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Nor witness hir'd, nor jury pick’d,
Whilst, in the vale of Ignorance below, Prevail to bring him in convict.
Folly and vice to rank luxuriance grow; “ In exile, with a steady heart,
Honors and wealth pour in on every side, He spent his life's declining part;
And proud preferment rolls her golden tide. Where folly, pride, and faction, sway,
O'ercrabbed authors life's gay prime to waste, Remote from St. John, Pope, and Gay.”— To cramp wild genius in the chains of taste;
“ Alas, poor Dean! his only scope To bear the slavish drudgery of schools, Was, to be held a misanthrope ;
And tamely stoop to ev'ry pedant's rules ; This into general odium drew him;"
For seven long years debarr’d of lib'ral ease, Which if he lik’d, much good may't do him. To plod in college-trammels to degrees ; His zeal was not to lash our crimes,
Beneath the weight of solemn toys to groan, But discontent against the times;
Sleep over books, and leave mankind unknown; For bad we made him timely offers
To praise each senior blockhead's threadbare To raise his post, or fill his coffers,
tale, Perhaps he might have truckled down, And laugh till reason blush, and spirits fail; Like other brethren of his gown;
Manhood with vile submission to disgrace, For party he would scarce have bled :
And cap the fool whose merit is his place; I say no more because he's dead.
Vice-chancellors whose knowledge is but What writings has he left behind ?"
small, " I hear they're of a different kind : And chancellors who nothing know at all; A few in verse, but most in prose."
Ill brook'd the gen'rous spirit, in those days “Some high-Aown pamphlets, I suppose : When learning was the certain road to praise, All scribbled in the worst of times,
When nobles, with a love of science bless'd, To palliate his friend Oxford's crimes ; Approv'd in others what themselves possess d. To praise Queen Anne; nay more, defend her, But now, when Dulness rears aloft her As never favouring the Pretender;
throne, Or libels yet conceald from sight,
When lordly vassals her wide empire own; Against the court to show his spite.
When Wit, seduc'd by Envy, starts aside, Perhaps his Travels, part the third ;
And basely leagues with Ignorance and Pride; A lie at every second word
What now should tempt us, by false hopes Offensive to a loyal ear;
mieled, But not one sermon, you may swear." Learning's unfashionable paths to tread :
“ He knew an hundred pleasing stories, To bear those labors which our fathers bore, With all the turns of Whigs and Tories : That crown withheld which they in triumph Was cheerful to his dying day,
wore? And friends would let him have his way. When with much pains this boasted learnAs for his works in verse or prose,
ing's got, I own myself no judge of those ;
'Tis an affront to those who have it not. Now can I tell what critics thought them, In some it causes hate, in others fear, But this I know all people bought them, Instructs our foes to rail, our friends to sneer. As with a moral view design'd
With prudent haste the worldly-minded fool To please and to reform mankind :
Forgets the little which he learn’d at school; And, if he often miss'd his aim,
The elder brother, to vast fortunes born, The world must own it to their shame, Looks on all science with an eye of scorn; The praise is his, and theirs the blame. Dependent brethren the same features wear, He gave the little wealth he had,
And younger sons are stupid as the heir. To build a house for fools and mad;
In senates, at the bar, in church and state, To show, by one satiric touch,
Genius is vile, and learning out of date. No nation wanted it so much.
Is this~0 death to think! is this the land That kingdom he hath left his debtor, Where Merit and Reward went hand in hand; I wish it soon may have a better :
Where heroes parent-like the Poet view'd, And since you dread no farther lashes, By whom they saw their glorious deeds renewid; Methinks you may forgive his ashes.” Where Poets, true to honor, tun'd their lays,
And by their Patrons sanctify'd their praise?
Is this the land where on our Spenser's tongue, $ 259. The Author. CHURCHILL. Enamour'd of his voice, Description hung;
Where Jonson rigid gravity beguild, Accurs'p the man whom fate ordains, in spite, Whilst Reason thro' her critic fences smil'd; And cruel parents teach, to read and write! Where Nature list’ning stood while Shakspeare What need of letters? Wherefore should we play'a, spell?
