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Let SWIFT be SWIFT, nor e'er demean "The sense and humour of the DEAN. "E'en let the antients rest in peace, "Nor bring good folks from Rome or Greece "To give a cause for past transactions, "They never dreamt of in their actions. "I can't help quibbling, brother Post, " "Twere better we should lay the Ghost, "But 'twere a task of real merit "Could we contrive to raise their Spirit." "Peace, brother, peace, tho' what you say, "I own has reason in it's way, "On Dialogues to bear so hard, "Is playing with a dang'rous card; "Writers of rank are sacred things, "And crush like arbitrary Kings. "Perhaps your sentiment is right, "Heav'n grant we may not suffer by't. "For should friend DAVIES overhear, "He'll publish ours another year."

* Mr. Davies, the bookseller, of Great Russel-street, Covent Garden.

FAMILIAR EPISTLE,

FROM THE REV. MR. HANBURY'S HORSE,

TO THE REV. MR. SCOT.

AMONGST you bipeds, reputation
Depends on Rank and Situation;
And men increase in fame and worth,
Not from their merits, but their Birth.
Thus he is born to live obscure,

Who has the sin of being poor;

While wealthy dullness lolls at ease,
And is as witty as you please.

-"What did his Lordship say?—-O ! fine!

"The very Thing! Bravo! Divine!" And then 'tis buzz'd from Rout to Rout, While ladies whisper it about,

"Well, I protest, a charming hit! "His Lerdship has a deal of wit.

"How elegant that double sense!

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When all my Lord has said or done,
Was but the letting off a pun.

Mark the fat Cit, whose good round sum, Amounts at least to half a Plumb;

Whose chariot whirls him up and down

Some three or four miles out of town;
For thither sober folks repair,

To take the Dust, which they call air.
Dull folly (not the wanton wild
Imagination's younger child)
Has taken lodgings in his face,
As finding that a vacant place,
And peeping from his windows, tells
To all beholders, where she dwells.
Yet once a week, this purse-proud Cit,
Shall ape the sallies of a wit,
And after ev'ry Sunday's dinner,
To priestly saint, or city sinner,
Shall tell the story o'er and o'er,
H'as told a thousand times before;
Like gamesters, who, with eager zeal,
Talk the game o'er between the deal.

Mark! how the fools and knaves admire
And chuckle with their Sunday 'squire:
While he looks pleas'd at every guest,
And laughs much louder than the rest;

And cackling with incessant grin,

Triples the Double of his chin.

Birth, rank, and wealth, have wondrous skill; Make Wits and Statesmen when they will; While genius holds no estimation,

From luckless want of Situation ;
And, if through clouded scenes of life,
He takes dame Poverty to wife,

Howe'er he work and teaze his brain,
His pound of wit scarce weighs a grain ;
While with his Lordship it abounds,
And one light grain swells out to pounds.
Receive, good sir, with aspect kind,
This wanton gallop of the mind;
But, since all things encrease in worth,
Proportion'd to their rank and birth;
Lest you should think the letter base,
While I supply the poet's place,
I'll tell you whence and what I am,
My Breed, my Blood, my Sire, my Dam.
My Sire was PINDAR'S Eagle, son
Of Pegasus of HELICON ;

My Dam, the Hippogryph, which whirl'd

Astolpho to the lunar world.

Both high-bred things of mettled blood,

The best in all APOLLO's stud.

Now CRITICS here would bid me speak
The OLD horse language, that is Greek ;
For HOMER made us talk, you know,
Almost three thousand years ago;
And men of Taste and Judgment FINE,
Allow the passage is divine.

They were fine mettled things indeed,
And of peculiar strength and breed;
What leaps they took, how far and wide!
-They'd take a country at a stride.
How great each leap, LONGINUS knew,
Who from dimensions ta'en of two,
Affirms, with equal ardour whirl❜d,

A third, good Lord! would clear the world.
But still some learned wight shall shew

If Accents MUST be us'd, or no,

A doubt, which puzzles all the wise

Of giant and of pigmy size,

Who waste their time, and fancies vex

With asper, lenis, circumflex,

And talk of mark and punctuation,
As 'twere a matter of salvation;
For when your pigmies take the pen
They fancy they grow up to Men,
And thing they keep the world in awe
By brandishing a very Straw.

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