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But thou, beneath the random bield

Mistake me not: no figures I exclude,
O'clod or stáne,

And but forbid intemperance, not food.
Adorns the histie stilble field,

Who would with care some happy fiction frame,
Unseen, alane.

So mimics truth, it looks the very same;

Not rais'd to force, or feign’d in Nature's scorn,
There in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread,

But meant to grace, illustrate, and adorn.
Thou lifts thy unassuming head

Important truths still let your fables hold,
In humble guise;

And moral mysteries with art unfold :

Ladies and beaux to please is all the task;
But now the share up tears thy bed,
And low thou lies !

But the sharp critic will instruction ask.

As veils transparent cover, but not hide, Such is the fate of artless maid,

Such metaphors appear, when right applied; Sweet flowret of the rural shade,

When thro’ the phrase we plainly see the sense,
By love's simplicity betray'd,

Truth with such obvious meanings will dispense.
And guiltless trust,

The reader what is reason's due believes,
Till she, like thee, all soil'd is laid

Nor can we call that false which not deceives:
Low i' the dust.

Hyperboles, so daring and so bold,
Such is the fate of simple bard,

Disdaining bounds, are yet by rules controlld; On life's rough ocean luckless starrid !

Above the clouds, but yet within our sight, Unskilful he to note the card

They mount with Truth, and make a tow'ring
of prudent lore,

Aight;
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, Presenting things impossible to view,
And whelin him o'er!

They wander through incredible to true.

Falsehoods thus mix'd like metals are refin'd; Such fate to suffering Worth is giv'n,

And Truth, like silver, leaves the dross behind. Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,

Thus Poetry has ample space to soar, By human pride or cunning driv'n

Nor needs forbidden regions to explore; 'To Mis’ry's brink,

Such vaunts as his, who can with patience read, Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heaven, Who thus describes his hero when he's deadHe ruin'd sink!

“ In heat of action slain, yet scorns to fall, E'en thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, But still maintains the war, and fights atThat fate is thine~no distant date:

All?"
Stern ruin's plough-share drives elate

The noisy culverin, o'ercharg'd, lets fly,
Full on thy bloom;

And bursts, unaiming, in the rended sky;
Till, crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, Such frantic flights are like a madman's dream,
Shall be thy doom !

And nature suffers in the wild extreme.
The captive cannibal, opprest with chains,

Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, disdains; $ 170. An Essay upon unnatural Flights in of nature fierce, untameable, and proud, Poetry.

LANDSDOWNE. He bids defiance to the gaping crowd;

And spent at last, and speechless, as he lies,
As when some image of a charming face, With fiery glances mocks their rage, and dies.
In living paint, an artist tries to trace, This is the utmost stretch that nature can,
He carefully consults each beauteous line, And all beyond is fulsome, false and vain.
Adjusting to his object his design;

The Roman wit, who impiously divides
We praise the piece, and give the painter fame, His hero and his gods to different sides,
But as the bright resemblance speaks the dame: I would condemn, but that in spite of sense,
Poets are limneis of another kind,

The admiring world still stands in his defence :
To copy out ideas in the mind;

The gods permitting traitors to succeed, Words are the paint by which their thoughts Become not parties in an impious deed; are shown,

And by the tyrant's murder, we may find
And Nature is their object to be drawn : That Cato and the gods were of a mind,
The written picture we applaud or blame Thus forcing truth with such preposterous
But as the just proportions are the same.

praise, Who, driven with ungovernable fire,

Our characters we lessen when we'd raise :
Or void of art, beyond these bounds aspire, Like castles built by magic art in air,
Gigantic forms and monstrous births alone That vanish at approach, such thoughts appear;
Produce, which Nature shock'd disdains to But, rais'd on truth by some judicious hand,

As on a rock they shall for ages stand.
By true reflection I would see my face; Our king return'd, and banish'd peace restor’d,
Why brings the fool a magnifying glass? The Muse ran mad to see her exil'd lord ;
“ But poetry in fiction takes delight,

On the crack'd stage the Bedlam heroes roard,
And mounting in bold figures out of sight, And scarce could speak one reasonable word:
Leaves truth behind in her audacious flight: Dryden himself, to please a frantic age,
Fables and inetaphors that always lie, Was forc'd to let his judgement stoop to rage:
and rash hyperboles that soar so high, To a wild audience he conform'd his voice,
And every ornament of verse must die.” Complied to custom, but not err'd thro' choice.