And wonder'd at the work herself had made? Why write our names? A mark will do as well. Is this the land, where, mindful of her charge Much are the precious hours of youth mis- And office high, fair Freedom walk'd at large; spent
Where, finding in our laws a sure defence, In climbing Learning's rugged, steep ascent ! She mock'd at all restraints, but those of Sense; When to the top the bold advent'rer's got, Where, Health and Honor trooping by her side, He reigns vain monarch o'er a barren spot : She spread her sacred empire far and wide ;
Pointed the way Affliction to beguile, Peace, peace, thou dotard! nor thus vilely deem
weak; Those wretches who, ordain'd in Freedom's In numbers here below the Bard shall teach cause,
Virtue to soar beyond the villain's reach ; Gave up our liberties, and sold our laws; [go, Shall tear his lab'ring lungs, strain his hoarse When Pow'r was taught by Meanness where to throat, Nor dar'd to love the virtue of a foe;
And raise his voice beyond the trumpet's note, When, like a lep'rous plague, from the foul head Should an afflicted country, aw'd by men To the foul heart her sores Corruption spread; Of slavish principles, demand his pen. Her iron arm when stern Oppression rear'd, This is a great, a glorious point of view, And Virtue, from her broad base shaken, fear'd Fit for an English Poet to pursue, The scourge of Vice; when, impotent and vain, Undaunted to pursue, though in return Poor Freedom bow'd the neck to Slavery's His writings by the common hangman burn. chain :
How do I laugh when men, by fortune plac'd Is this the land, where, in those worst of times, Above their betters, and by rank disgrac'd; The hardy Poet rais'd his honest rhymes Who found their pride on titles which they To dread 'rebuke, and bade controlment speak stain, In guilty blushes on the villain's cheek : And, mean themselves, are of their fathers vain; Bade Pow's turn pale, kept mighty rogues in awe, Who would a bill of privilege prefer, And made them fear the Muse, who fear'd not And treat a Poet like a creditor; Law?
The gen'rous ardor of the Muse condemn, How do I laugh when men of narrow souls, And curse the storm they know must break on Whom folly guides and prejudice controls;
them! Who one dull drowsy track of business trod, “What, shall a reptile Bard, a wretch unWorship their Mammon, and neglect their known, God;
Without one badge of merit but his own, Who, breathing by one musty set of rules, Great Nobles lash, and Lords like common men Dote from the birth, and are by system fools; Smart from the vengeance of a scribbler's pen?" Who, form'd to dulness from their very youth, What's in the name of Lord, that I should Lies of the day prefer to Gospel truth;
fear Pick up their little knowledge from Reviews, To bring their vices to the public ear? And lay out all their stock of faith in news : Flows not the honest blood of humble swains How do I laugh, when creatures form'd like Quick as the tide which swells a monarch's these,
[please, veins ? Whom Reason scorns, and I should blush to Monarchs, who wealth and titles can bestow, Rail at all lib'ral arts, deem verse a crime, Cannot make virtues in succession flow. And hold not Truth as Truth if told in rhyme! Wouldst thou, proud man, be safely plac'd
How do I laugh, when Publius, hoary grown above In zeal for Scotland's welfare and his own, The censure of the Muse, deserve her love; By slow degrees, and course of office, drawn Act as thy birth demands, as nobles ought, In mood and figure at the helm to yawn; Look back, and, by thy worthy father taught, Too mean (the worst of curses Heav'n can send) Who earn'd those honors thou wert born 10 To have a foe, too proud to have a friend,
wear, Erring by form, which blockheads sacred hold, Follow his steps, and be his virtue's heir. Ne'er making new faults, and ne'er mending But if, regardless of the road to Fame, old;
You start aside, and tread the paths of Shame; Rebukes my spirit, bids the daring Muse If such thy life, that, should thy sire arise, Subjects more equal to her weakness choose ; The sight of such a son would blast his eyes; Bids her frequent the haunts of humble swains, Would make him curse the hour which gave Nor dare to traffic in ambitious strains ;
[earth, Bids her, indulging the poetic whim
Would drive him, shudd'ring, from the face of In quaint wrought ode, or sonnet pertly trim, Once more, with shame and sorrow, 'mongst Along the church-way path complain with
the dead, Gray,
In endless night to hide his rev'rend head; Or dance with Mason on the first of May! If such thy life, though king hath made thee “ All sacred is the name and power of Kings; And States and Statesmen are those mighty Than ever king a scoundrel made before ; things,
Nay, to allow thy pride a deeper spring, Which, howsoe'er they out of course may roll, | Though God in vengeance had inade thee a Were never made for Poets to control.”
