Puslapio vaizdai
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If virtues at his noble hand you crave,
You bid him raife his fathers from the grave.
Men fhould prefs forward in fame's glorious chace,
Nobles look backward, and fo lose the race.

Let high birth triumph! what can be more great?
Nothing-but merit in a low estate.

To virtue's humbleft fon let none prefer
Vice, tho' defcended from the conqueror.
Shall men, like figures, pafs for high, or bafe,
Slight, or important, only by their place?
Titles

are marks of honeft men, and wife; The fool, or knave, that wears a title, lies.

They that on glorious ancestors enlarge, Produce their debt, instead of their discharge. Dorfet, let thofe who proudly boaft their line, Like thee, in worth hereditary fhine.

CHARACTER of a FOX-HUNTER. [YOUNG.]

TH

HE fquire is proud to fee his courfer ftrain, Or well-breath'd beagles fweep along the plain. Say, dear Hippolitus (whofe drink is ale, Whofe erudition is a Christmas-tale,

Whose mistress is faluted with a smack,

And friend receiv'd with thumps upon the back)
When thy fleek gelding nimbly leaps the mound,
And Ringwood opens on the tainted ground,
Is That thy praife? Let Ringwood's fame alone,
Juft Ringwood leaves each animal his own,
Nor envies when a gipfey you commit,
And fhake the clumfy bench with country wit;
When you the dulleft of dull things have faid,
And then afk pardon for the jeft you made.

CHARACTER of a FLORIST.
[YOUNG.]

AR

WA

RM

in pursuit of foxes, and renown,
Hippolitus demands the Sylvan crown;
But Florio's fame, the product of a fhower,
Grows in his garden, an iNuftrious flower!

Why

Why teems the earth? why melt the vernal skies?
Why fhines the fun? to make Paul Diack rife.
From morn to night has Florio gazing stood,
And wonder'd how the gods could be fo good.
What fhape? what hue? was ever Nymph fo fair?
He dotes! he dies! he too is rooted there.
O folid blifs! which nothing can deftroy
Except a cat, bird, fnail, or idle boy.1

In fame's full bloom lies Florio down at night,
And wakes next day a moft inglorious Wight;
The Tulip's dead! fee thy fair Sifter's fate,.
OC, and be kind e'er 'tis too late.

Nor are thofe enemies I mention'd all;
Beware, O Florist, thy ambition's fall.
A friend of mine indulg'd this noble flame;:
A Quaker ferv'd him, Adam was his name.
To one lov'd Tulip oft the mafter went,
Hung o'er it, and whole days in rapture fpent;
But came, and mifs'd it one ill-fated hour.

He rag'd! he roar'd!" What Demon cropt my flower ?"
Serene, quoth Adam, "Lo! 'twas crutht by me;
"Fall'n is the Baal to which thou bow'dft thy knee."

CHARACTER of a FOP and of a SLOVEN [YOUNG.]

HESE all their care expend on outward fhow
For wealth, and fame; for fame alone the Beas

Of late at White's was young Florello feen,
How blank his look? how difcompos'd his mien?
So hard it proves in grief fincere to feign!
Sunk were his fpirits; for his coat was plain.
Next day his breaft regain'd its wonted peace,
His health was mended with a filver lace.
A curious artist long inur'd to toils

Of gentler fort, with combs, and fragrant oils,
Whether by chance, or by fome God infpir'd,
So toucht his curls, his mighty foul was fir'd..
The well-fwoln ties an equal homage claim,
And either fhoulder has its fhare of fame;
His fumptuous watch-cafe, tho' conceal'd it lies,
Like a good confcience, folid joy. fupplies.

He

He only thinks himfelf (fo far from vain!)"
Stanhope in wit, in breeding, Deloraine.
Whene'er by feeming chance he throws his eye
On mirrors flufhing with his Tyrian dye,

With how fublime a tranfport leaps his heart?
But fate ordains that dearest friends muft part.
In active meafures brought from France, he wheels,.
And triumphs, confcious of his learned heels.

So have I feen, on fome bright fummer's day,
A calf of genius debonnair, and gay,

Dance on the bank, as if infpir'd by fame,
Fond of the pretty fellow in the ftream.

Morofe is funk with fhame, when'er furpriz'd
In Linen clean, or Peruke undifguis'd.
No fublunary chance his veftments fear,
Valu'd like Leopards, as their spots appear.
A fam'd Sur-tout he wears, which once was blue,,
And his foot fwims in a capacious fhoe.

