Imagens das páginas

Then croposick down the stairs he Alings, | Look at the cheeks-how lank and thin! Before his master's bell yet rings.

See, what a most preposterous chin! Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,

After remonstrance made in vain, By hoofs and wheels soon lull'd to sleep. I'll, says the painter, once again "But the city takes me then,

(If my good lord vouchsafes to sit) And the hums of busy men,

Try for a more successful hit:
Where throngs of train-band captains bold If you'll to-morrow deign to call,
In time of peace fierce meetings hold,

We'll have a piece to please you al}. .
With stores of stock-jobbers, whose lies To-morrow comes a picture's plac'd
Work change of stocks and bankruptcies; Before those spurious sons of taste-
Where bulls and bears alike contend

In their opinions all agree,
To get the cash they dare not spend.

This is the vilest of all three. Then let aldermen appear,

“ Know-to confute your envious pride" In scarlet robes, with chandelier,

(His lordship from the canvass cried), And city feasts and gluttony,

“ Know—that it is my real face,
With balls upon the lord-mayor's day; Where you could no resemblance trace:
Sights that young 'prentices reinember, I've tried you by a lucky trick,
Sleeping or waking, all November. ·

And prov'd your genius to the quick;
Then to the play-houses anon,

Void of all judgement, goodness, sense, If Quick, or Bannister be one;

Out, ve pretending varlets,-hence !" Or drollest Parsons, child of Drury,

The connoisseurs depart in haste,
Bawis out his damns with comic fury.

Despis’d, neglected, and disgrac'd.
And ever against hum-drum cares,
Sing me some of Dibdin's airs,
Married to his own queer wit,

1$ 215. The Modern Fine Gentleman, Written Such as my shaking sides may split,

in the Year 1746. In notes with many a jolly bout,

SOAME JENYNS. Near Beaufort Buildings oft roar'd out, With wagging curls and sinirk so cunning,

Quale portentum neque militaris His rig on many a booby running,

Daunia in latis alit esculetis, Exposing all the ways and phizzes

Nec Jubæ tellus generat, leonum
Or“ wags, and oddities, and quizzes ;".

Arida nutrix.
That Shuter's self might heave his head
From drunken snoozes, on a bed

Just broke from school, pert, impudent, and Of poi-house benches sprawid, and hear

raw, Such laughing songs as won the ear

Expert in Latin, more expert in taw, Of all the town, his slip to cover,

His honor posts o'er Italy and France, Whene'er be met 'em half-seas over.

Measures St. Peter's dome, and learns to dance; Freaks like these if thou canst give, Thence, having quick through various countries Fun, with thee I wish to live.

Glean'd all their follies and expos'd his own,
He back returns, a thing so strange all o'er,
As never ages past produc'd before;

A monster of such complicated worth, $ 214. The Picture. CUNNINGHAM. As no one single clime could e'er bring forth;

Half atheist, papist, gamester, bubble, rook, A PORTRAIT, at my lord's command Half fiddler, coachman, dancer, groom, and Completed by a curious hand,

cook, For dabblers in the nice virtù

Next, because business is now all the vogue, His lordship set the piece to view,

| And who'd be quite polite must be a rogue, Bidding their connoisseurships tell

In parliament he purchases a seat, Whether this work was finish'd well:

To make th'accomplish'd gentleman complete. Why, says the loudest, on my word,

There safe in self-sufficient impudence, "Tis not a likeness, good my lord;

Without experience, honesty, or sense, Nor, to be plain, for speak I must,

Unknowing in her interest, trade, or laws, Can I pronounce one feature just.

He vainly undertakes his country's cause: Another effort straight was made,

| Forth from his lips, prepar'd at all to rail, Another portraiture essay'd ;

Torrents of nonsense burst like bottled ale, The judges were again besought

* Though shallow, muddy; brisk, though Each to deliver what he thought.

mighty dull; Worse than the first, the critics bawl; Fierce, without strength; o'erflowing, though Oh what a mouth! how monstrous small !

not full.

