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Give me the like unusual joys to prove,
Our blooming boys prond Ilion's fate bevail; And though irregular, indulge my love.
Our lisping babes repeat the dreadful tale, Delighted Venus heard the moving prayer,
Evin in their slumbers they pursue the theme, And soon resolv'd to ease the lover's care,
Start, and enjoy a sight in every dream. To set Miss Tabby off with every grace,
By turns the chief and bard their souls infame, To dress, and fit her for the youth's embrace. And every little bosom beats for fame.
Now she by gradual change her form forsook, Thus shall they learn (as future times will see) First her round face an oval figure took ;
From him to conquer, or to write from thee. The roguish dimples next his heart beguile,
In every hand we see the glorious song, And each grave whisker softend to a smile ; And Homer is the theme of every tongue. Unusual ogles wanton'd in her eye,
Parties in state poetic schemes employ, Her solemn purring dwindled to a sigh :
And Whig and Tory side with Greece and Troy ; Sudden, a huge hoop-petticoat display'd, Neglect their feuds; and scem more zealous grown A wide circumference! intrench'd the maid, To push those countries' interests than their own. And for the tail in waving circles play'd.
Our busiest politicians have forgot (fought ; Her fur, as destin'd still her charms to deck, How Somers counsel'd, and how Marlborough Made for hør hands a muff, a tippet for her neck. But o'er their settling coffee gravely tell,
In the fine lady now her shape was lost, What Nestor spoke, and how brave Hector fell. And by such strange degrees she grew a toast ; Our softest beaux and coxcombs you inspire, Was all for ombre now; and who but she, With Glaucus' courage, and Achilles' fire. To talk of modes and scandal o'er her tea; Now they resent affronts which once they bore, To settle every fashion of the sex,
And draw those swords that ne'er were drawn before : And run through all the female politics ;
Nay, ev'n our belles, inform'd how Homer writ, To spend her time at toilet and basset,
Learn thence to criticise on modern wit. To play, to flaunt, to futter, and coquet :
Let the mad critics to their side engage From a grave thinking mouser, she was grown The envy, pride, and dulness of the age : The gayest flirt that coach'd it round the town. In vain they curse, in vain they pine and mour, But see how often some intruding woe,
Back on themselves their arrows will retorn; Nips all our blooming prospects at a blow! Whoe'er would thy establish'd fame deface, For as the youth his lovely consort led
Are but immortaliz'd to their disgrace. To the dear pleasures of the nuptial bed,
Live, and enjoy their spite, and share that fate, Just on that instant from an inner house,
Which would, if Homer liv'd, on Homer wait. Into the chamber popt a heedless mouse.
And lo! his second labour claims thy care, Miss Tabby saw, and brooking no delay,
l'lysses' toils succeed Achilles' war. Sprung from the sheets, and seiz'd the trembling Haste to the work; the ladies long to sco Nor did the bride, in that ill fated hour, (prey, The pious frauds of chaste Penelope. Reflect that all her mousing-days were o'er. Helen they long hare seen, whose guilty charms The youth, astonish'd, felt a new despair, For ten whole years engag'd the world in arms. Ixion-like he grasp'd, aud grasp'd but air ; Then, as thy fame shall see a length of days, He saw bis vows and prayers in vain bestuw'd, Sonje future bard shall thus record thy praise : And lost the jilting goddess in a cloud.
"In those blest times when smiling Hearen and
And own her sons supreme in arts and wit;
Then Pope and Dryden brought in triumph home
The pride of Greece, and ornament of Rome ; ON HIS TRANSLATION OF HOMER'S ILIAD.
To the great task each bold translator came, 'Tis true, what fam'd Pythagoras maintain'd, With Virgil's judgment, and with Homer's flame; Inat souls departed in new bodies reign'd : Here the pleas'd Mantuan swan was taught to soar, We most approve the doctrine since we see Where scarce the Roman eagles tower'd before : The soul of god-like Homer breathe in thee.
And Greece no more was Homer's native earth, Old Ennius first, then Virgil felt her fires; Though her seven rival cities claim'd his birth; But now a British poet she inspires.
On her seven cities he look'd down with scorn, To you, O Pope, the lineal right extends, And own'd with pride he was in Britain born.” To you th' hereditary Muse descends. At a vast distance we of Homer heard, Till you brought in, and naturaliz'd the bard ; Bade him our English rights and freedom claim,
SPECIMEN OF A TRANSLATION OF THE His voice, his habit, and his air the same.
