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But thou, beneath the randomi bield

| Mistake me not: no figures I exclude, O'clod or stane,

And but forbid intemperance, not food. Adorns the histie stibble field,

Who would with care some happy fiction frame, Unseen, alane.

So mimics truth, it looks the very same; There in thy scanty mantle clad,

Not rais'd to force, or feign'd in Nature's scorn,

But meant to grace, illustrate, and adorn. Thy soawie bosom sunward spread,

Important truths still let your fables hold, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ;

And moral mysteries with art unfold : But now the share up tears thy bed,

Ladies and beaux to please is all the task; And low thou lies!

But the sharp critic will instruction ask.

As veils transparent cover, but not bide, Such is the fate of artless maid,

Such metaphors appear, when right applied; Sweet flowret of the rural shade,

When thro' the phrase we plainly see the sense, By love's simplicity betray'd,

Truth with such obvious meanings will dispense. And guiltless trust,

The reader what is reason's due believes, Till she, like thee, all soil'd is laid

Nor can we call that false wbich not deceives: · Low i' the dust.

Hyperboles, so daring and so bold, Such is the fate of simple bard,

Disdaining bounds, are yet by rules controlld; On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd !

Above the clouds, but yet within our sight, Unskilful he to note the card

They mount with Truth, and make a tow'ring
Of prudent lore,

Aight;
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, Presenting things impossible to view,
And whelm him o'er!

They wander through incredible to true.

Falsehoods thus mix'd like metals are refin'd; Such fate to suffering Worth is giv'n,

And Truth, like silver, leaves the dross behind. Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,

Thus Poetry has ample space to soar, By human pride or cunning driv'n

Nor needs forbidden regions to explore; 'To Mis'ry's brink,

Such vaunts as his, who can with patience read, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heaven, Who thus describes his hero when he's deadHe ruin'd sink!

“ In heat of action slain, yet scorns to fall, E'en thou who mourn’st the Daisy's fate, But still maintains the war, and fights aThat fate is thine-no distant date: Stern ruin's plough-share drives elate

The noisy culverin, o'ercharg'd, lets fly, Full on thy bloom ;

And bursts, unaiming, in the rended sky; Till, crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Such frantic Aights are like a madman's dream, Shall be thy doom !

And nature suffers in the wild extreme.
The captive cannibal, opprest with chains,

Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, disdains, 20 An Essou non unnatural Flights in Of nature fierce, untameable, and proud, Poetry.

LANDSDOWNE. He bids defiance to the gaping crowd;

And spent at last, and speechless, as he lies, As when some image of a charming face, With fiery glances mocks their rage, and die. In living paint, an artist tries to trace,

This is the utmost stretch that nature can, He carefully consults each beauteous line, And all beyond is fulsome, false and rain. Adjusting to his object his design ;

The Roman wit, who impiously divides We praise the piece, and give the painter fame, | His hero and his gods to different sides, But as the bright resemblance speaks the dame: I would condemn, but that in spite of sense, Poets are limneis of another kind,

The admiring world still stands in his defence : To copy out ideas in the mind;

The gods permitting traitors to succeed, Words are the paint by which their thoughts Become not parties in an impious deed; are shown,

And by the tyrant's murder, we may find And Nature is their object to be drawn : That Cato and the gods were of a mind. The written picture we applaud or blame Thus forcing truth with such preposterous But as the just proportions are the same.

praise, Who, driven with ungovernable fire,

Our characters we lessen when we'd raise: Or void of art, beyond these bounds aspire, Like castles built by magic art in air, Gigantic forins and monstrous births alone That vanish at approach, such thoughts appear, Produce, which Nature shock'd disdains to But, rais'd on truth by some judicious hand, own.

As on a rock they shall for ages stand. By true reflection I would see my face; Our king return'd, and banishid peace restor'd, Why brings the fool a magnifying glass ? The Muse ran mad to see her exil'd lord ; “ But poetry in fiction takes delight,

On the crack'd stage the Bedlam heroes roard, And mounting in bold figures out of sight, And scarce could speak one reasonable word: Leaves truth behind in her audacious flight: Dryden himself, to please a frantic age, Fables and metaphors that always lie,

Was forc'd to let his judgement stoop to rage: And rash hyperboles that soar so high,

To a wild audience he conform'd his voice, And every ornament of verse must die." | Complied to custom, but not err'd thro' choice.