Taking on Virtue's wing her daring flight, Carries me back to times, when poets, bless'd The Muse should drag thee trembling to the With courage, grac'd the science they profess’d; light,
When they, in honor rooted, firmly stood, Probe thy foul wounds, and lay thy bosom bare The bad to punish, and reward the good; To the keen question of the searching air. When, to a Aame by Public Virtue wrought, Gods! with what pride I see the titled slave, The foes of Freedom they to justice brought, Who smarts beneath the stroke which Satire And dar'd expose those slaves, who dar'd supgave,
port Aiming at ease, and with dishonest art A tyrant plan, and call’d themselves a Court? Striving to hide the feelings of his heart! Ah! what are Poets now? As slavish those How do I laugh, when, with affected air, Who deal in verse, as those who deal in prose. (Scarce able, through despite, to keep his chair, Is there an author, search the kingdom round, Whilst on his trembling lip pale anger speaks, In whom true worth and real spirit's found ? And the chaf'd blood Aies mounting io his The slaves of booksellers, or (doom'd by fate cheeks)
[cures To baser chains) vile pensioners of State; He talks of “ Conscience, which good men se- Some, dead to shame, and of those shackles From all those evil moments guilt endures,"
proud And seems to laugh at those who pay regard Which'Honor scorns, for slavery roar loud; To the wild rarings of a frantic bard ! Others, half-palsied only, mutes become, “Satire, whilst envy and ill humor sway And what makes Smollelt write makes Johnson The mind of man, must always make her way;
[eye Nor to a bosom with discretion fraught Why turns yon villain pale? why bends his Is all her malice worth a single thought :
Inward, abash'd, when Murphy passes by? The Wise have not the will, nor Fools the Dost thou sage Murphy for a blockhead take, pow'r,
Who wages war with Vice for Virtue's sake? To stop her headstrong course: within the hour, No, no-like other worldlings, you will find Left to herself, she dies; opposing strife He shifts his sails, and catches ev'ry wind. Gives her fresh vigor, and prolongs her life. His soul the shock of intrest can't endure; All things her prey, and every man her aim, Give him a pension then, and sin secure. I can no patent for exemption claim;
With laureld wreaths the flatt'rer's brows Nor would I wish to stop that harmless dart
adoru, Which plays around, but cannot wound, my Bid Virtue crouch, bid Vice exalt her horn, heart :
Bid Cowards thrive, put Honesty to flight, Though pointed at myself, be Satire free;
Murphy shall prove, or try to prove, it right. To her 'tis pleasure, and no pain to me." Try, thou Staie-Juggler, ev'ry paltry art, Dissembling wretch! hence to the Stoic Ransack the inmost closet of my heart, school,
Swear thou’rt my friend; by that base vath make And there amongst thy brethren play the fool; way There unrebuk'd, these wild, vain doctrines Into my breast, and flatter to betray: preach:
Or, if those tricks are vain; if wholesome Lives there a man, whom Satire cannot reach? doubt Lises there a man, who calmly can stand by, Detects the fraud, and points the villain out; And see his conscience ripp'd, with steady eye? Bribe those who daily at my board are fed, When Satire flies abroad on Falsehood's wing, And make them take my life who eat my bread; Short is her life, and impotent her sting; On authors for defence, for praise, depend; But when to Truth allied, the wound she gives Pay him but well, and Murphy is thy friend. Sinks deep, and to remotest ages lives. He, he shall ready stand with venal rhymes, When in the tomb thy pamper'd Aesh shall rot, To varnish guilt and consecrate thy crimes, And e'en by friends thy mem'ry be forgot, To make corruption in false colors shine, Sull shalt thou live, recorded for thy crimes, And damn his own good name to rescue thine. Live in her page, and stink to after-times.
