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Then leave, ye wise, the lyre's precarious chords Condemn the unlucky curate to recite
Their last dramatic work by candle light,
Yet, since it is promised at the rector's death. The cobbler laureates sing* to Capel Lotit it
He'll risk no living for a little breath. Till, lol that modern. Midas, as he hears,
Then spouts and foams, and cries at every line, Adds an ell growth to his egregious ears!
(The Lord forgive him !) “ Bravo! grand! divine
Hoarse with those praises (which, by flatt'ry sed, There lives one druid, who prepares in time Gainst future fends his poor revenge of rhyme;
Dependence barters for her bitter bread,)
He strides and stamps along with creaking boot, Racks his dull memory, and his duller muse,
Till the floor echoes bis emphatic foot;
Then sits again, then rolls his pious eye,
As when the dying vicar will not die! But what is shame, or what is aught, to him?
Nor feels, forsooth, emotion at his heart;
But all disemblers overact their part. He vents his spleen or gratifies his whim. Some fancied slight has roused his lurking hate, Ye who aspire to build the lofty rhyme, Some folly cross'd, some jest or some debate; Believe not all who laud your false “sublime;" Up to his den Sir Scribbler hies, and soon
But if some friend shall hear your work, and say, The gather'd gall is voided in lampoon.
* Expunge that stanza, lop that line away," Perhaps at some pert speech you've dared to frown,
Si carmina condes, Perhaps your poem may have pleased the town; Nunquam te fallant animi sub vulpe latentes. If so, alas! 'tis nature in the man
Quintilio si quid recitares, Corrige, sodes, May heaven forgive you, for he never can!
Hoc (aiebat) et hoc: melius te posse negares, Then be it so; and may his withering bays
Bis terque expertum frustra, delere jubebal,
Et male tornatos incudi reddere versus. Bloom fresh in satire, though they fade in praise ! Si defendere delictum quam vertere malles, While his lost songs no more shall steep and stink, Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam insumebat inanen The dullest, fattest weeds on Lethe's brink,
Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares. But springing upwards from the sluggish mould, Be, (what they never were before) be sold!
Fitzgerald had been the tail of poesy, but, alas! he is only the pealt
mate. Should some rich bard (but such a monster now,
A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO THE EDITOR OF THE
MORNING CHRONICLE. In modern physics, we can scarce allow)
“What reams of paper, floods of ink," Should some pretending scribbler of the court,
Do some men spoil, who never think! Some rhyming peer-there's plenty of the sorti
And so perhaps you 'll say of me,
In which your readers may agree. All but one poor dependent priest withdrawn,
Still I write on, and tell you why; (Ah! too regardless of his chaplain's yawn !)
Nothing's so bad, you can't deny,
Without the risk of giving pain. • I beg Nathaniel's pardon; he is not a cobbler; it is a tailor, but begged
And should you doubt what I assert, Capel Lofft to sink the profession in his preface to two pair of panta
The name of Camden I insert, psha Sof cantos, which be wished the public to try on; but the sieve of a
Who novels read, and oft maintain patron let it out, and so far saved the expense of an advertisement to his
He here and there some knowledge gain'd. country customers.--Merry's "Moorfeld's whine" was nothing to all this
Then why pot l indulge my pen, The “ Della Cruscans” were people nf some education, and no profession;
Though I do fame or profit gain, but these Arcadians (" Arcades ainbo”-bumpkins both) send out their na
Yet may amuse your idle men; Give nonsense without the smallest alloy, and leave all the shoes and small.
of whom, though some may be severe, clothes in the parish unrepaired, to patch up Elegies on Enclosures and
Others may read without a speer? Pæans to Gunpowder. Sitting on a shopboard, they describe fields of battle,
Thus much premised, I next proceed when the only blood they ever saw was shed from the finger; and an "Es
To give you what I feel my creed, say on War" is produced by the ninth part of a "poet."
And in what follows to display
Some bumours of the passing day. Did Nathan ever read that line of Pope? and if he did, why not take it as ON SOME MODERN QUACKS AND REFORMISTS his motto?