Deem then the people's, not the writer's sin, | A strict integrity, devoid of art;
Almansor's rage, and rants of Maximin; | The sweetest manners, and sincerest heart;
That fury spent in each elaborate piece,

A soul, where depth of sense and fancy meet; Hevies for fame with ancient Rome and Greece. A judgement brighten'd by the beans of wit Roscommon first, then Mulgrave rose, like Were ever yours: be what you were before, light,

Be still yourself; the world can ask no more.
To clear our darkness, and to guide our Aight:
With steady judgement, and in lofty sounds,
They gave us patterns, and they set us bounds.
The Stagyrite and Horace laid aside:
Inform'd by them, we need no foreign guide. I § 172. The Inquiry. Written in the last
Who seek from poetry a lasting name,

Century.
May from their lessons learn the road to fame;
But let the bold adventurer be sure

Amongst the myrtles as I walk'd,
That every line the test of truth endure;

Love and my sighs thus intertalk:d: On this foundation may the fabric rise,

“ Tell me," said I, in deep distress, Firm and unshaken, till it touch the skies.

“ Where may I find my shepherdess ?" From pulpits banish’d, from the court, from

“ Thou fool," said Love, “know'st thou not love,

this? Abandon'd Truth seeks shelter in the grove:

In every thing that's good, she is ; Cherish, ye Muses, the forsaken fair,

In yonder tulip go and seek, And take into your train this beauteous wan

There thou mayst find her lip, her cheek; derer.

In yon enamellid pansy by,
There thou shall have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud,

There wave the streamers of her blood; $171. To Mr. Spence, prefixed to the Essay

say In brightest lilies that there stand, on Pope's Odyssey.

PITT.

| The emblems of her whiter hand;

In yonder rising hill there smell "Tis done-restor’d by thy immortal pen,

Such sweets as in her bosom dwell : The critic's noble name revives again :

'Tis true," said he. And thereupon Once more that great, that injur'd name we see

I went to pluck them one by one, Shine forth alike in Addison and thee.

To make of parts an union; Like curs, our critics haunt the poet's feast,

But on a sudden all was gone. And feed on scraps refus’d by every guest;

With that I stopp d. Said Love, “ These be, From the old Thracian* dog they learn'd the

Fond man, reseinblances of thee; .
way

And as these flow'rs thy joy shall die,
To snarl in want, and grumble o'er their prey: E'en in the twinkling of an eye ;
As though they grudg'd themselves the joys

And all thy hopes of her shall wither,
they feel,

Like these short sweets that knit together." Vexd to be charm'd, and pleas'd against their

will. Sach their inverted taste, that we expect For faults their thanks, for beauties their neglect. 8 173. The Diverting History of John Gilpin; So the fell snake rejects the fragrant flow'rs,

showing how he went farther than he intended, And every poison of the field devours.

and came safe home again. Cowper. Like bold Longinus of immortal fame, You read your poet with a poet's flame; With his, your gen'rous raptures still aspire;

. | John Gilrin was a citizen The critic kindles when the bard's on fire.

Of credit and renown, Bat when some lame, some limping line de

limning line de. A train-band captain eke was he

Of famous London town.
mands
The friendly succour of your healing hands; John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear.
The feather of your pen drops balm around,
And plays and tickles, while it cures the

Though wedded we have been

These twice ten tedious years, yet we
wound.

No holiday have seen.
Wbile Pope's immortal labor we survey,
We stand all dazzled with excess of day; | To-morrow is our wedding-day,
Blind with the glorious blaze-to vulgar sight | And we will then repair
Twas one bright mass of undistinguish'd light; Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
Bat, like the tow'ring eagle, you alone

All in a chaise and pair,
Discern'd the spots and splendors of the sun.

To point out faults, yet never to offend; | My sister and my sister's child,
To play the critic, yet preserve the friend : | Myself and children three,
A life well spent, that never lost a day; | Will fill the chaise, so you inust ride
An easy spirít, innocently gay;

On horseback after we.
* Zoilus, so called by the ancients.

He soon replied, I do admire

| Now see him mounted once again Of woman kind but one;

Upon his nimble steed, And you are she, my dearest dear,

Full slowly pacing o'er the stones Therefore it shall be done.

With caution and good heed. I am a linen-draper bold,

But finding soon a smoother road As all the world doth know,

Beneath his well-shod feet, And my good friend the calender

The snorting beast began to trot, Will lend his horse to go.

Which gall'd him in his seat. Quoth Mistress Gilpin, That's well said; So, fair and softly, John he cried, And, for that wine is dear,

But John he cried in vain ; We will be furnish'd with our own,

That trot became a gallop soon, Which is both bright and clear.

In spite of curb and rein. John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;

So stooping down, as needs be must O'erjoy'd was he to find

Who cannot sit upright, That, though on pleasure she was bent, | He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, She had a frugal mind.

