Poor Cornus fees his frantic wife elope,
And curfes Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.
Friend to my Life! (which did not you pro
long,
The world had wanted many an idle fong)
What Drop or Noftrum can this plague remove!
Or which muft end me, a Fool's wrath or love t
A dire dilemma! either way I'm fped :
If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.
Seiz'd, and ty'd down to judge, how wretched I!
Who can't be filent, and who will not lye:
To laugh, were want of goodness, and of grace,
And to be grave, exceeds all Pow'r of Face.
I fit with fad civility; I read
With honeft anguish, and an aching head;
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,
This faving counfel," Keep your piece-nine years."
<< Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drurylane,
Lull'd by foft Zephyrs through the broken pane, Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends, Oblig'd by hunger, and requeft of friends:
"The piece, you think, is incorrect? why take it; "I'm all fubmiffion; what you'd have it, make it."
Three things another's modeft wishes bound, My Friendship, and a Prologue, and Ten Pound,
Pitholeon fends to me-" You know his Grace; "I want a Patron :—ask him for a Place.”
Pitholeon libell'd me—“ but here's a letter "Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better "Dare you refufe him? Curl invites to dine. “He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine.”
Bless me! a packet.-" "Tis a stranger fues"A Virgin Tragedy-an Orphan Mufe." If I diflike it, "Furies, death, and rage!" If I approve," Commend it to the Stage." There (thank my ftars!) my whole commiffion ends; The Play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends.
Fir'd that the house reject him-" 'Sdeath! I'll "print it,
"And fhame the fools.-Your int'reft, Sir, with "Lintot."
Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much:
"Not, Sir, if you revise it, and re-touch."
All my demurs but double his attacks:
At laft he whispers-" Do; and we go fnacks."
Glad of a quarrel, ftrait I clap the door,
Sir, let me fee your works and you no more.
PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES, p. 179%
ONE dedicates in high heroic profe,
And ridicules beyond a hundred foes:
Óne from all Grub-ftreet will my fame defend;
And, more abufive, calls himself my friend :
This prints my Letters; that expects a bribe; And others roar aloud, "Subscribe, fubfcribe !"
There are, who to my perfon pay
I cough like Horace; and, though lean, am fhort..
Ammon's great fon one shoulder had too high;
Such Ovid's nofe; and "Sir, you have an eye-
Go on, obliging creatures! make me fee
All that difgrac'd my Betters, met in me.
Say for my comfort, languishing in bed,
"Juft fo immortal Maro held his head ;"
And when I die, be fure you let me know
Great Homer dy'd three thousand years ago.
ADDISON.
PEACE to all fuch! but were there one whofe fires
True Genius kindles, and fair Fame inspires,
Bleft with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converfe, and live with eafe:
Should fuch a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne,
View him with fcornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rife;
Damn with faint praife, affent with civil leer,
And, without fneering, teach the reft to fneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to ftrike;
Juft hint a fault, and hefitate dislike;
Alike referv'd, to blame or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a fufpicious friend ;
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers befieg'd,
And fo obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd;
Like Cato, give his little Senate laws,
And fit attentive to his own applause,
While Wits and Templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praife-
Who but muft laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he!
CALUMNY AND FALSEHOOD.
CURST be the Verse, how well foe'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe, Give Virtue fcandal, Innocence a fear, Or from the foft-ey'd Virgin fteal a tear! But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, Infults fall'n Worth, or Beauty in diftrefs; Who loves a Lye, lame Slander helps about; Who writes a Libel, or who copies out: That Fop, whose pride affects a Patron's name, Yet absent, wounds an Author's honest fame Who can your merit felfibly approve,
And fhow the fense of it without the love;
Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend ;
Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you fay,
And, if he lye not, muft at leaft betray;
Who to the Dean and filver bell can fwear,
And fees at Cannons what was never there;
Who reads but with a luft to misapply,
Make Satire a Lampoon, and Fiction lye.
A lash like mine no honeft man fhall dread,
But all fuch babbling blockheads in his stead.
IBID. P. 191.
CONTEMPTIBLE INSIGNIFICANCE.
YET let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings;
Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
Yet wit ne'er taftes, and beauty ne'er enjoys:
So well-bred fpaniels civilly delight
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite.
Eternal fmiles his emptinefs betray,
As fhallow ftreams run dimpling all the way.
Whether in florid impotence he speaks,
And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet fqueaks;
Or at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,
Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad,
In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies,"
Or fpite, or fmut, or rhymes, or blafphemies.
His wit all fee-faw, between that and this,
Now high, now low, now mafter up, now mifs,
And he himself one vile antithefis.
Amphibious thing! that, acting either part,
The trifling head, or the corrupted heart,
Fop at the toilet, Flatt'rer at the board,
Now trips a Lady, and now ftruts a Lord.
Eve's tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest,
A Cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.
|