Nor' once to Chancery, nor to Hale apply;
Yet hang your lip, to see a seam awry!
Careless how ill I with myself agree,
Kind to my dress, my figure, not to me.
Is this my guide, philosopher, and friend?
This he, who loves me, and who ought to mend ;
Who ought to make me (what he can, or none)
That man divine, whom Wisdom calls her own;
Great without title, without fortune bless'd;
Rich ev'n when plunder'd, honour'd while op-
press'd;
Lov'd without youth, and follow'd without power;
At home, though exil'd; free though in the Tower;
In short, that reasoning, high, immortal thing,
Just' less than Jove, and much above a king,
Nay, half in Heaven-' except (what's mighty odd)
A fit of vapours clouds this demi-god!

4

"

BOOK I. EPISTLE VI.

TO MR. MURRAY.

Tais piece is the most finished of all his imitations, and executed in the high manner the Italian painters call con amore. By which they mean, the exertion of that principle, which puts the faculties on the stretch, and produces the supreme degree of excellence. For the poet had all the warmth of affection for the great lawyer to whom it is addressed; and, indeed, no man ever more deserved to have a poet for his friend. In the obtaining of which, as neither vanity, party, nor fear, had any share, so he supported his title to it by all the offices of true friendship.

speech,

So take it in the very words of Creech.)

"This vault of air, this congregated ball, Self-center'd Sun, and stars that rise and fall, There are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes Look through and trust the Ruler with his skies, To him commit the hour, the day, the year, And view 12 this dreadful all without a fear.

Admire we then what "Earth's low entrails hold, Arabian shores, or Indian seas infold; All the mad trade of 1 fools and slaves for gold?

1

2

Nec medici credis, nec curatoris egere
A prætore dati; rerum tutela mearum
Cum sis, et prave sectum stomacheris ob unguem,
[* dives,
De te pendentis, te respicientis amici.

Ad summam, sapiens uno minor est Jove, *Liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum; Præcipue sanus, nisi cum pituita molesta est.

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4

EPISTOLA VI.

NL admirari, prope res est una, Numici, Solaque quæ pussit facere et servare beatum,10

11 Hunc solem, et stellas, et decedentia certis Tempora momentis, sunt qui 12 formidine nulla, Imbuti spectent 13 quid conses, munera terræ ? Quid, maris extremos Arabas ditantis it lados?

Or popularity? or stars and strings?
The mob's applauses, or the gifts of kings?
Say with what 2 eyes we ought at courts to gaze,
And pay the great our homage of amaze?

If weak the pleasure that from these can spring,
The fear to want them is as weak a thing:
Whether we dread, or whether we desire,
In either case, believe me, we admire;
Whether we "joy or grieve the same the curse,
Surpris'd at better, or surpris'd at worse.
Thus good or bad, to one extreme betray
Th' unbalanc'd mind, and snatch the man away;
For' Virtue's self may too much zeal be had;
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.
"Go then, and if you can, admire the state
Of beaming diamonds, and reflected plate;
Procure a taste to double the surprise,
And gaze on Parian charms with learned eyes:
Be struck with bright brocade, or Tyrian dye,
Our birth-day nobles' splendid livery.

If not so pleas'd, at 'council-board rejoice
To see their judgments hang upon thy voice;
From 10
morn to night, at senate, rolls, and hall,
Plead much, read more, dine late, or not at all.
But wherefore all this labour, all this strife?
For" fame, for riches, for a noble wife?
Shall 12 one whom Nature, learning, birth conspir'd
To form, not to admire, but be admir'd,
Sigh, while his Chloe, blind to wit and worth,
Weds the rich dulness of some son of earth?
Yet 13 time ennobles, or degrades each line;
It brighten'd Craggs's, and may darken thine:
And what is fame? the meanest have their day,
The greatest can but blaze, and pass away.
Grac'd as thou art, 14 with all the power of words,
So known, so honour'd, at the house of lords:
Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh,
(More silent far) where kings and poets lie;
Where Murray (long enough his country's pride)
Shall be no more than Tully, or than Hyde!

|

15 Rack'd with sciatics, martyr'd with the stone,

See Ward by batter'd beaux invited over,
And desperate misery lays hold on Dover.
The case is easier in the mind's disease;
There all men may be cur'd, whene'er they please.