And eke with all his might. The morning came, the chaise was brought, His horse, who never in that sort But yet was not allow'd

Had handled been before, To drive up to the door, lest all

What thing upon his back had got Should say that she was proud.

Did wonder more and more. So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, Where they did all get in,

Away went hat and wig; Six precious souls, and all agog

He little dreamt, when he set out, To dash through thick and thin.

Of running such a rig. Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Were never folk so glad;

Like streamer long and gay, The stones did rattle underneath

Till, loop and button failing both, As if Cheapside were mad.

At lasi it few away. John Gilpin at his horse's side

Then might all people well discern Seiz'd fast the flowing mane :

The bottles he had slung; And up he got in haste to ride,

A bottle swinging at each side, But soon came down again :

As hath been said or sung. For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, His journey to begin,

Up flew the windows all : When turning round his head, he saw

And ev'ry soul cried out, Well done! Three customers come in.

As loud as he could bawl. So down he came; for loss of time,

Away went Gilpin-who but he ; Although it griev'd him sore,

His fame soon spread aroundYet loss of pence, full well he knew,

He carries weight! he rides a race! Would trouble him much more.

"Tis for a thousand pound. 'Twas long before the customers

And still as fast as he drew near Were suited to their mind;

'Twas wonderful to view When Betty screaming came down stairs, How in a trice the turnpike-men “ The wine is left behind !"

'Their gates wide open threw. Good lack! quoth he-yet bring it me, And now as he went bowing down My leathern belt likewise,

His reeking head full low, In which I bear my trusty sword

The bottles twain behind his back When I do exercise.

Were shatter'd at a blow. Now Mistress Gilpin, careful soul!

Down ran the wine into the road, Had two stone bottles found,

Most piteous to be seen, To hold the liquor that she lov'd,

Which made his horse's flanks to smoke And keep it safe and sound.

As they had basted been. Each bottle had a curling ear,

But still he seem'd to carry weight, Through which the belt he drew,

With leathern girdle brac'd ; And hung a bottle on each side,

For all might see the bottles' necks To make his balance true;

Still dangling at his waist. Then over all, that he might be

Thus all through merry Islington Equipp'd from top to toe,

These gambols he did play, His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, And till he came unto the Wash He mapfully did throw.

Of Edmonton so gay..

And there he threw the wash about

If wife should dine at Edmonton, On both sides of the way,

And I should dine at Ware. Just like unto a trundling mop,

So turning to his horse, he said, Or a wild-goose at play.

I am in haste to dine: At Edmonton his loving wife

'Twas for your pleasure you came here, From balcony espied

You shall go back for mine. Her tender husband, wond'ring much

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! To see how he did ride.

For which he paid full dear; Stop, stop, John Gilpin! here's the house For while he spake, a braying ass They all at once did cry:

Did sing most loud and clear: The dinner waits, and we are tird:

Whereat his horse did snort, as he Said Gilpin-So am I.

Had heard a lion roar; But yet his horse was not a whit

And gallop'd off with all his might, Inclin'd to tarry there;

As he had done before. For why? his owner had a house

Away went Gilpin, and away Full ten miles off, at Ware.

Went Gilpin's hat and wig; So like an arrow swift he flew,

He lost them sooner than at first, Shot by an archer strong;

For why? they were too big. So did he fly-which brings me to

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw The middle of my song.

Her husband posting down Away went Gilpin, out of breath,

Into the country far away, And sore against his will,

She pull'd out half a crown : Till at his friend's the calender's

And thus unto the youth she said His horse at last stood still.

That drove them to the Bell, The calender, amaz'd to see

This shall be yours when you bring back His neighbour in such trim,

My husband safe and well. Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,

The youth did ride, and soon did meet And thus accosted him:

John coming back amain, What news? what news? your tidings tell,

Whom in a trice he tried to stop Tell me you must and shall

By catching at his rein; Say why bare-headed you are come,

But not performing what he meant, Or why you come at all!

And gladly would have done, Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

The frighted steed he frighted more, And lor'd a timely joke ;

And made him faster run. And thus unto the calender

Away went Gilpin, and away Ia merry guise he spoke:

Went post-boy at his lieels, I came because your horse would come, The post-boy's horse right glad to miss And, if I well forebode,

The lumb’ring of the wheels. Ny hat and wig will soon be here,

Six gentlemen upon the road They are upon the road.

Thus seeing Gilpin fy, The calender, right glad to find

With post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, His friend in merry pin,

They rais'd the hue and cry:
Return'd him not a single word,
But to the house went in.

Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman !

Not one of them was mute; When straight he came with hat and wig, And all and each that pass'd that way A wig that flow'd beliind,

Did join in the pursuit. A hat not much the worse for wear,

And now the turnpike gates again Each comely in its kind.

