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Will find it leave a smatch behind,
"Twere foolish for a drudge to chuse
it hurts me to the soul To brook confinement or controul ; Still to be pinion'd down to teach The syntax and the parts of speech; Or, what perhaps is drudging worse, The links, and joints, and rules of verse ; To deal out Authors by retale, Like penny pots of Oxford ale;
-Oh! 'Tis a service irksome more
Yet such his task, a dismal truth,
“ Yet still he's in the road, you say, “ Of learning."-Why, perhaps, he may. But turns like horses in a mill, Nor getting on, nor standing still: For little way his learning reaches, Who reads no more than what he teaches.
" Yet you can send advent'tous youth, " In search of letters, taste, and truth,
“ Who ride the highway road to knowledge
Through the plain turnpikes of a college,” True. -Like way-posts, we serve to shew The road which travellers should go; Who jog along in easy pace, Secure of coming to the place, Yet find, return whene'er they will, The Post, and it's direction still: Which stands an useful unthank'd guide, To many a passenger beside.
'Tis hard to carve for others meat, And not have time one's self to eat. Though, be it always understood, Our appetites are full as good.
But there have been, and proofs appear, 4 Who bore this load from year to year; " Whose claim to letters, parts, and wit, " The world has ne'er disputed yet. 6. Whether the flowing mirth prevail 66 In Westley's song, or humorous tale; • Or bappier Bourne's expression please “ With graceful turms of classic ease; • Or Oxford's well-read poet sings * Pathetic to the ear of Kings : “ These have indulg'd the muses’ Aight, u Nor lost their time or credit by't; “ Nor suffer'd fancy's dreams to prey “ On the due business of the day. " Verse was to them a recreation “ Us'd but by way of relaxation.”
Your instances are fair and true,
Still let the graceful foliage spread
greenest honours round their head,
Come,-I admit, you tax me right.
All have their hobby-horse, you see,
But let a man of parts be wrong,
BONNEL THORNTON, Esq.
Acting, dear Thornton, its perfection draws
A Garrick's genius must our wonder raise,
Thrice happy Genius, whose unrivald name Shall live for ever in the yoice of Fame! 'Tis thine to lead with more than magic skill, The train of captive passions at thy will; To bid the bursting tear spontaneous flow In the sweet sense of sympathetic woe; Through ev'ry vain I feel a chilness creep, When horrors such as thine have murder'd sleep; And at the old man's look and frantic stare 'Tis Lear alarms me, for I see him there, Nor yet confin'd to tragic walks alone, The Comic Muse too claims thee for her own. With each delightful requisite to please, Taste, Spirit, Judgment, Elegance, and Ease, Familiar Nature forms thy only rule, From Ranger's rake to Drugger's vacant fool. With powers so pliant, and so various blest, That what we see the last, we like the best. Not idly pleas'd, at judgment's dear expence, But burst outrageous with the laugh of sense.
Perfection's top, with weary toil and pain, "Tis genius only that can bope to gain.