But if thy niggard hands their gifts withhold, Hast thou no feeling yet? Come, throw off And Vice no longer rains down show'rs of gold, pride,
Expect no mercy; facts, well grounded, teach, And own those passions which thou shalt not Murphy, if not rewarded, will impeach. hide.
What tho' cach man of nice and juster thought, S-, who, from the moment of his birth, Shunning his steps, decrees, by Honor taughi, Made human nature a reproach on earth; He ne'er can be a friend who stoops so low Who never dar'd, nor wish'd, behind to stay, To be the base betrayer of a foe? When Folly, Vice, and Meanness, led the way; What tho', with thine together link’d, his name Would blush, should he be told, by Truth and Must be with thine transmitted down to shame? Wit,
To ev'ry manly feeling callous grown, Those actions which he blush'd not to commit: Rather than not blast ihine, he 'Il blast his own. Men the most infamous are fond of fame;
To ope the fountain whence Sedition springs, And those who fear not guilt, yet start at shame. To slander Government, and libel Kings;
But whither runs my zeal, whose rapid farce, With Freedom's name to serve a present hour, Turning the brain, bears Reason from her course; | Though born and bred to arbitrary pow'r ;
To talk of William with insidious art, Whilst'Virtue to my conduct witness bears, Whilst a vile Stuart's lurking in his heart; In throwing off that gown which Francis wears. And, whilst mean Envy rears her loathsome
What creature's that, so very pert and prim; head,
So very full of foppery and whim;
So gentle, yet so brisk ; so wondrous sweet, Travelling hither in a city-coach,
Who looks as he the Lord's rich vineyard trod, The pill'ry dare to name; the whole intent
And by his garb appears a man of God? Of that parade was fame, not punishment;
Trust not to looks, nor credit outward show; And that old staunch Whig Beardmore, stand- The villain lurks beneath the cassock'd Beau; ing by,
That's an Informer; what avails the name? Can in full court give that report the lie. Suffice it, that the wretch from Sodom came.
With rude unnat'ral jargon to support, His tongue is deadly-from his presence run, Half Scotch, half English, a declining Court; Unless thy rage would wish to be undone. To make most glaring contraries unite,
No ties can hold him, no affection bind, And prove, beyond dispute, that black is white; And Fear alone restrains his coward mind. To make firm Honor tamely league with Shame, Free him from that, no monster is so fell, Make Vice and Virtue differ but in name;
Nor is so sure a blood-hound found in hell. To prove that chains and freedom are but one, His silken smiles, his hypocritic air, That to be sav'd must mean to be undone. Is there not Guthrie? Who, like him, can call Arc only worn to pave Fraud's easier way,
His meek demeanour, plausible and fair, All opposites to proof, and conquer all? And make gulld Virtue fall a surer prey. He calls forth living waters from the rock ;
Attend his church-his plan of doctrine view, He calls forth children from the barren stock ; The Preacher is a Christian, dull but true : He, far beyond the springs of Nature led,
But when the hallow'd hour of preaching's o'er, Makes women bring forth after they are dead; The plan of doctrine's never thought of more; He, on a curious, new, and happy plan, Christ is laid by, neglected on the shelf, In wedlock's sacred bands joins man to man; And the vile priest is Gospel to himself. And, to complete the whole, most strange but
By Cleland tutor’d, and with Blacow bred, true,
(Blacow, whom, by a brave resentment led, By some rare magic makes them fruitful too; Whilst from their loins, in the due course of Oxford, if Oxford had not sunk in fame,
Ere this had damn'd to everlasting shame) years, Flows the rich blood of Guthrie's English Their steps he follows, and their crimes par
To Virtue lost, to Vice alone he wakes ; Dost thou contrive some blacker deed of Most lusciously declaims'gainst luscious themes
And, whilst he rails at blasphemy, blasphemes. Something which Nature shudders but to name, Something which makes the soul of man retreat, Are these the steps by which grave Churchmen
Are these the arts which Policy supplies ? Dost thou contrive, for some base private end, Forbid it Heav'n! or, should it turn out so, Some selfish view, to hang a trusting friend, To lure him on, e'en to his parting breath,
Let me, and mine, continue mean and low : And promise life to work him surer death;
Such be their arts whom Interest controls; Grown old in villany, and dead to grace,
Kidgell and I have free and honest souls: Hell in his heart, and Tyburn in his face,
We scorn preferment which is gain'd by sin, Behold a Parson at thy elbow stands,
And will, though poor without, have peace
within. Louring damnation, and with open hands, Ripe to betray his Saviour for reward, The atheist Chaplain of an atheist Lord ! $ 260. A poor Woman attending in the Field Bred to the Church, and for the gown de
of Battle sees her only Son slain, and excreed
presses her Feelings in the following Lamen.