In tracing of the human mind 1 This well-meaning gentleman has spoiled some excellent shoe-makers,
Through all its various courses, and been accessary to the poetical undoing of many of the industrious poor,
Though strange, 't is true, we often find Nathaniel Bloomfield and his brother Bobby have set all Somersetshire sing.
It knows not its resources: ing; nor has the malady confined itself to one county. Pralt too (who once was wiser) has caught the contagion of patronage, and decoyed a poor fel
And men through life assume a part
For which no talents they possess low named Blackett into poetry, but he died luring the operation, leaving one child, and two volumes of “Remains'utterly destitute. The girl, if
Yet wonder that, vith all their art,
They meet no better with success she don't take a poetical twist, and come forth as a shoe-making Sappho. may do well; but the “ tragedies" are as rickety as if they had been the
"Tis thus we see, through life's career, offspring of an Earl or a Seatonian prize poet. The patrons of this poor
So few excel in their profession; lad are certainly answerable for bis end, and it ought to be an indictable of
Whereas, would each man but appear fence. But this is the least they have done, for, by a refinement of barbari
In what s within his own possession, ty, they have made the (late) man posthumously ridiculous, by printing
We should not see such daily quacks what he would have had sense enough never to print himself. Cories these
(For quacks there are in every art) rakers of “Remains" come under the statute agains! " resurrection men."
Attempting, by their strange attacks, What does it rignify whether a poor, dear, dead dunce is to be stuck up in
To meliorate the mind and heart. Surgeons' or in Stationers' Hall Is it so bad to unearth his bones as his
mean I bere the stage alone, Slunders? Is it not better to gibbet his body on a heath, than his soul in an
Where some deserve th' applauce they meet; octavo? “We know what we are, but we know not what we may be ;"
For quacks there are, and they well known, and it is to be hoped we never shall know, if a man who has passed through
In either house, who hold a sent. life with a sort of eclat is to find himself a mountebank on the other side of Styx, and made, like poor Joe Blackett, the laughing stock of purgatory.
Reform's the order of the day, I hear, The plea of publication is to provide for the child; now, might not some of
To which I cordially assent:
But then let this reform appear, this “Sutor ultra Crepiduin's" friends and reducers have done a decent action without inveigling Pratt biography? And then his inscription split
And ev'ry class of men cement. math so many modicums!- To the Dutchess of So-much, the Right Hon.
For if you but reform a few, So-and-, and Mrs. and Mise Somebody, these volumes are, &c. &c."-why,
And others leave to their full bent, this is doling out the soft milk of dedication" in gills,-there is but a quart,
I fear you will but little do, and he divides it among a dozen. Why, Pratt, badst thou not a puff left?
And find your time and pains misspent. Dost thou think six families of distinction can share this in quiet ? –There is
Let each man to his post assign'd a child, a book, and a dedication; send the girl to her grace, the volumes to
By Nature, take his part to act, the grocer, and the dedication to the devil.
And then few causes shall we find I Here will Mr. Giffont allo: nie to introduce once more to his notice
To call each man we meet — quack.. the sole survicur, the "ultimus Romanorum," the last of the “Cruscan
- Edwin the profound."' by our Lady of Punishment! here he For such every man is who either appean to be what he is not, ar or in vey as in the days of " well said Bavíad the Correct." I thought to be what he cannot.
And, after fruitless efforts, you return
If by some chance he walks into a well, Without amendment, and he answers, “ Burn!" And shouts for succour with stentorian yell, That instant throw your paper in the fire,
“A rope! help, Christians, as ye hope for grace !" Ask not his thoughts, or follow his desire;
Nor woman, man, nor child will stir a race; But if (true bard!) you scorn to condescend,
For there bis carcase lie might freely fling, And will not alter what you can't defend,
From frenzy, or the humour of the thing.