ODYSSEY'. Now in the mighty stranger we rejoice, And Britain thanks thee with a public voice. The nurse all wild with transport seem'd to swim ; See! too the poet, a majestic shade,
Joy wing'd her feet, and lighten'd ev'ry limb; Lifts up in awful pomp his laureld head,
Then, to the room with speed impatient borne, To thank his successor, who sets him free
Flew with glad tidings of her lord's retum. From the vile hands of Hobbes and Ogilby ; Who vext his venerable ashes more, Than his ungrateful Greece, the living bard before. Mr. Strevens assisted him in looking over the pa
' Dr. Ridley was one of Mr. Spence's executors. While Homer's thoughts in thy bold lines are
pers of the deceased ; and transcribed this letter, shown,
&c. from the original. N. Thongh worlds contend, we claim him for our own;
There bending o'er the sleeping queen, she cries, When Brunswick, pious, brave, and wise,
Like him the favourite of the skies,
Play'd with the monster's dreadful teeth,
“Ah! Euryclea,” she replies, you rave; The surest guard ; the best defence ;
The fiercest rage with powerful charms,
pay due homage at his feet.
Thy duty, loyalty, and love.
See! the fierce brutes thy king caress,
And court him with a mute address;
If tigers bend, and savages obey.
“ No artful tales, no studied lies, I frame,
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A POET AVD “ In that dishonour'd stranger's close disguise,
IN IMITATION OF HORACE, BOOK 11. SAT. VII.
To enter into the beauties of this satire, it must
be remembered, that slaves, among the Romans, And the close scheme of his revenge compleat."
during the feasts of Saturn, wore their master's Swift as the word the queen transported sprung,
habits, and were allowed to say what they And round the dame in strict embraces hung ; pleased. Then, as the big round tears began to roll, Spoke the quick doubts and hurry of her soul. Sir, I've long waited in my turn to have “ If my victorious hero safe arrives,
A word with you—but I'm your humble slave.
P. What knave is that? my rascal !
S. Sir, 'tis 1,
Your rude impertinence this time of year. (ever, “When Death flew raging, and the suitors bled : S. Some folks are drunk one day, and some for Immurd we listen'd, as we sat around,
And some, like Wharton, but twelve years together.
Old Evremond, renown'd for wit and dirt,
Would change his living oftener than his shirt;
Roar with the rakes of state a month ; and come
To starve another in bis hole at home.
“ This is enough' in conscience for this time : Now some innholder's, now a monarch's guest;
The gout in every limb from every rice,
Some fly, like penduluins, from good to evil,
And in that point are madder than the Devil:
P. To what will these wild maxims tend?
And where, sweet sir, will your reflections end?
P. In me, you knare ? make out your charge.
S. You praise low living, but you live at large. But couch'd the hungry monsters sit, :
Perhaps you scarce believe the rules you teach, And fawning lick his sacred feet;
Or find it hard to practice what you preach. Swift shot an angel from above,
Scarce have you paid one idle journey down, And chang'd their fury into love.
But, without business, you're again in town.
If none invite you, sir, abroad to roam,
Then-Lord, what pleasure 'tis to read at home
And sip your two half-pints, with great delight, ? The words in Italic are copied by Mr. Pope. N. Of beer at noon, and inuddled port at night.
IN KENSINGTON GARDENS.
S. In you.
HILL TRAT OVERLOOKS THE SEA.
From Encome', John comes thundering at the door, Besides, high living, sir, must wear you out
And like all company, except your own. “ And where, you rascal, are the spars,” you cry; You hunt, drink, sleep, or (idler still) you rhyme; “ And O! what blockhead laid the buskins by?”?,? Why?--but to banish thought, and murder time: On your old batter'd mare you'll needs be gone, And yet that thought, which you discharge in (No matter whether ou four legs or none) [heath;
vain, Splash, plunge, and stumble, as you scour the Like a foul-loaded piece, recoils again. All swear at Morden 'tis on life or death ;
P. Tom, fetch a cane, a whip, a club, a stoneWildly through Wareham streets you scamper on,
S. For what? Raise all the dogs and voters in the town;
P. A sword, a pistol, or a gun:
I'll shoot the dog.
He's in a mad, or in a rhyrning fit.
For once I'll set your lazy bones to work : Banks, Shaftesbury, Doddington, may send in vain. Fly, or I'll send you back, without a groat, Before you go, we curse the noise you make, To the bleak mountains where you first were caught. And bless the moment that you turn your back : As for myself, I own it to your face, I love good eating, and I take my glass : But sure 'tis strange, dear sir, that this should be In you amusement, but a fault in me.