* Parody on these lines of Sir John Denham :

Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull,
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.


Now quite a Frenchman in his garb and air, 1 or independence now he talks no more, His neck yok'd down with bag and solitaire, Nor shakes the senate with his patriot roar : The liberties of Britain he supports,

| But silent votes, and, with court trappings And storms at placeinen, ministers, and courts; Now in cropt greasy hair, and leather breeches, Eyes his own glitt'ring star, and holds his He loudly bellows out his patriot speeches;

tongue. Kings, lords, and commons ventures to abuse, In craft political a bankrupt made, Yet dares to show those ears he ought to lose. He sticks to gaming, as a surer trade; From hence to White's our virtuous Cato flies, Turns downright sharper, lives by sucking There sits with countenance erect and wise,

blood, And talks of games of whist, and pig-tail pies ; And grows, in short, the very thing he would: Plays all the night, nor doubts each law to break Hunts out young heirs who have their fortunes Himself unknowingly has help'd to make;

spent, Trembling and anxious, stakes his utinost groat, And levels them ready cash at cent. per cent.; Peeps o'er his cards, and looks as if he thought; Lays wagers on his own and others' lives, Next morn disowns the losses of the night, | Fights uncles, fathers, grandmothers, and Because the fool would fain be thought a bite. wires, Devoted thus to politics and cards,

Till Death at length, indignant to be made Nor mirth, nor wine, nor woinen he regards; The daily subject of his sport and trade, So far is ev'ry virtue from his heart,

Veils with his sable hand the wretch's eyes, That not a gen'rous vice can claim a part; And, groaning for the betts he loses by, he Nay, lest one human passion e'er should move His soul to friendship, tenderness, or love, , To Figg and Broughton * he commits his breast,

| $ 216. An Epistle, written in the Country, to To steel it to the fashionable test.

the Right Honorable the Lord Lorelace, Thus, poor in wealth, he labors to no end,

then in Town, September 1735. JENTNS. Wretched alone, in crowds without a friend; Insensible to all that's good or kind,

In days, my lord, when mother Time, Deaf to all merit, to all beauty blind;

Though now grown old, was in her prime,
For love too busy, and for wit too grave, When Saturn first began to rule,
A harden'd, sober, proud, luxuriant knave; And Jove was hardly come from school,
By little actions striving to be great,

How happy was a country life!
And proud to be, and to be thought, a cheat. How free from wickedness and strife!

And yet in this, so bad is his success, Then each man liv'd upon his farm,
That, as his fame improves, his rents grow less, And thought and did no mortal harm;
On parchment wings his acres take their Aight, On mossy banks fair virgins slept,
And bis unpeopl'd groves admit the light; | As harmless as the flocks they kept;
With his estate his interest too is done, Then love was all they had to do,
His honest borough seeks a warmer sun ; And nymphs were chaste, and swains war
For him now cash and liquor flows no more,

true. His independent roters cease to roar;

But now, whaterer poets write, And Britons soon must want the great defence, 'Tis sure, the case is alter'd quite : Of all his honesty and eloquence; .

Virtue no more in rural plains, But that the gen'rous youth, more anxious Or innocence, or peace remains; grown

But vice is in the cottage found,
For public liberty than for his own,

And country girls are oft unsound;
Marries some jointur'd, antiquated crone; Fierce party rage each village fires,
And boldly, when his country is at stake, With wars of justices and squires;
Braves the deep yawning gulf, like Curtius, Attorneys for a barley straw,
for its sake.

Whole ages hamper folks in law;
Quickly again distress'd for want of coin, And every neighbour's in a fame
He digs no longer in th' exhausted mine, About their rates, or tithes, or game:
But seeks preferment as the last resort, Some quarrel for their hares and pigeons,
Cringes each morn at levees, bows at court, And some for difference in religions :
And from the hand he hates, implores support. Some hold their parson the best preacher,
The minister, well pleas'd at small expense The tinker some a better teacher;
To silence so much rude impertinence, These, to the church they fight for stranger,
With squeeze and whisper yields to his de- Have faith in nothing but her dangers;

While those, a more believing people,
And on the venal list enrolld he stands : Can swallow all things—but a steeple.
A riband and a pension buy the slave;

But I, my lord, who, as you know,
This bribes the foot about him, that the knave. Care little how these matters go,
And now arriv'd at his meridian glory, And equally detest the strife
He sinks apace, despis'd by Whig and Tory; | And usual joys of country life,

• One, a celebrated prize-fighter; the other, a no less famous boxer.

