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Then croposick down the stairs he Alings, | Look at the cheeks-how lank and thin! Before his master's bell yet rings.
See, what a most preposterous chin! Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
After remonstrance made in vain, By hoofs and wheels soon lull'd to sleep. I'll, says the painter, once again "But the city takes me then,
(If my good lord vouchsafes to sit) And the hums of busy men,
Try for a more successful hit:
We'll have a piece to please you al}. .
In their opinions all agree,
This is the vilest of all three. Then let aldermen appear,
“ Know-to confute your envious pride" In scarlet robes, with chandelier,
(His lordship from the canvass cried), And city feasts and gluttony,
“ Know—that it is my real face,
And prov'd your genius to the quick;
Void of all judgement, goodness, sense, If Quick, or Bannister be one;
Out, ve pretending varlets,-hence !" Or drollest Parsons, child of Drury,
The connoisseurs depart in haste,
Despis’d, neglected, and disgrac'd.
1$ 215. The Modern Fine Gentleman, Written Such as my shaking sides may split,
in the Year 1746. In notes with many a jolly bout,
SOAME JENYNS. Near Beaufort Buildings oft roar'd out, With wagging curls and sinirk so cunning,
Quale portentum neque militaris His rig on many a booby running,
Daunia in latis alit esculetis, Exposing all the ways and phizzes
Nec Jubæ tellus generat, leonum
Just broke from school, pert, impudent, and Of poi-house benches sprawid, and hear
raw, Such laughing songs as won the ear
Expert in Latin, more expert in taw, Of all the town, his slip to cover,
His honor posts o'er Italy and France, Whene'er be met 'em half-seas over.
Measures St. Peter's dome, and learns to dance; Freaks like these if thou canst give, Thence, having quick through various countries Fun, with thee I wish to live.
A monster of such complicated worth, $ 214. The Picture. CUNNINGHAM. As no one single clime could e'er bring forth;
Half atheist, papist, gamester, bubble, rook, A PORTRAIT, at my lord's command Half fiddler, coachman, dancer, groom, and Completed by a curious hand,
cook, For dabblers in the nice virtù
Next, because business is now all the vogue, His lordship set the piece to view,
| And who'd be quite polite must be a rogue, Bidding their connoisseurships tell
In parliament he purchases a seat, Whether this work was finish'd well:
To make th'accomplish'd gentleman complete. Why, says the loudest, on my word,
There safe in self-sufficient impudence, "Tis not a likeness, good my lord;
Without experience, honesty, or sense, Nor, to be plain, for speak I must,
Unknowing in her interest, trade, or laws, Can I pronounce one feature just.
He vainly undertakes his country's cause: Another effort straight was made,
| Forth from his lips, prepar'd at all to rail, Another portraiture essay'd ;
Torrents of nonsense burst like bottled ale, The judges were again besought
* Though shallow, muddy; brisk, though Each to deliver what he thought.
mighty dull; Worse than the first, the critics bawl; Fierce, without strength; o'erflowing, though Oh what a mouth! how monstrous small !
* Parody on these lines of Sir John Denham :
Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull,
Now quite a Frenchman in his garb and air, 1 or independence now he talks no more, His neck yok'd down with bag and solitaire, Nor shakes the senate with his patriot roar : The liberties of Britain he supports,
| But silent votes, and, with court trappings And storms at placeinen, ministers, and courts; Now in cropt greasy hair, and leather breeches, Eyes his own glitt'ring star, and holds his He loudly bellows out his patriot speeches;
tongue. Kings, lords, and commons ventures to abuse, In craft political a bankrupt made, Yet dares to show those ears he ought to lose. He sticks to gaming, as a surer trade; From hence to White's our virtuous Cato flies, Turns downright sharper, lives by sucking There sits with countenance erect and wise,
blood, And talks of games of whist, and pig-tail pies ; And grows, in short, the very thing he would: Plays all the night, nor doubts each law to break Hunts out young heirs who have their fortunes Himself unknowingly has help'd to make;
spent, Trembling and anxious, stakes his utinost groat, And levels them ready cash at cent. per cent.; Peeps o'er his cards, and looks as if he thought; Lays wagers on his own and others' lives, Next morn disowns the losses of the night, | Fights uncles, fathers, grandmothers, and Because the fool would fain be thought a bite. wires, Devoted thus to politics and cards,
Till Death at length, indignant to be made Nor mirth, nor wine, nor woinen he regards; The daily subject of his sport and trade, So far is ev'ry virtue from his heart,
Veils with his sable hand the wretch's eyes, That not a gen'rous vice can claim a part; And, groaning for the betts he loses by, he Nay, lest one human passion e'er should move His soul to friendship, tenderness, or love, , To Figg and Broughton * he commits his breast,
| $ 216. An Epistle, written in the Country, to To steel it to the fashionable test.
the Right Honorable the Lord Lorelace, Thus, poor in wealth, he labors to no end,
then in Town, September 1735. JENTNS. Wretched alone, in crowds without a friend; Insensible to all that's good or kind,
In days, my lord, when mother Time, Deaf to all merit, to all beauty blind;
Though now grown old, was in her prime,
How happy was a country life!
