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But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop
To quadrupede inftructors, many a good
And useful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among ourselves.
Attachment never to be wean'd, or chang'd
By any change of fortune; proof alike
Against unkindness, abfence, and negle&t;
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Can move or warp; and gratitude for small
And trivial favours, lafting as the life,
And glist'ning even in the dying eye.

Man praises man. Defert in arts or arms Wins public honour; and ten thousand fit Patiently prefent at a facred fong,

Commemoration-mad; content to hear

(Oh wonderful effect of mufic's pow'r!) Meffiah's eulogy for Handel's fake!

But lefs, methinks, than facrilege might ferve(For, was it lefs, what heathen would have dar'd

To ftrip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath,

And hang it up in honour of a man ?)

Much less might ferve, when all that we defign
Is but to gratify an itching ear,

And give the day to a musician's praise.
Remember Handel? Who, that was not born
Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets,

Or can, the more than Homer of his age?
Yes we remember him; and, while we praise
A talent fo divine, remember too

That His most holy book from whom it came
Was never meant, was never us'd before,
To buckram out the mem'ry of a man.
But hufh!-the mufe perhaps is too fevere;
And, with a gravity beyond the fize

And measure of th' offence, rebukes a deed

Lefs impious than abfurd, and owing more

To want of judgment than to wrong design.

So in the chapel of old Ely House,

When wand'ring Charles, who meant to be the third,

Had fled from William, and the news was fresh,
The fimple clerk, but loyal, did announce,
And eke did rear right merrily, two staves,
Sung to the praise and glory of King George!
-Man praises man; and Garrick's mem❜ry next,
When time hath fomewhat mellow'd it, and made
The idol of our worthip while he liv'd
The god of our idolatry once more,
Shall have its altar; and the world fhall

go

In pilgrimage to bow before his fhrine.

The theatre, too fmall, fhall fuffocate

Its fqueez'd contents, and more than it admits
Shall figh at their exclufion, and return

Ungratified. For there fome noble lord

Shall stuff his shoulders with king Richard's bunch, Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak,

And strut, and ftorm, and ftraddle, ftamp, and ftare,

To fhow the world how Garrick did not act

For Garrick was a worshipper himself;

He drew the liturgy, and fram'd the rites

8

And folemn ceremonial of the day,

And call'd the world to worship on the banks
Of Avon, fam'd in fong. Ah, pleasant proof
That piety has still in human hearts

Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct.
The mulb'ry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths;
The mulb'ry-tree stood centre of the dance;

The mulb'ry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs;
And from his touchwood trunk the mulb'ry-tree
Supplied fuch relics as devotion holds

Still facred, and preferves with pious care.
So 'twas an hallow'd time: decorum reign'd,
And mirth without offence. No few return'd,
Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd.
-Man praises man. The rabble, all alive,
From tippling-benches, cellars, stalls, and styes,
Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day,
A pompous and flow-moving pageant, comes.
his car,

Some fhout him, and fome hang upon

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in 's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave

Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy:

While others, not so satisfied, unhorse

The gilded equipage, and, turning loofe

His fteeds, ufurp a place they well deferve.

Why? what has charm'd them? Hath he fav'd the state?

No. Doth he purpose its falvation? No.
Enchanting novelty, that moon at full,

That finds out ev'ry crevice of the head
That is not found and perfect, hath in their's
Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is
And his own cattle muft fuffice him foon.

Thus idly do we wafte the breath of praise,
And dedicate a tribute, in its use

And just direction facred, to a thing

Doom'd to the duft, or lodg'd already there!
Encomium in old time was poet's work;
But, poets having lavishly long fince
Exhausted all materials of the art,

The task now falls into the public hand;

And I, contented with an humble theme,

near,

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