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Deem then the people's, not the writer's sin, A strict integrity, devoid of art ;
Almansor’s rage, and rants of Maximin; The sweetest manners, and sincerest heart;
That fury spent in each elaborate piece, A soul, where depth of sense and fancy meet ;
Hevies för fame with ancient Rome and Greece. A judgement brighten'd by the beams of wit
Roscommon first, then Mulgrave rose, like Were ever yours: be what you were before,
light,

Be still yourself; the world can ask no more.
To clear our darkness, and to guide our flight:
With steady judgement, and in lofty sounds,
They gave us patterns, and they set us bounds.
The Stagyrite and Horace laid aside:
Informd by them, we need no foreign guide. § 172. The Inquiry. Written in the last
Who seek from poetry a lasting name,

Century.
May from their lessons learn the road to fame;
But let the bold adventurer be sure

AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd,
That every line the test of truth endure; Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:
On this foundation may the fabric rise, “ Tell me," said I, in deep distress,
Firm and unshaken, till it touch the skies. “ Where may I find my shepherdess ?"
From pulpits banish’d, from the court, from “ Thou fool,” said Love, “know'st thou not
love,

this ? Abandon'd Truth seeks shelter in the

grove:

In every thing that's good, she is ; Cherish, ye Muses, the forsaken fair,

In yonder tulip go and seek, And take into your train this beauteous wan. There thou mayst find her lip, her cheek; derer.

In yon enameli'd pansy by,
There thou shall have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud,

There wave ihe streamers of her blood ;
$ 171. To Mr. Spence, prefired to the Essay In brightest lilies that there stand,
on Pope's Odyssey.

Pirt.

The emblems of her whiter hand; 'Tis done-restor’d by thy immortal pen,

In yonder rising hill there smell

Such sweets as in her bosom dwell: The critic's noble name revives again :

'Tis true," said he. And thereupon Once more that great, that injur'd name we see

I went to pluck them one by one, Shine forth alike in Addison and thec.

To make of parts an union; Like curs, our critics haunt the poet's feast,

But on a sudden all was gone. And feed on scraps refus’d by every guest; From the old Thracian* dog they learu'd the With that I stoppid. Said Love, “These be,

man, resemblances of thee; way To snarl in want, and grumble o'er their prey: Een in the twinkling of an eye ;

And as these fow'rs thy joy shall die, As though they grudg’d themselves the joys And all thy hopes of her shall wither, they feel,

Like these short sweets that knit together.” Vex'd to be charm’d, and pleas'd against their

will. Such their inverted taste, that we expect For faults their thanks, for beauties their neglect. $ 173. The Diverting History of John Gilpin; So the fell snake rejects the fragrant flow'rs,

showing how he went farther than he intended, And every poison of the field devours.

and came safe home again. Cowper. Like bold Longinus of immortal fame, You read your poet with a poet's flame;

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen
With his, your gen'rous raptures still aspire;
The critic kindles when the bard's on fire.

Of credit and renown,
But when some lame, some limping line de- A train-band captain eke was he

Of famous London town.
mands
The friendly succour of your healing hands;

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
The feather of your pen drops balın around,
And plays and tickles, while it cures the These twice ten tedious years, yet we

Though wedded we have been
wound.

No holiday have seen.
While Pope's immortal labor we survey,
We stand all dazzled with excess of day; To-morrow is our wedding-day,
Blind with the glorious blaze-to vulgar sight And we will then repair
'Twas one bright mass of undistinguish'd light; Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
But, like the tow'ring eagle, you alone

All in a chaise and pair,
Discern'd the spots and splendors of the sun.

To point out faults, yet never to offend; My sister and my sister's child,
To play the critic, yet preserve the friend : Myself and children three,
A life well spent, that never lost a day; Will fill the chaise, so you inust ride
An easy spirit, innocently gay;

On horseback after we.
* Zoilus, so called by the ancients.

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He soon replied, I do admire

Now see him mounted once again Of woman kind but one;

Upon his nimble steed, And you are she, my dearest dear,

Full 'slowly pacing o'er the stones Therefore it shall be done.

With caution and good heed. I am a linen-draper bold,

But finding soon a smoother road As all the world doth know,

Beneath his well-shod feet, And my good friend the calender

The snorting beast began to trot, Will lend his horse to go.

Which gall'd him in his seat. Quoth Mistress Gilpin, That's well said; So, fair and softly, John he cried, And, for that wine dear,

But John he cried in vain; We will be furnish'd with our own,

That trot became a gallop soon, Which is both bright and clear.

In spite of curb and rein. John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wise ;

So stooping down, as needs he must O'erjoy'd was he to find

Who cannot sit upright, That, though on pleasure she was bent, He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, She had a frugal mind.

And eke with all his might. The morning came, the chaise was brought, His horse, who never in that sort But yet was not allow'd

Had handled been before, To drive up to the door, lest all

What thing upon his back had got
Should

say
that she was proud.