And yet in this, so bad is his success, Then each man liv'd upon his farm,
true. His independent roters cease to roar;
But now, whaterer poets write, And Britons soon must want the great defence, 'Tis sure, the case is alter'd quite : Of all his honesty and eloquence; .
Virtue no more in rural plains, But that the gen'rous youth, more anxious Or innocence, or peace remains; grown
But vice is in the cottage found,
And country girls are oft unsound;
Whole ages hamper folks in law;
While those, a more believing people,
But I, my lord, who, as you know,
• One, a celebrated prize-fighter; the other, a no less famous boxer.
Have by good forlune little share
| And, as the knight more tipsy waxes, Of its diversions, or its care :
We dawin all ministers and taxes. For seldom I with squires unite,
At last the ruddy sun quite suuk, Who hupt all day and drink all night,
The coachman tolerably drunk, Nor reckon wonderful inviting,
Whirling o'er billocks, ruts, and stones, A quarter-sessions, or cock-fighting :
Enough to dislocate one's bones, But then no farm I occupy,
We home return, a wondrous token With sheep to rot, and cows to die;
Of Heaven's kind care, with limbs unbroken. Nor rage I much, or much despair,
Afflict us not, ye gods, though sinners, Though in my hedge I find a snare;
With many days like this, or dinners! Nor view I, with due admiration,
But if civilities thus tease me, All the high honors here in fashion ;
Nor business nor diversions please me; The great commissions of the quorum,
You'll ask, my lord, how time I spend ? Terrors to all who come before 'em;
I answer, with a book or friend; Milit. carlet edg'd with gold,
The circulating hours dividing Or the white staff high-sheriffs hold;
'Twixt reading, walking, eating, riding: The representative's caressing,
But books are still my highest joy, The judge's bow, the bishops blessing; These earliest please, and latest cloy. Nor can I for my soul delight
Sometimes o'er distant climes I stray, In the dull feast of neighb'ring knight, By guides experienc'd taught the way; Who, if you send three days before,
The wonder of each region view, In white gloves meets you at the door,
From frozen Lapland to Peru; With superfuity of breeding
Bound o'er rough seas, and mountains bare,
Sometimes some fam'd historian's pen
Where all I see, through every page, " Joha, John, a coach !-I can't think who Is but how men, with senseless rage, 'tis,"
Each other rob, destroy, and burn, My lady cries, who spies your coach
To serve a priest's, a statesman's turu : Ere you the avenue approach:
Though loaded with a different aim, “Lord, how unlucky-washing-day! Yet always asses much the same. And all the men are in the hay !"
Sometimes I view with much delight,
Divines their holy gaine-cocks fight :
They fight so long, it would amaze ye:
And reason pecks at revelation.
O'er all the rolling orbs on high,
Visit new worlds, and for a minute
Nature through every winding maze;
As how the smallest lamp displays, "You will excuse, sir, on a sudden"
For miles around, its scatter'd rays; Then, that we may have four and four, Or how (the case more to explain) The bacon, fowls, and cauliflower
A fart", that weighs not half a grain, Their ancient unity divide,
The atmosphere will oft perfume The top one graces, one each side;
Of a whole spacious drawing-room. And by and by the second course
Sometimes I pass a whole long day Comes lagging like a distanc'd horse;
In happy indolence away, A salver then to church and king,
In fondly meditating o'er The butler sweats, the glasses ring:
Past pleasures, and in hoping more; The cloth remov'd, the toasts go round, Or wander through the fields and woods, Bawdy and politics abound;
| And gardens bath'd in circling foods ;
• See Boyle's Experiments.
There blooming flow'rs with rapture view, If hindrances obstruct thy way,
| Thy magnanimity display, Whence in my mind ideas rise
And let thy strength be seen : Of Celia's cheeks, and Chloe's eyes.
But, oh! if fortune fill thy sail
Take half thy canvass in.
$ 218. A Reflection on the foregoing Ode. Busily idle, calmly gay;
Cow PER Nor great, nor mean, nor rich, nor poor, Not having much, nor wishing more;
And is this all? Can reason do no more Except that you, when weary grown
Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the Of all the follies of the town,
shore ? And seeing in all public places
Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea, The same vain fops and painted faces,
The Christian has an art unknown to thee; Would sometimes kindly condescend
He holds no parley with unmanly fears, To visit a dull country friend :
Where duty bids he confidently steers; Here you'll be ever sure to meet
Faces a thousand dangers at her call, A hearty welcome, though no treat;
And trusting in his God surmounts them all. One who has nothing else to do, But to divert himself and you : A house, where quiet guards the door,
$ 219. The Shrubbery. Written in a Time of No rural wits smoke, drink, and roar;
CowPER. Choice books, safe horses, wholesomne liquor, Billiards, backgammon, and the vicar.