ODE TO JOHN PITT, ESQ. All this is bare refining on a name,
ADVISING HIM TO BUILD A BANQUETTING-HOUSE ON A To make a difierence where the fault's the same.
My father sold me to your service here,
You look majestic down,
Th’horizon all your own.
With growing piles the vales are crown'd,
Here hills peep over hills;
.There the vast sky and sea profound
O bid, my friend, a structure rise,
And this huge round command ;
The ocean and the land.
Then you, like Æolus, on high,
Shall see secure the billows ily,
And hear the whirlwinds roar. As gold unchang'd, or brighter from the fame:
You, with a smile, their rage despise, Collected in himself, with godlike pride,
Till some sad wreck appears, He sees the darts of Envy glance aside;
And calls, from your relenting eyes,
The sympathising tears.
(Till human woes your grief excite)
Majestic, awful scene! when, hurl'd More than yourself, to see two drunkards fight;
On surges, surges rise, “ Fool, rogue, sot, blackhead,” or such names are
And all the heaving watery world
Tumultuous mounts the skies.
The seas and thunder roar by turns,
With momentary fire.
But lo! the furious tempests cease, I seal no bonds, I mortgage no estate.
The mighty rage subsides;
Old Ocean hush'd, in solemn peace, "The scat of John Pitt, esq. in Dorsetshire.
Has still'd the murmuring tiden
Spread wide abroad, the glassy plain,
Where, like sworn foes, successive all, la various colours gay,
The furious surges run, Reflects the glorious Sun again,
To urge their predecessor's fall, And doubly gilds the day.
Though follow'd by their own. 'Th' horizon glows from side to side,
Where, like our moderns so profound, And flames with glancing rays;
Engag'd in dark dispute, The floating, trembling, silver tide,
The scattles cast their ink around Is one continual blaze.
'To puzzle the dispute. Your cyes the prospect now command,
Where sharks, like shrewd directors, thrive, All uncontrol'd and free,
Like lawyers, rob at will; Fly like a thought from land to land,
Where flying-fish, like trimmers live; And dart from sea to sea.
Like soldiers, sword-fish kill. Thus, while above the clouds we sit,
Where on the less the greater feed, And innocently gay,
The tyrants of an hour, Pass in amusements, wine, or wit,
Till the huge royal whale succeed, The sultry hours away ;
And all at once derour. Sometimes, with pity, or disclain,
Thus in the mortal world we now In thought a glance we throw
Too truly understand, Down on the poor, the proud, the rain,
Each monster of the sea below In yonder world below.
Is match'd by one at land. We see, from this exalted seat,
(How shrunk, reduc'd, confin'd!) The little person of the great, As little as his mind.
OV MRS. WALKER'S POEMS. See there-amidst the crowds our view
PARTICULARLY THAT ON THE AUTHOR. Some scatter'd virtues strike;
Blusn, Wilmot, blush; a female Muse, But those so throng'd, and these so few,
Without one guilty line, The world looks all alike.
The tender theme of love pursues
In softer strains than thine.
'Tis thine the passion to blaspheme, The Pitts, the Yorkes, the Seckers find,
'Tis hers with wit and ease Who shine in open day.
(When a mere nothing is the theme)
Beyond thyself to please.
Whose merit has prerail'd;
For what male poet can succeed,
If Rochester has faild?
Since Phæbus quite forgetful grows, The vales with piles to crown,
And has not yet thought fit, And great Palladio's plans improve
In his high wisdom, to impose With nobler of your own;
A salique law on wit ; O bid a structure o'er the floods
Since of your rights he takes no care, From this high mountain rise,
Ye Priors, Popes, and Gays; Where we may sit enthron'd like gods,
"Tis hard !- but let the women wear And revel in the skies.
The breeches and the bays.
Shall breathe an air divine,
VERSES ON A FLOWERED CARPET. New spirit to the wine.
WORKED BY THE YOUNG LADIES AT KINGSTON. Or these low pleasuses we may quit For banquets more refin'd,
When Pallas saw the piece her pupils wrought, The works of each immortal wit,
She stood long wondering at the lovely draught : The luxury of the mind.
“ And, Flora, now” (she cried)“ no more display Plato, or Boyle's, or Newton's page,
Thy flowers, the trifling beauties of a day :
For see! how these with life immortal bloom, Our towering thoughts shall raise, Or Homer's fire, or Pindar's rage,
And spread and flourish for an age to come!
In what unguarded hour did I impart Or Virgil's lofty lays.