Have by good forlune little share

| And, as the knight more tipsy waxes, Of its diversions, or its care :

We dawin all ministers and taxes. For seldom I with squires unite,

At last the ruddy sun quite suuk, Who hupt all day and drink all night,

The coachman tolerably drunk, Nor reckon wonderful inviting,

Whirling o'er billocks, ruts, and stones, A quarter-sessions, or cock-fighting :

Enough to dislocate one's bones, But then no farm I occupy,

We home return, a wondrous token With sheep to rot, and cows to die;

Of Heaven's kind care, with limbs unbroken. Nor rage I much, or much despair,

Afflict us not, ye gods, though sinners, Though in my hedge I find a snare;

With many days like this, or dinners! Nor view I, with due admiration,

But if civilities thus tease me, All the high honors here in fashion ;

Nor business nor diversions please me; The great commissions of the quorum,

You'll ask, my lord, how time I spend ? Terrors to all who come before 'em;

I answer, with a book or friend; Milit. carlet edg'd with gold,

The circulating hours dividing Or the white staff high-sheriffs hold;

'Twixt reading, walking, eating, riding: The representative's caressing,

But books are still my highest joy, The judge's bow, the bishops blessing; These earliest please, and latest cloy. Nor can I for my soul delight

Sometimes o'er distant climes I stray, In the dull feast of neighb'ring knight, By guides experienc'd taught the way; Who, if you send three days before,

The wonder of each region view, In white gloves meets you at the door,

From frozen Lapland to Peru; With superfuity of breeding

Bound o'er rough seas, and mountains bare,
First makes you sick, and then with feeding : Yet ne'er forsake my elbow chair.
Or if, with ceremony cloy'd,

Sometimes some fam'd historian's pen
You would next time such plagues avoid, Recalls past ages back again;
And visit without previous notice,

Where all I see, through every page, " Joha, John, a coach !-I can't think who Is but how men, with senseless rage, 'tis,"

Each other rob, destroy, and burn, My lady cries, who spies your coach

To serve a priest's, a statesman's turu : Ere you the avenue approach:

Though loaded with a different aim, “Lord, how unlucky-washing-day! Yet always asses much the same. And all the men are in the hay !"

Sometimes I view with much delight,
Entrance to gain is something hard,

Divines their holy gaine-cocks fight :
The dogs all bark, the gates are barr'd; Here faith and works, at variance set,
The yard's with lines of linen cross'd,, Strive hard who shall the vict'ry get;
The hall-door's lock'd, the key is lost : Presbytery and episcopacy,
These difficulties all o'ercome,

They fight so long, it would amaze ye:
We reach at length the drawing-room; Here free-will holds a fierce dispute
Then there's such trampling over-head, With reprobation absolute;
Madam you'd swear was brought to-bed : There sense kicks transubstantiation,
Miss in a hurry bursts her lock,

And reason pecks at revelation.
To get clean sleeves to hide her smock; With learned Newton now I fly
The servants run, the pewter clatters,

O'er all the rolling orbs on high,
My lady dresses, calls, and chalters;

Visit new worlds, and for a minute
The cook-maid raves for want of butter, This old one scorn, and all that's in it:
Pigs squeak, fowls scream, and green geese And now with lab'ring Boyle I trace

Nature through every winding maze;
Now after three hours' tedious waiting, The latent qualities admire
On all our neighbours' faults debating, Of vapors, water, air, and fire;
And having nine times view'd the garden, With pleasing adıniration see
In wbich there's nothing worth a farthing, Matter's surprising subtilty;
In comes my lady and the pudding;

As how the smallest lamp displays, "You will excuse, sir, on a sudden"

For miles around, its scatter'd rays; Then, that we may have four and four, Or how (the case more to explain) The bacon, fowls, and cauliflower

A fart", that weighs not half a grain, Their ancient unity divide,

The atmosphere will oft perfume The top one graces, one each side;

Of a whole spacious drawing-room. And by and by the second course

Sometimes I pass a whole long day Comes lagging like a distanc'd horse;

In happy indolence away, A salver then to church and king,

In fondly meditating o'er The butler sweats, the glasses ring:

Past pleasures, and in hoping more; The cloth remov'd, the toasts go round, Or wander through the fields and woods, Bawdy and politics abound;

| And gardens bath'd in circling foods ;

• See Boyle's Experiments.

There blooming flow'rs with rapture view, If hindrances obstruct thy way,
The sparkling gems of morning dew,

| Thy magnanimity display, Whence in my mind ideas rise

And let thy strength be seen : Of Celia's cheeks, and Chloe's eyes.

But, oh! if fortune fill thy sail
"Tis thus, my Lord, I, free from strife, With more than a propitious gale,
Spend an inglorious country life:

Take half thy canvass in.
These are the joys I still pursue,
When absent from the town and you ;
Thus pass long summer suns away,

$ 218. A Reflection on the foregoing Ode. Busily idle, calmly gay;

Cow PER Nor great, nor mean, nor rich, nor poor, Not having much, nor wishing more;

And is this all? Can reason do no more Except that you, when weary grown

Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the Of all the follies of the town,

shore ? And seeing in all public places

Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea, The same vain fops and painted faces,

The Christian has an art unknown to thee; Would sometimes kindly condescend

He holds no parley with unmanly fears, To visit a dull country friend :

Where duty bids he confidently steers; Here you'll be ever sure to meet

Faces a thousand dangers at her call, A hearty welcome, though no treat;

And trusting in his God surmounts them all. One who has nothing else to do, But to divert himself and you : A house, where quiet guards the door,

$ 219. The Shrubbery. Written in a Time of No rural wits smoke, drink, and roar;


CowPER. Choice books, safe horses, wholesomne liquor, Billiards, backgammon, and the vicar.

10 HAPPY shades ! to me unblest,

Friendly to peace, but not to ine;
How ill the scene that offers rest,

And heart that cannot rest, agree !

This glassy stream, that spreading pine, $ 217. Horace. Book II. Ode 10. Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,

Cow PER.

Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,

And please, if any thing could please.
Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach, But fix'd unalterable care
So shalt thou live beyond the reach

Foregoes not what she feels within ;
Of adverse fortune's pow's:

Shows the same sadness every where,
Not always teinpt the distant deep,

And slights the season and the scene. Nor always timorously creep

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
Along the treach'rous shore.

While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs,

Her animating smile withdrawn,
He that holds fast the golden mean,

Has lost it beauties and its pow'rs.
And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,

The saint or moralist should tread
Feels not the wapts that pinch the poor,

This moss-grown alley, musing slow; Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, They seek, like me, the secret shade, İmbitt'ring all his state.

But not, like me, to nourish woe.

Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste The tallest pines feel most the pow'r

Alike admonish not to roam :
Of wintry blast; the loftiest tow'r

These tell me of enjoyments past,
Comes heaviest to the ground:

And those of sorrows yet to come.
The bolts that spare the inountain's side
His cloud-capt eminence divide,
And spread the ruin round.

6 220. Mutual Forbearance necessary to the

Happiness of the Married State. Cow PER
The well-inform'd philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,

The Lady thus address'd her spouse
And hopes in spite of pain :

What a mere dungeon is this house !
If winter bellow from the north,

By no means large enough; and, was it, Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, And nature laughs again.

Those hangings with their worn-out Graces,

Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, What if thine heaven be overcast ?