Would ye be blest? despise low joys, low gains;
Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains;
Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.

2 But art thou one, whom new opinions sway,
One who believes as Tindal leads the way,
Who virtue and a church alike disowns,
Thinks that but words, and this but brick and stones?
Fly then on all the wings of wild desire,
Admire whate'er the maddest can admire:
Is wealth thy passion? Hence! from pole to pole,
Where winds can carry, or where waves can roll,
For Indian spices, for Peruvian gold,
Prevent the greedy, or outbid the bold:
* Advance thy golden mountain to the skies;
On the broad base of fifty thousand rise,
Add one round hundred, and (if that's not fair)
Add fifty more, and bring it to a square.
For, mark th' advantage; just so many score,
Will gain a wife with half as many more,
Procure her beauty, make that beauty chaste,
And then such friends-as cannot fail to last.
A '
man of wealth is dubb'd a man of worth,
Venus shall give him form, and Anstis birth.
(Believe me, many a German prince is worse,
Who proud of pedigree is poor of purse)
His wealth brave Timon gloriously confounds;
Ask for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds;
Or if three ladies like a luckless play,

Takes the whole house upon the poet's day.
10 Now, in such exigencies not to need,
Upon my word, you must be rich indeed;
A noble superfluity it craves,

Not for yourself, but for your fools and knaves;
Something, which for your honour they may cheat,
And which it much becomes you to forget.
11 If wealth alone then make and keep us blest,
Still, still be getting, never, never rest.

12 But if to power and place your passion lie,
If in the pomp of life consist the joy;
Then 13 hire a slave, or (if you will) a lord,
To do the honours, and to give the word;
Tell at your levee, as the crouds approach,
To whom 14 to nod, whom take into your coach

Quare fugam morbi. 1vis recte vivere? quis non?
Si virtus hoc una potest dare, fortis omissis
Hoc age deliciis.

3

2 virtutem verba putes, et Lucum ligna? 3 cave ne portus occupet alter; Ne Cibyratica, ne Bithyna negotia perdas : 4 Mille talenta rotundentur, totidem altera, porro et Tertia succedant, et quæ pars quadret acervum. Scilicet 5 uxorem cuin dote, fidemque, et amicos, Et genus, et formam, regina Pecunia donat; Ac bene nummatum decorat Suadela, Venusque. Mancipiis locuples, eget æris 3 Capadocum rex: Ne fueris hic tu. 9 chlamydes Lucullus, ut aiunt, Si posset centum scenæ præbere rogatus, [habebo Qui possum tot? ait: tamen et quaram, et quot Mittam: post paulo scribit, sibi millia quinque Esse domi chlamydum: partem, vel tolleret omnes. 10 Exilis domus est, ubi non et multa supersunt, Et dominum fallunt, et prosunt furibus. " ergo, Si res sola potest facere et servare beatum, Hoc primus repetas opus, hoc postremus omittas. 12 Si fortunatum species et gratia præstat, 13 Mercemur servum, qui dictet nomina, lævum Qui fodicet latus, et 14 cogat trans pondera dex

tram

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2

Whom honour with your hand: to make remarks,
Who rules in Cornwall, or who rules in Berks:
"This may be troublesome, is near the chair:
That makes three members, this can chuse a mayor."
Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest,
Adopt him son, or cousin at the least,
Then turn about, and laugh at your own jest.
Or if your life be one continued treat,
If to live well means nothing but to eat;
Up, up! cries Gluttony, 'tis break of day,
Go drive the deer, and drag the finny prey;
With hounds and horns go hunt an appetite-
So Russel did, but could not eat at night,
Call'd happy dog! the beggar at his door,
And envy'd thirst and hunger to the poor.