Yet, if you only prize your favourite thought Budgell, a rogue and rlyniester, for no good,
(Unless his case be much misunderstood)
And therefore be it lawful through the town
For any bard to poison, hang, or drown. Give light to passages too much in shade,
Who saves the intended suicide receives Nor let a doubt obscure one verse you 've made; Small thanks from him who loathes the life he leaves; Your friend's "a Johnson," not to leave one word, And, sooth to say, mad poets must not lose Ilowever trifling, which inay seem absurd;
The glory of that death they freely choose. Such erring trifles lead to serious ils,
Nor is it certain that some sorts of verse And furnish food for critics,f or their quills. Prick not the poet's conscience as a curse; As the Scotch fiddle, with its touching tone,
| Dosed with vile drams on Sunday he was found Or the sad influence of the angry moon,
Or got a child on consecrated ground! All men avoid bad writers' ready tongues,
And hence is haunted with a rhyming rage
Fear'd like a bear just bursting from his cage.
If free, all fly his versifying fit,
Fatal at once to simpleton or wit. long as the last years of a lingering lease,
But him, unhappy! whom he seizes,-him When riot pauses until rents increase.
He flays with recitation limb by limb; While such a minstrel, muttering fustian, strays
Probes to the quick wbere'er be makes his breach, O'er hedge and ditch, through unfrequented ways,
And gorges like a lawyer or a leech. Vir bonus et prudens versus reprehendet inertes:
Objectos cavere valuit si frangere clathros, Culpabit et duros; incomptis alinet atrum
Indoctum doctumque fugat recitator acerbus. Transverso calaino signum; ambitiosa recidet
Quem vero arripuit, tenet, occiditque legendo, Ornamenta; parum claris lucem dare coget;
Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoris, hirudo Arguet ambigue dictum; mutanda notabit; Fiet Aristarchus: nec dicet, Cur ego amicum
On his table were found these words: I’hat Cato did and Addison ap
prived cannot be wrong." But Add son did not approve ;'' and if he had, Offendam in niigis? hæ nuge seria ducent
it would not have mended the matter. He had invited his daughter on the In mala derisi semel exceptuinque sinistre. same water party, but Miss Und gell, hy some accident, escaped this last paUt inala quem scabies aut morbus regius urguet,
fernal attention. Thus fell the sycophant of “Atticas," and the enemy of
Pope. Aut fanaticis error el iracunda Diana,
li If "donc with," &e, bo censured as low, I beg leave to refer to the Vesanum tetigisse timent fugiunque poetam,
or cica! for something still lower; and if any reader will translate Mint Qui sapiunt; agitant pieri, incautique sequuntur. erit in patries cineren, &c. into a decent couplel, I will insert said couplet
a Hie dum sublimes versus ructatur, et errat
in lieu of the present. Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps
"Difficile est proprie communia dicere."-Mde. Dacier, Mde. de Sevigne, In puteum, foveannve; licet, Succurrite, longum
Boileau, and others, live left their dispute on the meaning of this passage in Clamnet, lo cives! non sit qui tollere curet.
a tract considerably longer than the poem of Horace. It is printed at the Si quis curet opem ferre, et demittere funem, close of the eleveoth volume of Madame de Sevigne's Letters, edited by Qui scis an prudens huc se dejecerit, atque
Grovelle, Paris, 1-05. Presuming that all who can contre may venture
an opinion on such subjects, particularly as so many who can not have Servari nolit? Dicam : Siculique poeta
taken the same liberty. I should base held my " farthing candle" as awk. Narrabo interitum, Deus immortalis haberi
wardiy asarntler, had not my respect for the wils of Louis the Fourteenth's Dun cipit Empedocles, ardentein frigidus Ætnam Augustan kerie induced me to subjoin these illustrious authorities. Ist, Insiluit; sit jus liceatque perire poetis :
Ritenu: 11 cal difficile de traiter des sujets qui sont a la porter de tout lo
minde d'ene maniere qui vous les repre propres, ce qui s'appelle s'approInvitun qui servat, idem facit occidenti.
