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From just remarks on earliest time, In the first infancy of rhyme, It may be fairly understood There were two sects—the Bad, the Good. Both fell together by the ears, And both beat up for volunteers. By interest, or by birth allied, Numbers flock'd in on either side. Wit to his weapons ran at once, While all the cry was “down with Dunce!" Onward he led his social bands, The common cause had join'd their hands. Yet even while their zeal they show, And war against the gen'ral foe, Howe'er their
flam'd fierce and cruel,
Jealous of every puff of fame,
But diffident and modest wit
Expunge, correct, do what you will,
Į leave it to superior skill; “ Exert the office of a friend, “ You may oblige, but can't offend.”
This Bard too has his private clan, Where He's the great, the only man. Here, while the bottle and the bowl Promote the joyous flow of soul, (And sense of mind, no doubt, grows stronger When failing legs can stand no longer) Emphatic judgment takes the chair, And damns about her with an air. Then each, self-puff'd, and hero grown, Able to cope with hosts alone, Drawcansir like, his murders blends, First slays his foes, and then his friends.
While your good word, or conversation, Can lend a brother reputation; While verse or preface quaintly penn'd, Can raise the consequence of friend, How visible the kind affection ! How close the partial fond connection! Then He is quick, and I'm discerning, And I have wit, and He has learning, My judgment's strong, and His is chaste, And BOTH-ay BOTH, are men of taste.
Should you not steal nor borrow aid,
And some there are, whose narrow minds,
And some, too timid to reveal That glow of heart, and forward zeal, Which words are scanty to express, But friends must feel from friends' success, When full of hopes and fears, the Muse, Which every breath of praise pursues, Wou'd open to their free embrace, Meet her with such a blasting face, That all the brave imagination, Which seeks the sun of approbation, No more it's early blossoms tries, But curls it's tender leaves, and dies.
Is there a man, whose genius strong,
Whom, nor the surly sense of pride,