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Or shall we 6 every decency confound; Through taverns, stews, and bagnio's take our round; Go dine with Chartres, in each vice outdo 'K--I's lewd cargo, or Ty-y's crew; From Latian syrens, French Circæan feasts, Return well travell'd, and transform'd to beasts; Or for a titled punk, or foreign flame, Renounce our country and degrade our name? If, after all, we must with Wilmot own, The cordial drop of life is love alone,

And Swift cry wisely, “ Vive la bagatelle !"
The man that loves and laughs, must sure do well.
10 Adieu-if this advice appear the worst,

E'en take the counsel which I gave you first:
Or better precepts if you can impart,
Why do, I'll follow them with all my heart.

EPISTLE I.

TO AUGUSTUS.

a

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE reflections of Horace, and the judgments past in his epistle to Augustus, seemed so seasonable to the present times, that I could not help applying them to the use of my own country. The author thought them considerable enough to address them to his prince; whom he paints with all the great and good qualities of a monarch, upon whom the Romans depended for the increase of an absolute empire. But to make the poem entirely English, I was willing to add one or two of those which con

3

Porrigere: Hic multum in Fabia valet ille Velina:
Cui libet, is faces dabit; eripietque curule,
Cui volet, importunus ebur: 2 Frater, Pater, adde:
Ut cuique est ætas, ita quemque 3 facetus adopta.
Si bene qui cœnat, bene vivit; lucet: eamus
Quo ducit gula: piscemur, venemur, utolim
Gargilius: qui mane plagas, venabula, servos,
Differtum transire forum populumque jubebat,
Unus ut e multis populo spectante referret
Emptum mulus aprum. crudi, tumidique lavemur,
Quid deceat, quid non, obliti; Cærite cera
Digni; remigium vitiosum Ithacensis Ulyssei;
Cui potior patria fuit interdicta voluptas.

9 Si, Mimnermus uti censet, sine amore jocisque Nil est jucundum; vivas in amore jocisque.

10 Vive, vale. si quid novisti rectius istis, Candidus imperti; si non, his utere mecum.

tribute to the happiness of a free people, and are more consistent with the welfare of our neighbours.

This epistle will show the learned world to have fallen into two mistakes: one, that Augustus was the patron of poets in general; whereas he not only prohibited all but the best writers to name him, but recommended that care ev'n to the civil magistrate: Admonebat prætores, ne paterentur nomen suum obsolefieri, &c. The other, that this piece was only a general discourse of poetry; whereas it was an apology for the poets, in order to render Augustus more their patron. Horace here pleads the cause of his contemporaries, first against the taste of the town, whose humour it was to magnify the authors of the preceding age; secondly against the court and nobility, who encouraged only the writers for the theatre; and lastly against the emperor himself, who had conceived them of little use to the government. He shows (by a view of the progress of learning, and the change of taste among the Romars) that the introduction of the polite arts of Greece had given the writers of his time great advantages over their predecessors; that their merals were much improved, and the licence of those ancient poets restrained; that satire and comedy were become more just and useful; that whatever extravagances were left on the stage, were owing to the ill taste of the nobility; that poets, under due regulations, were in many respects useful to the state; and concludes, that it was upon them the emperor himself must depend, for his fame with posterity.

We may farther learn from this epistle, that Horace made his court to this great prince, by writing with a decent freedom towards him, with a just contempt of his low flatterers, and with a manly regard to his own character.

1 Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind! All human virtue to its latest breath

2 Finds Envy never conquer'd but by Death.
The great Alcides, every labour past,
Had still this monster to subdue at last.
Sure fate of all beneath whose rising ray
Each star of meaner merit fades away!
Oppress'd we feel the beam directly beat,
Those suns of glory please not till they set.

