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Our anxious pains we, all the day,
In search of what we like, employ:
At distance through an artful glass
To the mind's eye things well appear:
Confused and black if brought too near.
If we see right, we see our woes:
Then what avails it to have eyes ?
The only wretched are the wise.
A WELCOME FROM GREECE TO MR. POPE.
LONG hast thou, friend! been absent from my soil,
Like patient Ithacus at siege of Troy ; I have been witness of thy six years' toil,
Thy daily labours, and thy nights' annoy ; Lost to thy native land, with great turmoil,
On the wide sea, oft threatening to destroy: Methinks with thee I've trod Sigæan ground, And heard the shores of Hellespont resound.
Did I not see thee when thou first set'st sail
To seek adventures fair in Homer's land ? Did I not see thy sinking spirits fail,
And wish thy bark had never left the strand ! Even in mid-ocean often didst thou quail,
And oft lift up thy holy eye and hand, Praying the Virgin dear, and saintly choir, Back to the port to bring thy bark entire.
Cheer up, my friend! thy dangers now are o'er;
Methinks-nay, sure the rising coasts appear; Hark! how the guns salute from either shore,
As thy trim vessel cuts the Thames so fair : Shouts answering shouts from Kent and Essex roar,
And bells break loud through every gust of air : Bonfires do blaze, and bones and cleavers ring, As at the coming of some mighty king. Now pass we Gravesend with a friendly wind,
And Tilbury's white fort, and long Blackwall; Greenwich, where dwells the friend of human kind,
More visited than or her park or hall; Withers the good, and (with him ever join'd)
Facetious Disney, greet thee first of all : I see his chimney smoke and hear him say, Duke! that's the room for Pope, and that for Gay. Come in, my friends! here shall ye dine and lie,
And here shall breakfast, and here dine again; And sup and breakfast on (if ye comply),
For I have still some dozens of Champagne : His voice still lessens as the ship sails by ;
He waves his hand to bring us back in vain; For now I see, I see proud London's spires : Greenwich is lost, and Deptford dock retires. Oh, what a concourse swarms on yonder quay!
The sky re-echoes with new shouts of joy!
I hear the voice of trumpet and hautboy.
Who come in crowds to welcome thee from Troy. Hail to the bard, whom long as lost we mourn'd; From siege, from battle, and from storm return'd! Of goodly dames and courteous knights, I view
The silken petticoat and broider'd vest;
(True blue, fair emblem of unstain'd breast).
Others I see, as noble and more true,
By no court-badge distinguish'd from the rest : First see I Methuen, of sincerest mind, As Arthur grave, as soft as womankind. What lady's that to whom he gently bends ? [eyes:
Who knows not her? ah! those are Wortley's How art thou honour'd, number'd with her friends!
For she distinguishes the good and wise. The sweet-tongued Murray near her side attends;
Now to my heart the glance of Howard flies; Now Harvey, fair of face, I mark full well, With thee, youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepell. I see two lovely sisters, hand in hand,
The fair-hair’d Martha, and Teresa brown; Madge Bellenden, the tallest of the land;
And smiling Mary, soft and fair as down. Yonder I see the cheerful duchess stand, [known:
For friendship, zeal, and blithesome humours Whence that loud shout in such a hearty strain ? Why, all the Hamiltons are in her train? See next the decent Scudamore advance,
With Winchelsea, still meditating song: With her perhaps Miss Howe came there by chance,
Nor knows with whom or why she comes along. Far off from these see Santlow, famed for dance;
And frolic Bicknell, and her sister young; With other names by me not to be named, Much loved in private, not in public famed! But now behold the female band retire,
And the shrill music of their voice is still'd! Methinks I see famed Buckingham admire
That in Troy's ruin thou hadst not been kill'd. Sheffield, who knows to strike the living lyre
With hand judicious, like thy Homer skill'd; Bathurst, impetuous, hastens to the coast, Whom you and I strive who shall love the most.
See generous Burlington, with goodly Bruce
(But Bruce comes wafted in a soft sedan); Dan Prior next, beloved by every Muse,
And friendly Congreve, unreproachful man! (Oxford by Cunningham hath sent excuse);
See hearty Watkins comes with cup and can; And Lewis, who has never friend forsaken; And Laughton whispering asks, Is Troy town taken? Earl Warwick comes, of free and honest mind; Bold, generous Craggs, whose heart was ne'er dis
guised : Ah why, sweet St. John, cannot I thee find!
St. John, for every social virtue prized. Alas! to foreign climates he's confined,
Or else to see thee here I well surmised: Thou too, my Swift, dost breathe Bæotian air ; When wilt thou bring back wit and humour here? Harcourt I see, for eloquence renown'd,
The mouth of justice, oracle of law! Another Simon is beside him found,
Another Simon, like as straw to straw. How Lansdown smiles, with lasting laurel crown'd!
What mitred prelate there commands our awe? See Rochester approving nods his head, And ranks one modern with the mighty dead. Carleton and Chandos thy arrival grace ;
Hanmer, whose eloquence th' unbias'd sways; Harley, whose goodness opens in his face,
And shows his heart the seat where virtue stays. Ned Blount advances next with busy pace,
In haste, but sauntering, hearty in his ways: I see the friendly Carylls come by dozens, [ins. Their wives, their uncles, daughters, sons, and cousArbuthnot there I see, in physic's art,
As Galen learn’d or famed Hippocrate; Whose company drives sorrow from the heart,
As all disease his medicines dissipate ;
Kneller amid the triumph bears his part,
Who could (were mankind lost) a new create : What can th' extent of his vast soul confine ? A painter, critic, engineer, divine ! Thee Jervas hails, robust and debonair,
Now have (we) conquer'd Homer, friends, he cries : Darteneuf, grave joker, joyous Ford is there,
And wondering Maine so fat, with laughing eyes (Gay, Maine, and Cheney, boon companions dear,
Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of size), Yea Dennis, Gildon (hearing thou hast riches), And honest, hatless Cromwell, with red breeches. Oh Wanley, whence com’st thou with shorten'd hair,
And visage from thy shelves with dust besprent? “Forsooth (quoth he) from placing Homer there,
For ancients to compyle is myne entente :
But hither me hath my meeke lady sent :
Evans with laugh jocose, and tragic Young ;
Yea Steele and Tickell mingle in the throng:
Lo Bickford, Fortescue, of Devon land ! Lo Tooker, Eckershall, Sykes, Rawlinson!
See hearty Morley takes thee by the hand; Ayrs, Graham, Buckridge, joy thy voyage done ;
But who can count the leaves, the stars, the sand ? Lo Stoner, Fenton, Caldwell, Ward, and Broome ! Lo thousands more; but I want rhyme and room!