To these fair virgins all my darling art? Or with amusive thoughts the sea
In all my wit I saw these rivals shine, Shall entertain the mind,
But this one art I thought was always mine : While we the rolling scene survey,
Yet lo! I yield ; their mistress now no more, An emblem of mankind.
But proud to learn from these I taught before.
ODB TO JOHN PITT ESQ.
VERRSES ON A FLOWERED CARPET.
For look, what vegetable sense is here !
Full licence priests and painters ever had How warm with life these blushing leaves appear! To run bold lengths, but never to run mad; What temper'd splendours o'er the piece are laid! 1 For these can't reconcile God's grace to sio, Shade steals on light, and light dies into shade. Nor those paint tigers in an ass's skin. Through heaven's gay bow less various beauties run, No common dauber in one piece would join And far less bright, though painted by the Sun. The fox and goose unless upon a sign. See in each blooming flower what spirit glows ! Some steal a page of sense from Tillotson, What vivid colours flush the opening rose :
And then conclude divinely with their own.
Like oil on water, mounts the prelate up;
That vein of mercury its beams will spread, And scorn a mean dependence on the sky.
And shine more strongly through a mine of lead. And oh! may Britain, by my counsels sway'd, With such low arts your audienee never bilk; But live and flourish, till these flowers shall fade! For who can bear a fustian lin'd with silk? Then go, fond Flora, go, the palm resign Sooner than preach such stuff, I'd walk the town, To works more fair and durable than thine ; Without my scarf, in Whiston's draggled gown; For I, even I, in justice yield the crown
Ply at the Chapter, and at Child's to read To works so far superior to my own.”
For pence, and bury for a groat a head.
Some easy subject chuse, within your power,
Like mitred Secker, you'll be sure to please. On this fair ground, with ravish'd eyes,
But if you whine like boys at country schools, We see a second Eden rise,
Can you be said to study Cambray's rules ? As gay and glorious as the first,
Begin with care, nor, like that curate vile, Before th' offending world was curst.
Set ont in this high prancing stunıbling style, While these bright nymphs the needle guide, “ Whoever with a piercing eye can see To paint the rose in all her pride,
" Through the past records of futurity~" Nature, like her, may blush to own
All gape-no meaning--the pufr'd orator Herself so far by Art out-done.
Talks much, and says just nothing for an houn These flowers she rais'd with all her care,
Truth and the text he labours to display, So blooming, so divinely fair!
Till both are quite interpreted away: The glorious children of the Sun,
So frugal dames insipid water pour, That David's regal heir out-shone,
Till green, bohea, and coffee, are no more. Were scarce like one of these array'd;
His arguments in silly circles run
Still round and round, and end where they begun:
Surprisd with solitary self-applause,
He sees the motley mingled scene he draws :
Thus when old Bruin teems, her children fail
Nay, though she licks her cubs, her tender - Pendent opera interrupta..
cares SHOULD some fam'd hand, in this fantastic age,
At best can bring the Bruins but to bears.
Still to your hearers all your sermons sort; Draw Rich, as Rich appears upon the stage,
Who'd preach against corruption at the court? With all his postures in one motley plan,
Against church-power at Visitations bawl, The god, the hound, the monkey, and the man, Or talk about damnation at Whitehall? Here o'er his head high brandishing a leg,
Harangue the Horse-guards on a Cure of souls, And there just hatch'd, and breaking from his egg ;) Condemn the quirks of Chancery at the Rolls, While monster crowds on monster through the piece, Or rail at hoods and organs at St. Paul's ! Who could help laughing at a sight like this?
Or be, like David Jones, so indiscreet, Or, as a drunkard's dream together brings
To rave at usurers in Lombard-street. A court of coblers, or a mob of kings ?;"
Ye country-vicars, when you preach, in town, Such is a scrinon, where, confus’dly dark,
A turn at Paul's to pay your journey down, Join' Sharp, South, Sherlock, Barrow, Wake, and if you would shun the sheer of every prig, So eggs of different parishes will run (Clarke; Lay-by the little band and rusty wig; To batter, when you beat six yolks to one;
But yet be sure your proper language know, So six bright chymic liquors when you mix,
Nor talk as born within the sound of Bow; la one dark shadow ranisb all the six,
Speak not the phrase that Drury-lane affords,
Nor from 'Change-alley steal a cant of words : * Dryden.
Coachmen will criticise your style; nay, further, ? Another copy reads,
Porters will bring it in for wilful murther : “ Join Hoadly, Sharp, South, Sherlock, Wake, and The dregs of the canaille will look askew, Clarke."
To hear the language of the town from you :