4

To thee the world its present homage pays, The harvest early, but mature the praise: Great friend of liberty! in kings a name Above all Greek, above all Roman fame *: Whose word is truth, as sacred and rever'd, As Heavens own oracles from altars heard. Wonder of kings! like whom, to mortal eyes "None e'er has risen, and none e'er shall rise.

Just in one instance, be it yet confest Your people, sir, are partial in the rest: Foes to all living worth except your own, And advocates for folly dead and gone. Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old; It is the rust we value, not the gold. 'Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learn'd by rote, And beastly Skelton heads of houses quote: One likes no language but the Faery Queen; A Scot will fight for Christ's Kirk o' the Green; And each true Briton is to Ben so civil,

9

He swears the Muses meet him at the Devil.
Though justly Greece her eldest sons admires,
Why should not we be wiser than our sires?
In every public virtue we excel ;

We build, we paint, 10 we sing, we dance as well;
And " learned Athens to our art must stoop,
Could she behold us tumbling through a hoop.

If 12 time improve our wits as well as wine,
Say at what age a poet grows divine?
Shall we, or shall we not, account him so,
Who dy'd perhaps an hundred years ago?
End all dispute; and fix the year precise
When British bards begin t' immortalize?

1 Ploravere suis non respondere favorem Speratum meritis. diram qui contudit Hydram, Notaque fatali portenta labore subegit, Comperit 2 invidiam supremo fine domari, 3 Urit enim fulgore suo, qui prægravat artes Infra se positas: extinctus amabitur idem.

4 Præsenti tibi maturos largimur honores, Jurandasque tuum per numen ponimus aras, "Nil oriturum alias, nil ortum tale fatentes. Sed tuus hoc populus sapiens et justus in uno, * Te nostris ducibus, te Graiis anteferendo Cætera nequaquam simili ratione modoque Estimat; et, nisi quæ terris semota suisque Temporibus defuncta videt, fastidit et odit: ' Sic fautor veterum, ut tabulas peccare vetantes Quas bis quinque viri sanxerunt, fœdera regum, Vel Gabiis vel cum rigidis æquata Sabinis, Pontificum libros annosa volumina Vatum, Dictitet Albano Musas in monte locutas.

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Si, quia Graiorum sunt antiquissima quæque Scripta vel optima, Romani pensantur eadem Scriptores trutina; non est quod multa loquamur: Nil intra est oleam, nil extra est in nuce duri. Venimus ad summum fortune: pingimus, atque 10 Psallimus, et "luctamur Achivis doctius unctis. Si 12 meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit; Scire velim, chartis pretium quotus arroget annus.

"Who lasts a' century can have no flaw; I hold that wit a classic, good in law."

Suppose he wants a year, will you compound? And shall we deem him2 ancient right and sound, Or damn to all eternity at once, At ninety-nine, a modern aud a dunce?

"We shall not quarrel for a year or two; By courtesy of England, he may do."

5

Then, by the rule that made the horse-tail bare, I pluck out year by year as hair by hair, And melt down ancients like a heap of snow: While you, to measure merits, look in Stowe, And, estimating authors by the year, Bestow a garland only on a 'bier.

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Shakespeare (whom you and every playhouse Style the divine, the matchless, what you will) For gain, not glory, wing'd his roving flight, And grew immortal in his own despite. Ben, old and poor, as little scem'd to heed "The life to come in every poet's creed. Who now reads 10 Cowley? if he pleases yet, His moral pleases, not his pointed wit; Forgot his epic, nay pindaric art, But still "I love the language of his heart.

13

"Yet surely, 12 surely, these were fainous men ! What boy but hears the saying of old Ben? In all 3 debates where critics bear a part, Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson's art, Of Shakespeare's nature, and of Cowley's wit; How Beaumont's judgment check'd what Fletcher writ;

How Shadwell hasty, Wycherley was slow;
But, for the passions, Southerne, sure, and Rowe.
These, 14 only these, support the crowded stage,
From eldest Heywood down to Cibber's age."