Are such an antiquated scene,
The dark appearance will not last;

They overwhelm me with the spleen.
Expect a brighter sky:

Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, The God that strings the silver bow

Makes answer quite beside the mark; Awakes sometimes the muses loo,

No doubt, my dear; I bade him come, And lays his arrows by.

| Engag'd myself to be at home,

And shall expect him at the door

1 While earth wears a mantle of snow, Precisely when the clock strikes four.

The pinks are as fresh and as gay You are so deaf, the lady cried,

As the fairest and sweetest that blow (And rais'd her voice, and frown'd beside,) On the beautiful bosom of May. You are so sadly deaf, my dear,

See how they have safely survivid What shall I do to make you hear?

The frowns of a sky so severe; Dismiss poor Harry! he replies,

Such Mary's true love, that has liv'd Some people are more nice than wise;

Through many a turbulent year. For one slight trespass all this stir !

The charms of the late-blowing rose What if he did ride whip and spur?

Seem grac'd with a livelier bue, 'Twas but a mile-vour fav'rite horse

And the winter of sorrow best shows
Will never look one hair the worse.-

The truth of a friend such as you.
Well, I protest, tis past all bearing!
Child, I am rather hard of hearing!

$ 222. Boadicea, an Ode. CowPER. Yes, truly-one must scream and bawl; I tell you, you can't hear at all.

When the British warrior queen, Then with a voice exceeding low,

Bleeding from the Roman rods, No matter if you hear or no.

Sought, with an indignant inien, Alas! and is domestic strife,

Counsel of her country's gods; That sorest ill of human life,

Sage, beneath a spreading oak, A plague so little to be fear'd,

Sat the Druid, hoary chief, As to be wantonly incurr'd;

Ev'ry burning word he spoke To gratify a fretful passion,

Full of rage, and full of grief : On every trivial provocation ?

Princess ! if our aged eyes The kindest and the happiest pair

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, Will find occasion to forbear,

'Tis because resentment ties And something ev'ry day they live,

All the terrors of our tongues. To pity, and perhaps forgive.

Rome shall perish-write that word But if infirmities that fall

In the blood that she has spilt; In common to the lot of all,

Perish hopeless and abhorr'd, A blemish, or a sense impair’d,

Deep in ruin as in guilt. Are crimes so little to be spard,

Rome, for empire far renown'd Then farewell all that must create

Tramples on a thousand states, The comfort of the wedded state.

Soon her pride shall kiss the groundInstead of harmony, 'tis jar,

Hark! the Gaul is at her gates. And tumult, and intestine war.

Other Romans shall arise, The love that cheers life's latest stage,

Heedless of a soldier's name; Proof against sickness and old age,

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Presery'd by virtue from declension,

Harmony the path to fame. Becomes not weary of attention;

Then the progeny that springs But lives when that exterior grace

From the forests of our land, Which first inspir'd the fame, decays.

Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, 'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,

Shall a wider world command. To faults compassionate or blind,

Regions Cæsar never knew And will with sympathy endure

Thy posterity shall sway, Those evils it would gladly cure:

Where his eagles never few, But angry, coarse, and harsh expression,

None invincible as they. Shows Love to be a mere profession,

Such the bard's prophetic words, Proves that the heart is none of his,

Pregnant with celestial fire, Or soon expels him if it is.

Bending as he swept the chords

or his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride,

Felt them in her bosom glow, $221. The Winter Nosegay. Cowper.

Rush'd to battle, fought and died, What nature, alas ! has denied

Dying hurl'd them at the foe. To the delicate growth of our isle,

Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Art has in a measure supplied,

Heaven awards the vengeance due; And winter is deck'd with a smile.

Empire is on is bestow'd,
See, Mary, what beauties I bring

Shame and ruin wait for you.
From the shelter of that sunny shed,
Where the flow'rs have the charms of the

$ 223. Heroism. Cowper.

There was a time when Ætna's silent fire Though abroad they are frozen and dead. Slept uuperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire ; 'Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets,

When, conscious of no danger from below, Where Flora is still in her prime,

She tower'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snów; A fortress to which she retreats

No thunders shook with deep intestine sound From the cruel assaults of the clime. The blooming groves that girdled her around;

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