Did wonder more and more.
So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, Away went Gilpin, neck or nought,
Where they did all get in,

Away went hat and wig;
Six precious souls, and all agog

He little dreamt, when he set out, To dash through thick and thin.

Of running such a rig. Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Were never folk so glad;

Like streamer long and gay, The stones did rattle underneath

Till, loop and button failing both, As if Cheapside were mad.

At last it flew away. John Gilpin at his horse's side

Then might all people well discern Seiz'd fast the flowing mane :

The bottles he had slung; And ар he got in haste to ride,

A bottle swinging at each side, But soon came down again :

As hath been said or sung. For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,

The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, His journey to begin,

Up flew the windows all: When turning round his head, he saw And ev'ry soul cried out, Well done! Three customers come in.

As loud as he could bawl. So down he came; for loss of time,

Away went Gilpin—who but he ; Although it griev'd him sore,

His fame soon spread aroundYet loss of pence, full well he knew, He carries weighi! he rides a race! Would trouble him much more.

'Tis for a thousand pound. 'Twas long before the customers

And still as fast as he drew near Were suited to their mind;

'Twas wonderful to view When Betty screaming came down stairs, How in a trice the turnpike-men “ The wine is left behind !"

Their gates wide open threw. Good lack! quoth he-yet bring it me, And now as he went bowing down My leathern belt likewise,

His reeking head full low, In which I bear my trusty sword

The bottles twain behind his back When I do exercise.

Were shatter'd at a blow. Now Mistress Gilpin, careful soul!

Down ran the wine into the road, Had two stone bottles found,

Most piteous to be seen, To hold the liquor that she lov'd,

Which made his horse's fanks to smoke And keep it safe and sound.

As they had basted been. Each bottle had a curling ear,

But still he seem'd to carry weight, Through which the belt he drew,

With leathern girdle brac'd ; And hung a bottle on each side,

For all might see the bottles' necks To make his balance true;

Still dangling at his waist. Then over all, that he might be

Thus all through merry Islington Equipp'd from top to toe,

These gambols he did play, His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, And till he came unto the Wash He manfully did throw.

Of Edmonton so gay.

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And there he threw the wash about

If wife should dine at Edmonton,
On both sides of the way,

And I should dine at Ware.
Just like unto a trundling mop,
Or a wild-goose at play.

So turning to his horse, he said,

I am in haste to dine: At Edmonton his loving wife

'Twas for your pleasure you came here, From balcony espied

You shall go back for mine. Her tender husband, wond'ring much

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! To see how he did ride.

For which he paid full dear; Stop, stop, John Gilpin! here's the house For while he spake, a braying ass They all at once did cry:

Did sing most loud and clear: The dinner waits, and we are tird:

Whereat his horse did snort, as he Said Gilpin-So am I.

Had heard a lion roar; But yet his horse was not a whit

And gallop'd off with all his might, Inclin'd to tarry there;

As he had done before. For why? his owner had a house

Away went Gilpin, and away Full ten miles off, at Ware.

Went Gilpin's hat and wig; So like an arrow swift he few,

He lost them sooner than at first, Shot by an archer strong;

For why? they were too big. So did he fly--which brings me to

Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw The middle of my song:

Her husband posting down Away went Gilpin, out of breath,

Into the country far away, And sore against his will,

She pull'd out half a crown : Till at his friend's the calender's

And thus unto the youth she said His horse at last stood still.

That drove them to the Bell, The calender, amaz'd to see

This shall be yours when you bring back His neighbour in such trim,

My husband safe and well. Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,

The youth did ride, and soon did meet And thus accosted him:

John coming back amain, What news? what news? your tidings tell,

Whom in a trice he tried to stop
Tell me you must and shall-

By catching at his rein;
Say why bare-headed you are come,
Or why you come at all !

But not performing what he meant,

And gladly would have done, Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,

The frighted steed he frighted more, And lov’d a timely joke;

And made him faster run. Aud thus unto the calender

Away went Gilpin, and away In merry guise he spoke:

Went post-boy at his heels,
I came because your horse would come, The post-boy's horse right glad to miss
And, if I well forebode,

The lumb'ring of the wheels.
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road.

Six gentlemen upon the road

Thus seeing Gilpin fly, The calender, right glad to find

With post-boy scamp'ring in the rear, His friend in merry pin,

They rais'd the hue and cry: Return'd him not a single word,

Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman ! But to the house went in.

Not one of them was mute; When straight he came with hat and wig, And all and each that pass'd that way A wig that flow'd behind,

Did join in the pursuit. A hat not much the worse for wear,

And now the turnpike gates again Each comely in its kind.

