward, &c.
That Julius, with ambitious thoughts,
Had virtues too, his foes could find ;

They fight, oppression to increase,
These equal him in all his faults,

We for our liberties and laws; But never in his noble mind.

It were a sin to doubt success,

When freedoin is the noble cause : 5 See the first and second choruses, in the Poems And, for reward, of the just gods we claim of Mr. Pope.

A life with freedom, or a death with fame.

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