Flew open in short space; He held them up, and in his turn

The toll-men thinking, as before, Thus show'd his ready wit:

That Gilpin rode a race. My head is twice as big as yours,

And so he did, and won it too, They therefore needs must fit.

For he got first to town, But let me scrape the dirt away

Nor stopp'd till where he first got up That hangs upon your face;

He did again get down.
And stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case.

Now let us sing, Long live the king,

And Gilpin, long live he; Said John, It is my wedding day;

And when he next doth ride abroad, And all the world would stare,

| May I be there to sec!

$174. An Evening Contemplation in a College, But Science now has filld their vacant mind

in Imitation of Gray's Elegy in a Country! With Rome's rich spoils and truth's exalted Church-yard.

DUNCOMBE.

views,

Fir'd them with transports of a nobler kind, The curfew tolls the hour of closing gates;

And bade them slight all females—but the With jarring sounds the porter turns the key; |

muse. Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits, And slowly, sternly, quits it though for me. Full many a lark, high towering to the sky,

Unheard, unheeded, greets th' approach of Now shine the spires beneath the paly moon,

light; And through the cloisters peace and silence | Full many a star, unseen by mortal eve. reign ;

With twinkling lustre, glimmers through Save where some fidler scrapes a drowsy tune,

the night. Or copious bowls inspire a jovial strain;

Some future Herring, who, with dauntless Save that in yonder cobweb-mantled room,

breast, Where sleeps a student in profound repose, | Rebellion's torrent shall like him oppose ; Oppress'd with ale, wide echoes thro' the gloom Some mute, unconscious Hardwicke here may The droning music of his vocal nose.

rest, Within those walls, where through the glim-! Some Pelham, dreadful to his country's foes. mering shade

From prince and people to command applause, Appear the pamphlets in a mouldering heap, 'Midst ermind peers to guide the high deEach in his narrow bed till morning laid,

bate, The peaceful fellows of the college sleep. To shield Britannia's and Religion's laws. The tinkling bell proclaiming early pray’rs, I

And steer with steady course the helm of The noisy servants rattling o'er their head,

stateThe calls of business, and domestic cares, Fate yet forbids ; nor circumscribes alone Ne'er rouse these sleepers from their downy Their growing virtues, but their crimes bed.

confines;

Forbids in Freedom's veil t'insult the throne ; No chattering females crowd their social fire,

Beneath her mask to hide the worst designs; No dread have they of discord and of strife; Unknown the names of husband and of sire, To fill the madding crowd's perverted mind Unfelt the plagues of matrimonial life. With “ pensions, taxes, marriages, and

Jews;" Oft have they bask'd beneath the sunny walls, Or shut the gates of heaven on lost mankind, Oft have the benches bow'd beneath their And wrest their darling hopes, their future weight,

views. How jocund are their looks when dinner calls! How smoke the cutlets on their crowded | Far from the giddy town's tumultuous strife, plate!

Their wishes yet have never learn'd to stray;

Content and happy in a single life, O! let not temperance, too disdainful, hear

| They keep the noiseless tenor of their way. How long their feasts, how long their dinners last:

E'en now their books from cobwebs to proNor let the fair, with a contemptuous sneer,

tect, On these unmarried men reflections cast! Enclos'd by doors of glass in Doric style,

On polish'd pillars rais'd with bronzes deck d, The splendid fortune and the beauteous face

1 They claim the passing tribute of a smile. (Themselves confess it, and their sires be

Oft are the authors' names, tho' richly bound, moan)

Mis-spelt by blundering binders' want of Too soon are caught by scarlet and by lace; These sons of science shine in black alone.

| And many a catalogue is strew'd around, [care,

To tell the admiring guest what books are Forgive, ye fair, th' involuntary fault,

there. If these no feats of gaiety display,

For who, to thoughtless ignorance a prey, Where through proud Ranelagh’s wide-echoing

| Neglects to hold short dalliance with a book? vault

Who there but wishes to prolong his stay, Melodious Frasi trills her quavering lay.

And on those cases casts a lingering look? Say, is the sword well suited to the band ?

Reports attract the lawyer's parting eyes; Does broider'd coat agree with sable gown Novels Lord Fopling and Sir Plume require; Can Mechlin laces shade a churchman's hand? |

For songs and plays the voice of Beauty crios, Or learning's votaries ape the beaux of town?

And Sense and Nature Grandison desire. Perhaps in these time-tottering walls reside For thee, who, mindful of thy lov'd comperry,

Some who were once the darling of the fair, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, Some who ofold could tastes and fashionsguide, If chance, with prying search, in future years,

Control the manager, and awe the player. Some antiquarian should inquire thy fate;

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