Flew open in short space; He held them up, aud in his turn

The toll-men thinking, as before, Thus show'd his ready wit:

That Gilpin rode a race. My head is twice as big as yours,

And so he did, and won it too, They therefore needs must fit.

For he got first to town, But let me scrape the dirt away

Nor stopp'd till where he first got up That hangs upon your face;

He did again get down. And stop and cat, for well you may

Now let us sing, Long live the king, Be in a hungry case.

And Gilpin, long live he; Said John, It is my wedding day;

And when he next doth ride abroad, And all the world would stare,

May I be there to see!

muse.

$ 174. An Evening Contemplation in a College, But Science now has fill'd their vacant mind

in Imitation of Gray's Elegy in a Country With Rome's rich spoils and truth's exalted Church-yard.

DUNCOMBE.

views,

Fir'd them with transports of a nobler kind, The curfew tolls the hour of closing gates ;

And bade them slight all females—but the With jarring sounds the porter turps the key; Then in his dreary mansion slumb’ring waits, And slowly, sternly, quits it though for me. Full many a lark, high towering to the sky,

Unheard, unheeded, greets th' approach of Now shine the spires beneath the paly moon, light; And through the cloisters peace and silence Full inany a star, unseen by mortal eye, reign ;

With twinkling lustre, glimmers through Save where some fidler scrapes a drowsy tune, the night. Or copious bowls inspire a jovial strain;

Some future Herring, who, with dauntless Save that in yonder cobweb-mantled room,

breast, Where sleeps a student in profound repose, Rebellion's torrent shall like him oppose ; Oppress’d with ale, wide echoes thro' the gloom Some mute, unconscious Hardwicke here may The droning music of his vocal nose.

rest, Within those walls, where through the glim

Some Pelham, dreadful to his country's foes. mering shade

From prince and people to command applause, Appear the pamphlets in a mouldering heap,

'Midst ermind peers to guide the high deEnch in his narrow bed till morning laid,

bate, The peaceful fellows of the college sleep. To shield Britannia's and Religion's laws, The tinkling bell proclaiming early pray’rs,

And steer with steady course the helm of

state The noisy servants rattling o'er their head, The calls of business, and domestic cares, Fate yet forbids ; nor circumscribes alone Neer rouse these sleepers from their downy Their growing virtues, but their crimes bed.

confines;

Forbids in Freedom's veil t'insult the throne; No chattering females crowd their social fire,

Beneath her mask to hide the worst designs ; No dread have they of discord and of strife; Unknown the names of husband and of sire, To fill the madding crowd's perverted mind Unfelt the plagues of matrimonial life. With “pensions, taxes, marriages, and

Jews; Oft have they bask'd beneath the sunny walls, Or shut the gates of heaven on lost mankind, Oft have ihe benches bow'd beneath their

And wrest their darling hopes, their future weight,

views. How jocund are their looks when dinner calls! How smoke the cutlets on their crowded Far from the giddy town's tumultuous strife, plate!

Their wishes yet have never leam'd to stray;

Content and happy in a single life, ()! let not temperance, too disdainful, hear They keep the noiseless tenor of their way. How long their feasts, how long their dinners last:

E'en now their books from cobwebs to proNor let the fair, with a contemptuous sneer,

tect, On these unmarried men reflections cast!

Enclos 'd by doors of glass in Doric style,

On polish'd pillars rais'd with bronzes deck'd, The splendid fortune and the beauteous face

They claim the passing tribute of a smile. (Themselves confess it, and their sires be

Oft are the authors' names, tho' richly bound, moan) Too soon are caught by scarlet and by lace;

Mis-spelt by blundering binders want of These sons of science shine in black alone. And many a catalogue is strew'd around, (care,

To tell the admiring guest what books are Forgive, ye fair, th' involuntary fault,

there. If these no feats of gaiety display, Where through proud Ranelagh's wide-echoing For who, to thoughtless ignorance a prey, vault

Neglects to hold short dalliance with a book?

Who there but wislies to prolong his stay, Melodious Frasi trills her quavering lay.

And on those cases casts a lingering look? Say, is the sword well suited to the band ?

Reports attract the lawyer's parting eyes; Does broider'd coat agree with sable gown? Can Mechlin laces shade a churchman's hand? For songs and plays the voice of Beauty eries,

Novels Lord Fopling and Sir Plume require; Or learning's votaries ape the beaux of town?

And Sense and Nature Grandison desire. Perhaps in these time-tottering walls reside For thee, who, mindful of thy lov'd com peers,

Some who were once the darling of the fair, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, Some who ofold could tastes and fashionsguide, If chance, with prying search, in future years

Control the manager, and awe the player. Some antiquarian should inquire thy fate ;

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