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Persuasive, though a woful blockhead he :
Truth dies before his shadowy sophistry.
For well he knows the vices of the town,
The schemes of state, and interest of the gown;
Immoral afternoons, indecent nights,
Enflaming wines, and second appetites.

But most the theatres with dulness groan,
Embrios half-form'd, a progeny unknown:
Fine things for nothing, transports out of season,
Effects un-caus'd, and murders without reason.
Here worlds run round, and years are taught to stay,
Each scene an elegy, each act a play.*

Can the same power such various passions move?
Rejoice or weep, 'tis every thing for love.
The self-same cause produces heaven and hell:
Things contrary as buckets in a well;

One up, one down, one empty, and one full;
Half high, half low, half witty, and half dull.
So on the borders of an ancient wood,

Or where some poplar trembles o'er the flood,
Arachne travels on her filmy thread,

Now high, now low, or on her feet or head.

Yet these love verse, as croaking† comforts frogs, And mire and ordure are the heaven of hogs. As well might nothing bind immensity, Or passive matter immaterials see,

* Et chaque acte en sa piece est une piece entiere. Boil. + When a poor genius has laboured much, he judges well not to expect the encomiums of the public: for these are not his due. Yet, for fear his drudgery should have no recompense, God (of his goodness) has given him a personal satisfaction. Thus the same deity (who is equally just in all points) has given frogs the comfort of croaking, &c.

VOL. XXIX.

Le Pere Gerasse Sommes Theol. L. 2.

H h

As these should write by reason, rhyme, and rule,
Or he turn wit, whom nature doom'd a fool.
If Dryden err'd, 'twas human frailty once,
But blundering is the essence of a Dunce.
Some write for glory, but the phantom fades;
Some write as party or as spleen invades ;
A third, because his father was well read,
And, murderer-like, calls blushes from the dead.
Yet all for morals and for arts contend-

They want 'em both, who never prais❜d a friend.
More ill, than dull; for pure stupidity

Was ne'er a crime in honest Banks, or me.

See next a crowd in damasks, silks and crapes, Equivocal in dress, half belles, half trapes: A length of night-gown rich Phantasia trails, Olinda wears one shift, and pares no nails : Some in C-l's cabinet each act display, When nature in a transport dies away; Some, more refin'd, transcribe their opera-loves On ivory tablets, or in clean white gloves; Some of Platonic, some of carnal taste, Hoop'd, or unhoop'd, ungarter'd, or unlac'd. Thus thick in air the wing'd creation play, When vernal Phœbus rolls the light away, A motley race, half insects and half fowls, Loose-tail'd and dirty, May-flies, bats, and owls.

Gods, that this native nonsense was our worst! With crimes more deep, O Albion! art thou curs'd. No judgment open profanation fears,

For who dreads GoD, that can preserve his ears?
Oh save me, Providence! from vice refin'd,
That worst of ills, a speculative mind!*

*Plato calls this an ignorance of a dark and dangerous nature, under appearance of the greatest wisdom.

Not that I blame divine philosophy,

(Yet much we risk, for pride and learning lie)
Heaven's paths are found by nature more than art,
The schoolman's head misleads the layman's heart.
What unrepented deeds has Albion done?
Yet spare us, Heaven! return, and spare thy own.
Religion vanishes to types and shade,

By wits, by fools, by her own sons betray'd!
Sure 'twas enough to give the devil his due :
Must such men mingle with the priesthood too?
So stood Onias at the' Almighty's throne,
Profanely cinctur'd in a harlot's zone.

Some Rome, and some the Reformation blame; 'Tis hard to say from whence such license came; From fierce enthusiasts, or Socinians sad? C―ns the soft, or Bourignon the mad? From wayward nature, or lewd poets' rhymes? From praying, canting, or king-killing times? From all the dregs which Gallia could pour forth, (Those sons of schism) landed in the north ?From whence it came, they and the d-1 best know; Yet thus much, Pope, each atheist is thy foe.

O Decency, forgive these friendly rhymes, For raking in the dunghill of their crimes : To name each monster would make printing dear, Or tire Ned Ward, who writes six books a year. Such vicious nonsense, impudence, and spite, Would make a hermit or a father write, Though Julian held the world, and held no more Than deist Gildon taught, or Toland swore; Good Gregory* prov'd him execrably bad, And scourg'd his soul, with drunken reason mad.

* Gregory Nazianzen: a father, at the beginning of the fourth century. He wrote two most bitter satires or invectives against the Emperor Julian.

Much longer, Pope restrain'd his awful hand,
Wept o'er poor Nineveh, and her dull band;
Till fools like weeds rose up, and chok'd the land.
Long, long he slumber'd, ere the' avenging hour;
For dubious mercy half o'er-rul'd his power:
Till the wing'd bolt, red hissing from above,
Pierc'd millions through—

of Jove.

-For such the wrath

Hell, chaos, darkness, tremble at the sound,
And prostrate fools bestrow the vast profound:
No Charon wafts 'em from the further shore,
Silent they sleep, alas! to rise no more.

O Pope, and sacred criticism! forgive

A youth who dares approach your shrine and live!
Far has he wander'd in an unknown night,
No guide to lead him, but his own dim light:
For him more fit, in vulgar paths to tread,
To show the' unlearned what they never read,
Youth to improve, or rising genius tend;
To science much, to virtue more, a friend.

A SIMILE,

UPON A SET OF TEA-DRINKERS.

So fairy elves their morning-table spread
O'er a white mushroom's hospitable head;
In acorn cups the merry goblins quaff
The pearly dews, they sing, they love, they laugh;
Melodious music trembles through the sky,
And airy-sounds along the green-wood die.

THE SAME,

DIVERSIFIED IN ANCIENT METRE.

So, yf deepe clerkes in times of yore saine trew,
Or poets eyne, perdie, mought sothly vew
'The dapper elfins thyr queint festes bedight
Wyth mickle plesaunce on a mushroome lite :
In acorns cuppes thy quaffen daint liquere,
And rowle belgardes, and defflie daunce yfere;
Ful everidele they makin musike sote,

And sowns aeriall adowne the greene woode flotte.

A SOLILOQUY,

OCCASIONED BY THE CHIRPING OF A GRASSHOPPER.

HAPPY insect! ever bless'd

With a more than mortal rest,
Rosy dews the leaves among,
Humble joys and gentle song.
Wretched poet! ever curs'd,
With a life of lives the worst,
Sad despondence, restless fears,
Endless jealousies and tears.

In the burning summer, thou
Warblest on the verdant bough,
Meditating cheerful play,
Mindless of the piercing ray:
Scorch'd in Cupid's fervours, I
Ever weep, and ever die.

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