All this may be; "the peoples voice is odd, It is, and it is not, the voice of God. To 16 Gammer Gurton if it give the bays, And yet deny the Careless Husband praise,

Or say our fathers never broke a rule;
Why then, I say, the public is a fool.
But let them own, that greater faults than we
They had, and greater virtues, I'll agree.
Spenser himself affects the obsolete,
And Sydney's verse halts ill on Roman feet:
Milton's strong pinion now not Heaven can bound,
Now serpent-like in 'prose he sweeps the ground,
In quibbles, angel and archangel join,
And God the father turns a school-divine.

Not that I'd lop the beauties from his book,

༣

Like slashing Bently with his desperate hook, Or dann all Shakespeare, like th' affected fool At court, who hates whate'er he read at school.

But for the wits of either Charles's days, The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease; Sprat, Carew, Sedley, and a hundred more, (Like twinkling stars the miscellanies o'er) One simile, that solitary shines

In the dry desert of a thousand lines,

Or lengthen'd thought that gleams through many
Has sanctify'd whole poems for an age. [a page,
'I lose my patience, and I own it too,
When works are censur'd, not as bad, but new ;
Whil, if our elders break all reason's laws,
These fools demand not pardon, but applause.

10 On Avon's bank, where flowers eternal blow,
If I but ask if any weed can grow;
One tragic sentence if I dare deride,
Which " Betterton's grave action dignify'd,
Or well-mouth'd Booth with emphasis proclaims,
(Though but, perhaps, a muster-roll of names)
How will our fathers rise up in a rage,
And swear, all shame is lost in George's age!
You'd think 12 no fools disgrac'd the former reign,
Did not some grave examples yet remain,
Who scorn a lad should teach his father skill,
And having once been wrong, will be so still.
He, who to seem more deep than you or I,
Extols old bards, 13 or Merlin's prophecy,
Mistake him not; he envies, not admires,
And to debase the sons, exalts the sires.

Ut nihil anteferat, nihil illis comparet; errat:
Si quædam nimis 'antique, si pleraque 'dure
Dicere credit eos, ignave multa fatetur ;
Et sapit, et mecum facit, et Jove judicat aquo.
* Non equidem insector, delendaque carmina Livî
Esse reor, memini quæ plagosum mihi parvo
Orbiliun dictare;

sed emendata videri Pulchraque, et exactis minimum distantia, miror: Inter quæ verbum emicuit si forte decorum, Si versus paulo concinnior unus et alter; Injuste totum ducit venditque poema.

0

Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia crasse Compositum, illepideve putetur, sed quia nuper ; Nec veniam antiquis, sed honorem et præmia posci.

10 Recte neene crocum floresque perambulet Attæ Fabula, si dubitem; clamant periisse pudorem Cuncti pene patres: ea cun reprehendere coner, Quæ gravis Esopus, quæ doctus Roscius egit. Vel quia nil rectum, nisi quod placuit sibi, ducunt;

11

Had ancient times conspir'd to disallow What then was new, what had been ancient now? Or what remain'd, so worthy to be read By learned critics, of the mighty dead?

In days of ease, when now the weary sword Was sheath'd, and luxury with Charles restor❜d; In every taste of foreign courts improv'd,

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All, by the king's example, liv'd and lov'd.” Then peers grew proud 'in horsemanship t' excel, Newmarket's glory rose, as Britain's fell; The soldier breath'd the gallantries of France, And every flowery courtier writ romance. Then marble, soften'd into life, grew warm, And yielding metal flow'd to human form: Lely on animated canvas stole

The sleepy eye, that spoke the melting soul.
No wonder then, when all was love and sport,
The willing Muses were debauch'd at court:
On each enervate string they taught the note
To pant or tremble through an eunuch's throat.