10 HAPPY shades ! to me unblest,
Friendly to peace, but not to ine;
And heart that cannot rest, agree !
This glassy stream, that spreading pine, $ 217. Horace. Book II. Ode 10. Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,
Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if any thing could please.
Foregoes not what she feels within ;
Shows the same sadness every where,
And slights the season and the scene. Nor always timorously creep
For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs,
Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost it beauties and its pow'rs.
The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley, musing slow; Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, They seek, like me, the secret shade, İmbitt'ring all his state.
But not, like me, to nourish woe.
Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste The tallest pines feel most the pow'r
Alike admonish not to roam :
These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
6 220. Mutual Forbearance necessary to the
Happiness of the Married State. Cow PER
The Lady thus address'd her spouse
What a mere dungeon is this house !
By no means large enough; and, was it, Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, And nature laughs again.
Those hangings with their worn-out Graces,
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, What if thine heaven be overcast ?
Are such an antiquated scene,
They overwhelm me with the spleen.
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, The God that strings the silver bow
Makes answer quite beside the mark; Awakes sometimes the muses loo,
No doubt, my dear; I bade him come, And lays his arrows by.
| Engag'd myself to be at home,
And shall expect him at the door
1 While earth wears a mantle of snow, Precisely when the clock strikes four.
The pinks are as fresh and as gay You are so deaf, the lady cried,
As the fairest and sweetest that blow (And rais'd her voice, and frown'd beside,) On the beautiful bosom of May. You are so sadly deaf, my dear,
See how they have safely survivid What shall I do to make you hear?
The frowns of a sky so severe; Dismiss poor Harry! he replies,
Such Mary's true love, that has liv'd Some people are more nice than wise;
Through many a turbulent year. For one slight trespass all this stir !
The charms of the late-blowing rose What if he did ride whip and spur?
Seem grac'd with a livelier bue, 'Twas but a mile-vour fav'rite horse
And the winter of sorrow best shows
The truth of a friend such as you.
$ 222. Boadicea, an Ode. CowPER. Yes, truly-one must scream and bawl; I tell you, you can't hear at all.
When the British warrior queen, Then with a voice exceeding low,
Bleeding from the Roman rods, No matter if you hear or no.
Sought, with an indignant inien, Alas! and is domestic strife,
Counsel of her country's gods; That sorest ill of human life,
Sage, beneath a spreading oak, A plague so little to be fear'd,
Sat the Druid, hoary chief, As to be wantonly incurr'd;
Ev'ry burning word he spoke To gratify a fretful passion,
Full of rage, and full of grief : On every trivial provocation ?
Princess ! if our aged eyes The kindest and the happiest pair
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, Will find occasion to forbear,
'Tis because resentment ties And something ev'ry day they live,
All the terrors of our tongues. To pity, and perhaps forgive.
Rome shall perish-write that word But if infirmities that fall
In the blood that she has spilt; In common to the lot of all,
Perish hopeless and abhorr'd, A blemish, or a sense impair’d,
Deep in ruin as in guilt. Are crimes so little to be spard,
Rome, for empire far renown'd Then farewell all that must create
Tramples on a thousand states, The comfort of the wedded state.
Soon her pride shall kiss the groundInstead of harmony, 'tis jar,
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates. And tumult, and intestine war.
Other Romans shall arise, The love that cheers life's latest stage,
Heedless of a soldier's name; Proof against sickness and old age,
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Presery'd by virtue from declension,
Harmony the path to fame. Becomes not weary of attention;
Then the progeny that springs But lives when that exterior grace
From the forests of our land, Which first inspir'd the fame, decays.
Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, 'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
Shall a wider world command. To faults compassionate or blind,
Regions Cæsar never knew And will with sympathy endure
Thy posterity shall sway, Those evils it would gladly cure:
Where his eagles never few, But angry, coarse, and harsh expression,
None invincible as they. Shows Love to be a mere profession,
Such the bard's prophetic words, Proves that the heart is none of his,
Pregnant with celestial fire, Or soon expels him if it is.
Bending as he swept the chords
or his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow, $221. The Winter Nosegay. Cowper.
Rush'd to battle, fought and died, What nature, alas ! has denied
Dying hurl'd them at the foe. To the delicate growth of our isle,
Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Art has in a measure supplied,
Heaven awards the vengeance due; And winter is deck'd with a smile.
Empire is on is bestow'd,
Shame and ruin wait for you.
$ 223. Heroism. Cowper.
There was a time when Ætna's silent fire Though abroad they are frozen and dead. Slept uuperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire ; 'Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets,
When, conscious of no danger from below, Where Flora is still in her prime,
She tower'd a cloud-capt pyramid of snów; A fortress to which she retreats
No thunders shook with deep intestine sound From the cruel assaults of the clime. The blooming groves that girdled her around;