Low the sithe the cowslip lays !
Though in hostile bands
Men and brethren, I bewail ye
With a tear of sympathy!
Suck'd a tender mother's breast;
Me! me!-kill me! me, who bore him ! Babes and mothers lift the head,
Silk-clad trains of nymphs to see ;
Beauty deals them daily bread, Where he earn'd my daily bread.
Deck'd in silks of Charity. Warrior, here, with rage unfeeling,
Shiv'ring with the winter's wind, Here behold my white breast bare ;
Age, disease, and infancy, Dye it red, and plunge your steel in,
In warm wool their cold limbs bind; But my child, poor stripling, spare.
Silk's the dress of Charity. My age's solace !—for his father
Lovely ladies at the ball, Perish'd in the bloody field;
Lovelier still if that can be, A babe he left me, which I'd rather
Rob'd in silk, in Pleasure's hall,
Dance the dance of Charity.
$ 262. On the late Queen of France. Slay us both, I beg sincerely; On us both the earth be pild.
If thy breast soft pity knows,
O! drop a tear with me; They sink; but lo! a wondrous vision,
Feel for the unexampled woes
Of widow'd royalty.
Fallen, fallen from a throne !
Lo! beauty, grandeur, power ; More in number than the ocean
Hark! 'tis a queen's, a mother's moan,
From yonder dismal tower.
I hear her say, or seem to say,
" Ye who listen to my story, “ Listen, listen, sons of sorrow,
Learn how transient beauty's day,
How unstable human glory.
hear that I was frail,
0! think what now I bear : We, like you, O! heed our warning, Warriors were, all blithe and gay:
Heed not the page of scandal's tale,
But blot it with a tear."
$263. Verses, by Dr. GLYNN.
Teaze me no more, nor think I care Sheath the sword, for fame's a bubble;
Though monarchs bow at Kitty's shrine, Live to bless, O live to save!
Or powder'd coxcombs woo the fair,
Since Kitty is no longer mine.
Indifferent 'tis alike to me,
If my favorite dove be stole, God made men to live and love!
Whether its dainty feathers be
Pluck'd by the eagle or the owl.
If not for me its blushing lips
The rose-bud opens, what care I « Peace on Earth, to men good-will."
Who the od'sous liquid sips ;
The king of bees, or butterfly?
Like me, the Indians of Peru, $ 261. Written on Occasion of a Ball, in which Rich in mines of golden ore,
the Ladies agreed to dress in Silks, for the Dejected, see the merchant's crew sake of encouraging the Spitalfields Manu
Transport it to a foreign shore. facturers.
Seeks the slave despoil'd, to know,
Whether his gold in shape of lace
Shine on the coat of birth-day beau,
Or wear the stamp of George's face?
§ 264. Hohenlinden ; the Scene of a dreadful Glossy gleams the artist's dye;
Engagement between the French and Impe
rialists, in which the former conquered. By Yet the mantle shall assume Brighter tints from Charity.
T. CAMPBELL, Esq. Youth and beauty, lo! advance,
On Linden, when the sun was low, Light and gay as Love can be,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; Nimbly tripping in the dance,
And dark as winter was the flow Clad in robes of Charity.
Of Iser rolling rapidly: