And grown fo bold behind his back,
To call him Hypocrite and Quack
In his own church he keeps a feat;
Says grace before, and after meat;
And calls, without affecting airs,
His houfhold twice a day to pray'rs.
He fhuns apothecary's fhops;
And hates to cram the fick with flops:
He fcorns to make his art a trade;
Nor bribes my Lady's fav'rite maid.
Old nurfe-keepers would never hire
To recommend him to the squire;
Which others, whom he will not name,
Have often practis'd to their fhame.
The Statesman tells you with a fneer,
His fault is to be too fincere;
And having no finifter ends,
Is apt to difoblige his friends.
The nations's good, his Mafter's glory,
Without regard to Whig or Tory,
Were all the fchemes he had in view
Yet he was feconded by few;
Though fome had spread a thousand lyes,
'Twas he defeated the excife.
"Twas known, though he had borne afperfion,
That ftanding troops were his averfion:
His practice was, in ev'ry station
To ferve the king, and please the nation
Though hard to find in ev'ry cafe
The fittest man to fill a place;
His promifes he ne'er forgot,
But took memorials on the fpot:
His enemies, for want of charity,
Said, he affected popularity:
'Tis true, the people understood
That all he did was for their goods
Their kind affections he has try'ds
No love is loft on either fide.
He came to court with fortune clear,
Which now he runs out ev'ry year;
Muft, at the rate that he goes on
Inevitably be undone.
Oh! if his Majefty would please
To give him but a writ of ease,
Would grant him licence to retire,
As it hath long been his defire;
By fair accounts it would be found
He's poorer by ten thousand pound.
He owns, and hopes it is no fin,
He ne'er was partial to his kin;
He thought it bafe for men in ftations,
To crowd the court with their relations
His country was his dearest mother,
And ev'ry virtuous man his brother:
Through modefty, or aukward fhame,
(For which he owns himfelf to blame)
He found the wifeft men he could,
Without refpect to friends, or blood;
Nor ever acts on private views
When he hath liberty to chufe.
The Sharper fwore he hated play,
Except to pass an hour away:
And, well he might; for to his coft
By want of skill, he always loft:
He heard, there was a club of cheats,
Who had contriv'd a thousand feats;
Could change the ftock, or cog a dye
And thus deceive the fharpeft eye:
No wonder how his fortune funk
His brothers fleece him when he's drunk.
I own the moral not exact;
Befides, the tale is falfe in fact;
And, fo abfurd, that could I raife up
From fields elyzian, fabling Efop,
I would accufe him to his face,
For libelling the four-foot race.
Creatures of ev'ry kind but ours
Well comprehend their natʼral pow'rs:
Swift. While we, whom reafon ought to fway
Mistake our talents ev'ry day:
The ass was never known fo ftupid
To act the part of tray or cupid;
Nor leaps upon his master's lap,
There to be ftroak'd and fed with Pap;
As Efop would the world perfuade;
He better underftands his trade:
Nor comes when'er his lady whistles;
But carries loads, and feeds on thistles;
Our author's meaning, I prefume, is
A creature bipes et implumis;
Wherein the moralift defign'd
A compliment on human kind:
For, here he owns, that now and then
Beafts may degen'rate into men.
(Dr. Edward Roung, geboren 1681, geftorben 17651 ein sehr würdiger englischer Geistlicher, und als Dichter durch feine, unten anzuführenden, Nächtgedanken am meisten berühmt. Vortrefflich aber in ihrer Art sind auch seine fier ben charakteristischen Satiren auf die Ruhmbegierde, die allgemeine Leidenschaft. – Von beiden dichterischen Werken ist die deutsche Uebersetzung von Hrn. Hofr. Eberty mit sehr schäßbaren kritischen und erläuternden Anmerkuns gen begleitet, eine sehr vollendete Arbeit von klassischem Werth. Man hat mehrmals den Youngischen Satiren den Vorwurf eines allzu üppigen und verschwendrischen Wißes gemacht, und sie eine fortlaufende Reihe von Epigrammen genannt. Das sollten sie aber, wie Dr. Johnson bemerkt, nach der Absicht ihres Verf. sein, der sich bemühte, auffal lende, treffende Distichen, und scharf zugespiste Lehrsprüche zu schreiben; und jenë haben volles Gewicht gründlicher Gea danken; diese, alle Schärfe unwiderstehlicher Wahrheit. Die Gattung seiner Satire hält, nach der Bemerkung eben dies, ses einsichtvollen Kunstrichters, zwischen der Horazischen und Juvenalischen das Mittel. Er hat alle Munterkeit des hos raz, ohne seine metrische Nachläßigkeiten; alle die Moralis tät Juvenal's, mit einer größern Abwechselung der Bilder)
What though wit tickles; tickling is unsafe,
If ftill 'tis painful, while it makes us laugh.
Who, for the poor renown of being Smart,
Would leave a fting within a brother's heart?
Parts may be prais'd, good-nature is ador'd;
Then draw your wit as feldom as your fword,
And never on the weak, or you'll appear
As there no hero, no great genius here.
As in fmooth oil the razor best is whet,
So wit is by politeness sharpest set:
Dr. Young Their want of edge from their offence is feen;
Both pain us leaft when exquifitely keen.
The fame, men give, is for the joy they find,
Dull is the jefter, when the joke's unkind.
Since MARCUS deubtlefs thinks himfelf a wit
To pay my compliment, what place fo fit?
His most facetious *) letters came to hand,
Which my First Satire fweetly reprimand:
If that a just offence to Marcus gave
Say, Marcus, which art thou, a Fool, or Knave?
For all but fuch with caution I forbore;
That thou waft either, I ne'er knew before:
I know thee now, both what thou art, and who;
No mafk fo good, but Marcus muft fhine through:
Falfe names are vain, thy lines their author tell;
Thy heft concealment had been writing well;
But thou a brave neglect of fame haft fhown,
Of others' fame, great genius! and thy own,
Write on unheeded, and this maxim know;
The man who pardons, difappoints his foe.
In malice to proud wits, fome proudly lull
Their peevish reason; vain of being dull:
When fome home joke has ftung their folemn fouls
In vengeance they determine to be fools;
Through fpleen, that little nature gave, make lefs
Quite zealous in the ways of heaviness;
To lumps inanimate a fondness take;
And difinherit fons that are awake.
Thefe, when their utmoft venom they would fpit,
Moft barbaroufly tell you,,He's a wit."
Poor negroes, thus, to fhew their burning fpite
To cacodaemons, fay, they're dev'lifh white.
LAMPRIDIUS from the bottom of his breaft
Sighs o'er one child, but triumphs in the reft.
How juft his grief? one carries in his head.
A lefs proportion of the father's lead;
*) Letters fent to the author, figned MARCUS.
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