Mine, as a foe profefs'd to falfe pretence, F. You're ftrangely proud. P. So proud, I am no flave: Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, 210 O facred weapon! left for truth's defence, The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods muft guide: Reverent I touch thee! but with honeft zeal; All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the prefs, When black ambition ftains a public caufe, Imitated in the Manner of Dr. SWIFT. "TIS true, my Lord, I gave my word, I would be with you, June the third; Chang'd it to Auguft, and (in fhort) Have kept it---as you do at Court. You humour me when I am sick, Why not when I am (plenetick? In town what objects could I meet? The fhops thut up in every street, And funerals blackening all the doors, And yet more melancholy whores : And what a duft in every place! And a thin court that wants your face, And fevers raging up and down, And W and H** both in town! "The dog-days are no more the cafe." My Lord, your favours well I know; Pray take them, fir---Enough's a feast : » "Eat fome, and pocket up the reft" What, rob your boys? thofe pretty rogues. A Monarch's fword, when mad vain-glory" No, fir, you ll leave them to the hogs." draws, Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fcar, 230 Not-Boileau turn the feather to a star. Not fo, when, diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's fhrine, 235 Her prieftels Mufe forbids the Good to die, And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings; 1 Law; Here, laft of Britons! let your names be read; 250 Are none, nene living? let me praise the Dead, And for that Caufe which made your fathers fhine, Fall by the Votes of their degenerate line. F. Alas, alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Effays on Man. 255 VOL. VI. Thus fools with compliments befiege ye, Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me A weazel once made shift to flink In at a corn-loft through a chink; But baving amply stuff'd his skin, Could not get out as he got in; Which one belonging to the Houfe ('Twas not a Man, it was a Mouse) Obferving, cry'd, " You 'fcape not fo, "Lean as you came, fir, you must go." I'm no fuch beaft, nor his relation; Sir, you may fpare your application, 3 G 5 10 15 201 25 30 35 40 45 55 60 Nor one that temperance advance, All that may make me none of mine. "Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child, Who prais'd my modefty, and fmil'd. Give me, I cry'd, (enough for me) My bread, and independency! The latter Part of SATIRE VI.* O Charming noons and nights divine! Or when I fup or when I dine, My friends above, my folks below, Chatting and laughing all-a-row, The beans and bacon fet before 'em, The grace-cup ferv'd with all decorum : Each willing to be pleas'd, and please, And even the very dogs at eafe! Here no man prates of idle things, How this or that Italian fings, A neighbour's madness, or his fpoufe's, Or what's in either of the Houses: But fomething much more our concern, And quite a fcandal not to learn:... Which is the happier, or the wifer, A man of merit, or a mifer? Whether we ought to chute our friends, For their own worth, or our own ends? What good, or better, we may call, rq. And what, the very beft of all? 65 70 "Both Immall and great, both you and I : "(This doctrine, friend, I learn'd at Court)." 180 May yield, God knows, to strong temptation. 185 195 Palladian walls, Venetian doors, · Groteico Toofs, and ftucco floors, But let it (in a word) be faid, The Moon was up, and Men a-bed, The napkin's white, the carpet red: The guests withdrawn had left the treat, And down the mice fate, tête à tête.” Our courtier walks from difh to dish, Taftes for his friend of fowl and fifh, 135 Tells all their names, lays down the law, Que ça eit bon! Ah grâtez ça! "That jelly's rich, this malm ey healing, Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in." Was ever fuch a happy fwain? 140 He stuffs and wills, and stuffs again. My Lord alone knows how to live." 145 No fooner faid but from the hall 150 Rufh chaplain, butler, dogs and all. For your damn'd stucco has no chink.) An't pleate your honour, quoth the Peafant, "This farte deffert is not to pleasant: Our friend Dan Prior told (you know) A tale extremely ". · 2 ρτορος : Name a town-life, and in a trice 155 Give me again my hollow tree, He had a ftory of two mice. "A Cruft of Bread, and Liberty!" 190 200 205 210 215 220 Once on a time (fo run the Fable) * See the foft part in Swift's Poems. Ab found no more thy foft alarms, Nor circle fober fifty with thy charms! Mother too fierce of dear defires Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires. To number five direct your doves, There spread round Murray all your blooming loves; Noble and young, who ftrikes the heart With every sprightly, every decent part; Equal, the injur'd to defend, To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend. He with a hundred arts refin'd, Shall ftretch thy conquefts over half the kind; To him each rival fhall fubmit, Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then fhall thy form the marble grace, (Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face: His houfe, embofom'd in the grove, Sacred to focial life and focial love, Shail glitter o'er the pendent green, Where Thames reflects the vifionary scene: Thither the filver-founding lyres Shall call the fmiling loves, and young de fires; There, every Grace and Mufe fall throng, For me the vernal garlands bloom no more, Adieu! fond hope of mutual fire, The ftill-believing, ftili renew'd defire; Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl, And all the kind deceivers of the foul! But why? ah tell me, ah too dear! Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear? Why words fo flowing, thoughts fo free, Stop, or turn nonfenfe, at one glance of thee? Thee, drefs'd in fancy's airy beam, Abfent I follow through th' extended dream; Now, now I cease, I clafp thy charms, And now you burft (ah, cruel!) from my A STANDISH AND TWO PENS. YES, I beheld th' Athenian Queen Descend in all her fober charms; "And take (she said, and smil'd ferene) "Take at this hand celeftial arms. "Secure the radiant weapons wield; "This golden lance shall guard deiert, "And it a vice dares keep the field, "This fteel fhall ftab it to the heart." Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell, "What well? what weapon? (Flavia cries) "But, friend, take heed who you attack; "You'll bring a houfe (I mean of Peers) "Red, blue, and green, nay white and black, "Land all about your ears. "You'd write as smooth again on glass, "Athenian Queen! and fober charms! "Come, if you'll be a quiet fou.. "That dares tell neither truth nor lies "I'll lift you in the harmless roll "Of those that fing of these poor eyes. 3 G 2 EPISTLE то ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD, AN D EARL MORTIMER, SINT to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnell's Then fcorn to gain a friend by fervile ways, SUCH were the notes thy once-loved poet fun Be not (exalted to whate'er degree) 'Till death untimely ftopp'd his tuneful tongue. Oh juft beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd"! Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear, (A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear) 10 Afham'd of any Friend, not ev'n of Me: FRESNOY'S ART OF PAINTING. 10 15 Recall thofe nights that clos'd thy toil fome days, 15 THIS verfe be thine, my friend, nor thou re Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays, Who, careless now of intereft, fame, or fate, 20 And fure, if aught below the feats divine 30 In vain to deferts thy retreat is made; well. Ev'n now, the fhades thy evening-walk with bays (No hireling fhe, no proftitute to praise): fee, Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he. fufe This, from no venal or ungrateful mufe. Smit with the love of fifter-arts we came, fare-How oft in pleafing tasks we wear the day, 35 With thee on Raphael's monument I mourn, Or wait infpiring dreams at Maro's urn: With thee repofe, where Tully once was laid, Or feek fome ruin's formidable fhade: While fancy brings the vanifh'd piles to view, And builds imaginary Rome anew. Here thy well-ftudied marbles fix our eye; A fading Frelco here demands a figh: Each heavenly piece unwearied we compare, Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air, Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line, Paulo's free ftroke, and Tition's warmth divine. How finish'd with illuftrious toil appears This fmall, well-polifh'd gem the work of years! 40 Yet ftill how faint by precept is exprefs'd The living image in the painter's breast! Thence endlefs ftreams of fair Ideas flow, Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow; Thence beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies 45 An angel's fweetness, or Bridgewater's eyes. Mufe! at that name thy facred forrows shed, Thofe tears eternal that embalm the dead; Call round her tomb each object of defire, Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire: Bid her be all that chears or foftens life, The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife: Bid her be all that makes mankind adore; Then view this marble, and be vain no more! Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint en gage; 50 55 Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age. 60 65 70 Oh, lafting as thofe colours may they fhine, Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line; New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by fome rule, that guides, but not constrains; And finish'd more through happiness than pains! The kindred arts fhall in their praise confpire, One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre. Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe as air divine on every face Yet fhould the Mufes bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul; With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, And these be fung till Granville's Myra die : Alas! how little from the grave we claim! Thou but preferv'ft a Face, and I a Name. EPISTLE то MISS BLOUNT, 75 WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE. IN thefe gay thoughts the loves and Graces fhine, His ealy Art may happy Nature feem, 5 Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate, 10 His heart, his miftrefs and his friend did fhare; The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs, But that for ever in his lines they breathe. 20 25 In every fcene fome moral let it teach, Severe to all, but most to Womankind; 35. Your pleafure is a vice, but not your pride; Warriage may all thofe petty tyrants chace, 40 But the last tyrant ever proves the worst. 45 The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her prayers, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders mares,50 The fhining robes, rich jewels, beds of ftate, And, to complete her blifs, a Fool for mate. She glares in balls, front boxes, and the ring, A vain, unquiet, glittering, wretched thing! Pride, pomp, and flate, but reach her outward 55 part; She fight, and is no Duchefs at her heart. But, madam, if the lates withstand, and you Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Truft not too much your now refiftless charms, Thofe, age or fickness, foon or late difarms: 60 Good-humour only teaches charms to laft, Still makes new conquefte, and maintains the paft; |