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The first advantage which I see,

Is, that I ramble loose and free:
The Bard indeed full oft complains,

That rhymes aré fetters, links, and chains,
And when he wants to leap the fence,
Still keep him pris'ner to the sense.
Howe'er in common-place he rage,
Rhyme's like your fetters on the stage,
Which when the player once hath wore,
It makes him only strut the more,
While, raving in pathetic strains,
He shakes his legs to clank his chains.

From rhyme, as from a handsome face,
Nonsense acquires a kind of grace;
I therefore give it all it's scope,
That sense may unperceiv'd elope:
So ministers of basest tricks
(I love a fling at politicks)

Amuse the Nation, Court, and King,
With breaking F-kes, and hanging Byng;
And make each puny rogue a prey,
While they, the greater, slink away.
This simile perhaps would strike,
If match'd with something more alike;

Then take it dress'd a second time

In Prior's ease, and my

sublime.

Say, did you never chance to meet
A mob of people in the street,
Ready to give the robb'd relief,

And all in haste to catch a thief,
While the sly rogue, who filch'd the prey,
Too close beset to run away,

Stop thief! stop thief! exclaims aloud,
And so escapes among the croud?

So Ministers, &c.

O England, how I mourn thy fate!
For sure thy losses now are great;
Two such what Briton can endure,
Minorca and the Connoisseur!

To-day, before the sun goes down,
Will die the Censor, Mr. Town!
He dies, whoe'er takes pains to con him,
With blushing honours thick upon him ;
may his name these verses save,
Be these inscrib'd upon his grave!

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Know, reader, that on Thursday died,
The CONNOISSEUR*, a suicide!
Yet think not that his soul is fled,

Nor rank him 'mongst the vulgar dead.
Howe'er defunct you set him down,

He's only going out of Town.

* The celebrated periodical paper under that title, by Mr. Town.

FAMILIAR EPISTLE

TO J. B. ESQ.

SHALL I, from worldly friends estrang'd,
Embitter much, but nothing chang'd

In that Affection firm and true,
Which Gratitude excites to You;
Shall I indulge the Muse, or stifle
This meditation of a trifle ?

But you, perhaps, will kindly take
The trifle for the Giver's sake,
Who only pays his grateful Mite,
The just acknowledgment of Right,
•As to the Landlord duly sent
A pepper-corn shall pass for rent.
Yet Trifles often shew the Man,
More than his settled Life and Plan:
These are the starts of inclination;
Those the mere gloss of EDUCATION,
Which has a wond'rous knack at turning
A Blockhead to a Man of Learning;
And, by the help of form and place,
The Child of Sin to Babe of Grace.

M

Not that it alters Nature quite,
And sets perverted Reason right,
But, like Hypocrisy, conceals
The very passions which she feels;
And claps a Visor on the face,

To hide us from the World's disgrace,
Which, as the first Appearance strikes,
Approves of all things, or dislikes.
Like the fond Fool with eager glee,
Who sold his all, and put to sea,
Lur'd by the calm which seem'd to sleep
On the smooth surface of the Deep;
Nor dreamt it's waves could proudly rise,
And toss up mountains at the skies.
APPEARANCE is the only thing,

A King's a Wretch, a Wretch a King.
Undress them both-You King, suppose
For once you wear the Beggar's cloaths;
Cloaths that will take in every air;
-Bless me! they fit you to a hair.
Now you, Sir Vagrant, quickly don
The robes his Majesty had on.

And now, O WORLD, so wond'rous wise,

Who see with such discerning eyes,

Put observation to the stretch,

Come-which is King, and which is Wretch?

To cheat this World, the hardest task
Is to be constant to our Mask.
Externals make direct impressions,
And masks are worn by all Professions.
What need to dwell on topics stale?
Of Parsons drunk with wine or ale?
Of Lawyers, who with face of brass,
For learned Rhetoricians pass?
Of Scientific Doctors big,

Hid in the pent-house of their Wig?
Whose conversation hardly goes
Beyond half words, and hums! and Oh's!
Of Scholars, of superior Taste,

Who cork it up for fear of waste,
Nor bring one bottle from their shelves,
But keep it always for themselves?

Wretches like these, my soul disdains,
And doubts their hearts as well as brains.
Suppose a Neighbour should desire
To light a candle at your fire,

Would it deprive your flame of Light,
Because another profits by't?

But Youth must often pay it's court
To these great Scholars, by report,
Who live on hoarded reputation,
Which dares no risk of Conversation,

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