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With tyranny then superstition join'd,
As that the body, this enslav'd the mind;
Much was believ'd, but little understood,
And to be doll was construed to be good:
A second deluge learning thus o'er-ran,
And the monks finish'd what the Goths began.

At length Erasmus, that great injur'd name,
(The glory of the priesthood, and the shame!)
Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barbarous age,
And drove those holy Vandals off the stage.

But see! each Muse in Leo's golden days Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays; Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread, Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend head. Then sculpture and her sister arts revive; Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live; With sweeter notes each rising temple rung; A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung: Immortal Vida! on whose honour'd brow The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow ! Cremona now shall ever boast thy name, As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!

But soon by impious arms from Latium chac'd, Their ancient bounds the banish'd Muses pass'd; Thence arts o'er all the northern world advance, But critic learning flourish'd most in France; The rules a nation born to serve obeys, And Boileau still in right of Horace sways. But we, brave Britons, foreign laws despis'd, And kept unconquer'd and unciviliz'd; Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold, We still defied the Romans, as of old. Yet some there were, among the sounder few of those who less presum'd and better knew, Who durst assert the juster ancient cause, And here restor'd wit's fundamental laws. Such was the Muse, whose rules and practice tell * Nature's chief masterpiece is writing well.' Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good, With manners generous as his noble blood;

To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
And every author's merit but his own.
Such late was Walsh–the Muse's judge and friend,
Who justly knew to blame or to commend;
To failings mild, but zealous for desert,
The clearest head, and the sincerest heart.
This humble praise, lamented shade! receive

This praise at least a grateful Muse may give :
The Muse whose early voice you taught to sing,
Prescrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender wing,
(Her guide pow lost) no more attempts to rise,
But in low numbers short excursions tries;
Content if hence the'unlearn'd their wants may view,
The learn'd reflect on what before they knew :
Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame;
Still pleas’d to praise, yet not afraid to blame;
Averse alike to flatter or offend;
Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

To Allen, Lord Bathurst.

P. WHO shall decide when doctors disagree,

And soundest casuists doubt,like you and me?
You hold the word from Jove to Momus giv'n,
That man was made the standing jest of Heav'n;
And gold but sent to keep the fools in play,
For some to heap and some to throw away.

But I, who think more highly of our kind,
(And surely Heav'n and I are of a mind)
Opine that pature, as in duty bound,
Deep bid the shining mischief under ground:
But when by man's audacious labour won
Flam'd forth this rival to its sire the sun,
Then careful Heaven supplied two sorts of men,
To squander these, and those to hide again.

Like doctors thus, when much dispute has past, We find our tenets just the same at last:

Both fairly owning riches, in effect,
No grace of Heav'n, or token of the elect;
Giv'n to the fool, the mad, the vain, the evil,
To Ward, to Waters, Chartres, and the devil.

B. What nature wants, commodious gold bestows; 'Tis thus we eat the bread another sows.

P. But how unequal it bestows observe ;
'Tis thus we riot, while who sow it starve:
What nature wants (a phrase I much distrust)
Extends to luxury, extends to lust :
Useful I grant, it serves what life requires,
But dreadful too, the dark assassin hires.

B. Trade it may help, society extend.
P. But lures the pirate, and corrupts the friend,
B. It raises armies in a nation's aid.

P. But bribes a senate, and the land's betray'd.
In vain may heroes fight and patriots rave,
If secret gold sap on from knave to knave.
Once, we confess, beneath the patriot's cloak
From the crack'd bag the dropping guinea spoke,
And jingling down the back-stairs, told the crew,
• Old Cato is as great a rogue as you.'
Blest paper-credit! last and best supply !
That lends corruption lighter wings to fly!
Gold imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things,
Can pocket states, can fetch or carry kings;
A single leaf shall waft an army o'er,
Or ship off senates to some distant shore;
A leaf, like Sibyl's, scatter to and fro
Our fates and fortunes as the winds shall blow;
Pregnant with thousands Aits the scrap unseen,
And silent sells a king or buys a queen.

Oh! that such bulky bribes as all might see Still, as of old, incumber'd villainy! Could France or Rome divert our brave designs With all their brandies or with all their wines ? What could they more than knights and 'squires

confound, Or water all the quorum ten miles round?

A statesman's sluinbers how this speech would spoil!

Sir, Spain has sent a thousand jars of oil; Huge bales of British cloth blockade the door ; A hundred oxen at your levee roar.'

Poor avarice one torment more would find, Nor could profusion squander all in kind : Astride his cheese Sir Morgan might we meet, And Worldly crying coals from street to street, Whom with a wig so wild and mien so maz'd Pity mistakes for some poor tradesman craż'd. Had Colepepper's whole wealth been hops and hogs, Could he himself have sent it to the dogs ? His grace will game: to White's a bull be led, With spurning heels and with a butting head : To White's be carried, as to ancient games, Fair coursers, vases, and alluring dames. Shall then Uxorio, if the stakes he sweep, Bear home six whores, and make his lady weep? Or soft Adonis, so perfum'd and fine, Drive to St. James's a whole herd of swine ? Oh filthy check on all industrious skill, To spoil the nation's last great trade,-quadrille! Since then, my lord, on such a world we fall, What say you? B. Say? Why, take it, gold and all

P. What riches give us let us then inquire : Meat, fire, and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat,

clothes, and fire. Is this too little ? would you more than live? Alas! 'tis nuore than Turner finds they give. Alas ! 'tis more than (all his visions past) Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last! What can they give? to dying Hopkins heirs? To Chartres vigour? Japhet nose and ears? Can they in gems bid pallid Hippia glow ? In Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below? Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail, With all the embroidery plaster'd at thy tail ?They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend) Give Harpax' self the blessing of a friend;

Or find some doctor that would save the life
Of wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife.
But thousands die without or this or that,
Die, and endow a college or a cat.
To some indeed Heav'n grants the happier fate
To enrich a bastard, or a son they hate.

Perhaps you think the poor might have their part?
Bond damns the poor, and hates them from his heart.
The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule
That every man in want is knave or fool.
! God cannot love (says Blunt, with tearless eyes)
The wretch he starves'-and piously denies :
But the good bishop, with a meeker air,
Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care.

Yet, to be just to these poor men of pelf,
Each does but hate his neighbour as himself:
Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides
The slave that digs it and the slave that hides.

B. Who suffers thus, mere charity should own, Must act on motives powerful though unknown.

P. Some war, some plague or famine, they foresee,
Some revelation hid from you and me.
Why Shylock wants a meal the cause is found;
"He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound.
What made directors cheat in South-sea year?
To live on ven'son, when it sold so dear.
Ask you why Phrynè the whole auction buys?
Phrynè foresees a general excise.
Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum ?-
Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum.

Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold,
And therefore hopes this nation may be sold.
Glorious ambition! Peter, swell thy store,
And be what Rome's great Didius was before.

The crown of Poland, venal twice an age,
To just three millions stinted modest Gage.
But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold,
Hereditary realms, and worlds of gold.
Congenial souls ! whose life one avarice joins,
And one fate buries in the Asturian mines.

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