One day his wife (for who can wives reclaim?)
Levell'd her barbarous needle at his fame;
But open force was vain; by night the went,
And, while he flept, furpriz'd the darling rent ;
Where yawn'd the frize is now become a doubt,
And glory at one entrance quite fhut out.*

He fcorns Florello, and Florello him,

This hates the filthy creature, that the prim:
Thus in each other both thefe fools despise
Their own dear felves, with undifcerning eyes ;
Their methods various, but alike their aim:
The loven, and the fopling are the fame.

CHARACTER of a LEVEE-HUNTER.

[YOUNG.]

OT gaudy butterflies are Lico's game;

No But, in effect, his chace is much the fame.

Warm in purfuit, he levées all the great,
Stanch to the foot of title, and eftate.

Where-e'er their Lordships go, they never find,
Or Lico, or their fhadows lag behind:

He fets them fure, where-e'er their Lordships run,
Clofe at their elbows, as a morning-dun:

* Milton

As

As if their grandeur, by contagion, wrought,
And fame was, like a fever, to be caught:
But after seven years dance from place to place,
The Dane is more familiar with his Grace.
Who'd be a crutch to prop a rotten peer;
Or living pendant, dangling at his ear,
For ever whifp'ring fecrets, which were blown.
For months before, by trumpets, thro' the town?
Who'd be a glass, with flattering grimace,

Still to reflect the temper of his face,
Or happy pin to stick upon his fleeve,

When my Lord's gracious, and vouchfafes it leave;
Or cushion, when his heavinefs fhall please
To loll, or thump it for his better eafe;
Or a vile butt, for noon or night befpoke,
When the peer rafhly fwears he'll club his joke?
Who'd shake with laughter, tho' he could not find.
His Lordship's jeft; or, if his nofe broke wind,
For bleffings to the Gods profoundly bow,
That can cry chimney-fweep, or drive a plough?
With terms like thefe how mean the Tribe that clofe?
Scarce meaner They, who terms, like thefe, impofe.

AFFECTATION of DELICACY ridiculed.
[YOUNG.]

HE languid lady next appears in ftate,

ΤΗ

Who was not born to carry her own weight;
She lolls, reels, ftaggers, 'till fome foreign aid
To her own ftature lifts the feeble maid.
Then, if ordain'd to fo fevere a doom,
She, by juft ftages, journeys round the room:
But knowing her own weakness, the defpairs.
To fcale the Alps-that is, afcend the ftairs.
My fan! let others fay who laugh at toil;
Fan! hood! glove! fcarf! is her laconick ftyle;
And that is fpoke with fuch a dying fall,
That Betty rather fees than hears the call:
The motion of her lips, and meaning eye
Piece out th' Idea her faint words deny.
O liften with attention moft profound!
Her voice is but the fhadow of a found:
And help! O help her fpirits are fo dead,
One hand scarce lifts the other to her head.

A Danish dog.

IF

If, there, a ftubborn pin it triumphs o'er,
She pants! The finks away! and is no more.
Let the robuft, and the gigantic carve,

Life is not worth fo much, fhe'd rather ftarve;
But chew the muft herself; ah cruel fate!
That Rofalinda can't by proxy eat.

The EMPTINESS of RICHES.

[YOUNG.]

AN gold calm paffion, or make reafon fhine?

Wisdom to gold prefer, for 'tis much lefs
To make our fortune, than our happiness;
That happiness which great ones often fee,
With rage and wonder, in a low degree,
Themselves unbleft: the poor are only poor;
But what are they who droop amid their store!
Nothing is meaner than a wretch of ftate;
The happy only are the truly great.
Peasants enjoy like appetites with Kings,
And those beft fatisfied with cheapest things.
Could both our Indies buy but one new fenfe,
Our envy wou'd be due to large expence ;
Since not, thofe pomps, which to the great belong,
Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng.
See, how they beg an alms of flattery!

They languifh! oh fupport them with a lye!
A decent competence we fully taste;

It flrikes our fenfe, and gives a conftant feaft:
More, we perceive by dint of thought alone.
The rich muft labour to poffefs their own,
To feel their great abundance; and requeft
Their humble friends to help them to be bleft;
To fee their treafures, bear their glory told,
And aid the wretched impotence of gold.

But fome great fouls, and touch'd with warmth divine,

Give gold a price, and teach its beams to fhine.

All boarded treafures they repute a load,

Nor think their wealth their own, till well bestow'd.

Grand refervoirs of public happiness,

Thro' fecret ftreams diffufively they blefs;

And while their bounties glide conceal'd from view,
Relieve our wants, and fpare our blushes too.

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