But Britain, changeful as a child at play, Now calls in princes, and now turns away. Now Whig, now Tory, what we lov'd we hate; Now all for pleasure, now for church or state; Now for prerogative, and now for laws; Effects unhappy! from a noble cause.

Time was, a sober Englishman would knock His servants up, and rise by five o'clock, Instruct his family in every rule, And send his wife to church, his son to school. To worship like his fathers, was his care; To teach their frugal virtues to his heir; To prove that luxury could never hold; And place, on good 10 security, his gold. Now times are chang'd, and one " poetic itch Has seiz'd the court and city, poor and rich: Sons, sires, and grandsires, all will wear the bays,

Our wives read Milton, and our daughters plays,
To theatres and to rehearsals throng,
And all our grace at tables is a song.
I, who so oft renounce the Muses, 12 lie,
Not's self e'er tells more fibbs than I;

Hoc paces habuere bonæ, ventique secundi. Rome dulce diu fuit et solemne, reclusa Mane domo vigilare, clienti promere jura ; Scriptos nominibus rectis expendere nummos; Majores audire, minori dicere, per quæ Crescere res posset minui damnosa libido. Mutavit mentem populus levis, " et calet uno Scribendi studio: puerique patresque severi Fronde comas vincti cœnant, et carmina dictant. Ipse ego, qui nullos me affirmo scribere versus, Invenior Parthis mendacior; et prius orto Sole vigil, calamum et chartas et scrinia posco. VOL. XII.

When sick of Muse, our follies we deplore,
And promise our best friends to rhyme no more;
We wake next morning in a raging fit,
And call for pen and ink to show our wit.

2

1 He serv'd a 'prenticeship, who sets up shop; Ward try'd on puppies, and the poor, his drop; Ev'n Radcliffe's doctors travel first to France, Nor dare to practise till they've learn'd to dance. Who builds a bridge that never drove a pile? (Should Ripley venture, all the world would smile) But those who cannot write, and those who can, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble, to a man.

Yet, sir, reflect, the mischief is not great; These madmen never hurt the church or state: Sometimes the folly benefits mankind; .

S

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And rarely avarice taints the tuneful mind,
Allow him but his plaything of a pen,
He ne'er rebels, or plots, like other men:

7 Flight of cashiers, or mobs, he'll never mind,
And knows no losses while the Muse is kind.

8

To cheat a friend, or ward, he leaves to Peter;
The good man heaps up nothing but mere metre,
Enjoys his garden and his book in quiet;
And then-a perfect hermit in his diet.

Of little use the man you may suppose,
Who says in verse what others say in prose:
Yet let me show, a poet's of some weight,
And (10 though no soldier) useful to the state.
"What will a child learn sooner than a song?
What better teach a foreigner the tongue?
What's long or short, each accent where to place,
And speak in public with some sort of grace.
I scarce can think him such a worthless thing,
Unless he praise some monster of a king:
Or virtue, or religion turn to sport,
To please a lewd or unbelieving court.
Unhappy Dryden !—In all Charles's days,
Roscommon only boasts unspotted bays;
And in our own (excuse some courtly stains)
No whiter page than Addison remains;
He 12 from the taste obscene reclaims our youth,
And sets the passions on the side of Truth,
Forms the soft bosom with the gentlest art,
And pours each human virtue in the heart.
Let Ireland tell, how wit upheld her cause,
Her trade supported, and supplied her laws;
And leave on Swift this grateful verse engrav'd,

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The rights a court attack'd, a poet sav'd." Behold the hand that wrought a nation's cure, Stretch'd to relieve the idiot and the poor,

Navem agere ignarus navis timet: abrotonum

ægro

Non audet, nisi qui didicit, dare: quod medicorum Promittunt medici: tractant fabrilia fabri: [est, 'Scribimus indocti doctique poemata passim.

Hic error tamen et levis hæc insania, quantas Virtutes habeat, sic collige: vatisavarus Non temere est animus: versus amat, hoc studet

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unum;