rrier un sujet par le tour qu'on y donne." 2dly, Balleux : Mais il est Nec semel hoc fecit; nec, si retractus crii, jam bien difficile de donner de Traits propres et individuels aux etren purement Fiet homo, et ponet famose inortis amorem.
possibles." 301y, Dacier : "Il est dithicile de traiter convenablement ces
caracteres que tout le monde peut inventer." Mde. de Sevinne's opinion Vec satis apparet cur versiis factitet; utruin
and translation consisting cr some thirty mges. Tomit, particularly as M. Minxerit in patrios cineres, an triste bidental Guvelle closerves " La chose est bien riniarquable, aucune de ces diversen Moverit incestus; certe farit, ac velui ursus,
interpreations de porait etre la veritable." But, or way of comfort, it seems, fifty years afterwands, "le luminetix Dumarais" made his appearance to set Homace on his legs again, "dissiper tous les nuages, et concilier tous les
dissentimien;" and, some tify year herce, somehody, still more luminous, • Bastard of your brains-Minerva being the first by Jupiter's head-piece, will doubtless start up and demolish Numar is and his systein on this anda sariety of equally unaccountable parturitions upon earth, such as Ma- weighty affir, as if he were no better than Ptolemy and Tycho, or com. doc, &c. Ac. &c.
Deuts of no more consequence than astronomical calculations on the presen! HA crust for the critics." -Barce, in the Rehearsal.
comel. I am happy to say, "la longueur de la dissertation" of M. D. pre : And the "waiters" are the only fortunale perple who can "ply" from verts. G. from saying any more on the matter. A better poet than Boileau, tem: all the rest, viz the sad subscribers to the Literary Fund," being and at least as good a scholar as Sevique, has said, compelled, hy courtesy, polnud the recitation without a hope of exclaim
"A little learning is a dangerous thing." log. Sic" (that is, by nuaxing Fitz, with ball wine or worse poetry) "me And by this comparison of comments it may be perceived how a good dea krvavit Apollo
may be rendered as perilous to the proprietors.
Additions to the Hours
to the Hours of koleness.
[There were several editions of the Hours of Idleness published in England; but no one of them, until that of 1832, contained all the pieces which properly belonged to that collection The following, when added to those in front of the book, make up the complete number.]
ON A DISTANT VIEW OF THE VILLAGE AND
TO D. SCHOOL OF HARROW ON TIIE HILL.
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
There, there thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.
On thy dear breast I'll lay my headAgain I revisit the hills where we sported,
Without thee, where would be my heaven? The streams where we swam, and the fields where
February, 1803. we fought; The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted,
TO EDDLESTON, To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught.
Let Folly sinile, to view the names Again I behold where for hours I have ponderd,
of thee and me in friendship twined; As reclining, at eve, on yon tomhstone I lay;
Yet Virtue will have greater clajins
And though unequal is thy fate, I once more view the room with spectators surrounited,
Since title deck'd my higher birth; Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'erthrown;
Yet envy not this gaudy state; While to swell my young pride such applauses re.
Thine is the pride of modest worth. sounded,
3. I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone:
Our souls at least congenial meet, 6. Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation,
Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet.
Since worth of rank supplies the place.
REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF JM B. PIGOT. ESQ l'ufaded your memory dwells in my breast;
ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS. Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you;
1. Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
Why, Pigot, complain 8.
of this damsel's disinin, To Ha full of ray remembrance restore me,
Why thus in despair do you fret? While fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
For inonths you may try, Bince darkneng o'ershadows the prospect before me,
Yet, believe me, a sigh More dear is the beam of the past to my soul. Will never obtain a coquette.
For a time sitem to rove:
Dit leave her a while, * Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew." She shortly will sinile,
1806. And then you may kiss your coquette
For such are the airs
Of these fanciful fairs,
Yet a partial neglect
Soon takes an etlect,
And lengthen your chain, And seem her hauteur to regret;
If again you shall sigh,
She no more will deny
Your pangs she deride,
Some other admire,
Who will melt with your fire, And laugh at the little coquette.
Soine twenty or more,
Though my heart they enthral,
I'd abandon them all,
Adopt this design,
Away with despair,
No longer forbear,
Your bosom defend,
Left your deep-wounded heart,
When incensed by the smart, Should lead you to curse the coquette.
October 27th, 1806.
Since the balm-breathing kiss
Of this magical miss
Since the "world you forget,
When your lips once have met," My counsel will get but abuse.
5. You say when “I rove,
I know nothing of love;" 'Tis true, I am given to rarge:
If I rightly remember,
I've loved a good number, Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.
6. I will not advance,
By the rules of romance, To humour a whimsical fair;
Though a smile may delight,
Yet a frown won't afright,
I ne'er shall reform,
of this I am sure,
Was my passion so pure,
Every woman for one, Whose image must fill my whole breast
Whom I must prefer,
And sigb but for her-
I cannot deny
Such love as you plead
Is pure love indeed,
TO MISS PIGOT.
1. Eliza, what fools are the Musselman scct,
Who to women deny the soul's future existence; Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resist.
TO THE SIGHING STREPHON.
If my rhymes did offend,
From friendship I strove
Your pangs to remove,
Your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret;
She's now the most divine,
And I bow at the shrine of this quickly reformed coquette.
3. Yet still, I must own,
I should never have known From your verses, what else she deserved
Your pain seein'd so great,
I pitied your fate,
2. Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of senso,
He ne'er would have women from paradise driven: Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, With women alone he had peopled his heaven.
3. Yet still to increase your calamities more,
Nol content with depriving your bodies of spirit. He allots one poor husband to share amongst four! With souls you'd dispense; but this lust. who could bear it?
4. His religion to please neither party is made;
On liusbands 'tis hard, to the wives the most uncivil Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said.
“ Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil
LINES WRITTEN IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY
NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. BY J. J. Cousin to the Author, and very dear to him. ROUSSEAU. FOUNDED ON FACTS."
1. " Away, a way! your flattering arts
Hush'd are the wirias, and still the evening glow May now betray some simpler hearts;
Not een a zephyr, wanders through the grove, And you will smile at their believing,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret's tomb, And they shall weep at your deceiving."
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
2. NSIVER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED TO MISS
Within this narrow cell reelines her clay, Dear, simple girl, those flattering arts,
That clay where once such animation beam'd; From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,
The King of 'Terrors seized her as his prey, Exist but in imagination,
Not worth, nor beauty, have lier life redeemid Mere phantoms of thine own creation; For he who views that witching grace,
3. That perfect form, that lovely face,
Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
Or Beaven reverse the dread decrees of fate! He never wishes to deceive thee:
Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
Nor here the Muse her virtues would relate. Once in thy polish'd mirror glance, Thou 'lt there descry that elegance
4. Which from our sex demands such praises, But wherefore weep? her matchless spirit soars But envy in the other raises:
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day; he who tells thee of thy beauty,
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers Believe me, only does his duty:
Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay. Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
5. It is not flattery,-'t is truth.
And shall presumptuous mortals heaven arraign,
And, madly, godlike providence accuse ?
I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.
6. No specious splendour of this stone
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Endears it to my memory ever;
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; With lustre only once it shone,
Still they call furth my warm affection's tear, And blushes modest as the giver.
Still in my heart retain their wonted place.
Some, who can sneer at friendship's tics,
Have for my weakness of reproved me;
As fearful that I might refuse it;
And sparkling as I held it near, Methought one drop the stone bedewid,' And ever since I've loved a tear.
Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield;
Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume; The flowers which yield the most of both
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom.
When you must quit your anxious lover;
Which bids iis part to meet no more,
And joy will mingle with our tears;
We viewd the lake, the park, the dale,
And spend the hours in childish play;
Reposing on my breast you lay;
Had Fortune aided Nature's care,
For once forgetting to be blind,
His form had fix'd her fickle brcast; ller countless hoards would his have been,
And none remaind to give the rest.
Whilst I, admiring, too remiss,
Forgot to scare the hov'ring flies,
It dared to give your slumbering eyes!