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LONDON! the needy villain's gen❜ral home,
The common sewer of Paris and of Rome,
With eager thirst, by folly or by fate,
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state.
Forgive my transports on a theme like this,
I cannot bear a French metropolis.

Illustrious EDWARD! from the realms of day, The land of heroes and of saints survey; Nor hope the British lineaments to trace, The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace, But lost in thoughtless ease, and empty show, Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau; Sense, freedom, piety, refin'd away,

Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey.

All that at home no more can beg or steal,
Or like a gibbet better than a wheel;

Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court,
Their air, their dress, their politics import :
Obsequious, artful, voluble and gay,

On Britain's fond credulity they prey.

No gainful trade their industry can 'scape,
They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clap;
All sciences a fasting-Monsieur knows,

And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes.

Ah! what avails it, that, from slav'ry far, I drew the breath of life in English air ;

Was early taught a Briton's right to prize,
And lisp the tales of HENRY's victories;
If the gull'd conqueror receive the chain,
And flattery subdue when arms are vain ?

Studious to please, and ready to submit, The supple Gaul was born a parasite: Still to his int❜rest true, where-e'er he goes, Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue bestows; In every face a thousand graces shine, From every tongue flows harmon divine. These arts in vain our rugged natives try, Strain out with fault'ring diffidence a lye, And gain a kick for aukward flattery.

Besides, with justice this discerning age Admires their wond'rous talents for the stage: Well may they venture on the mimic's art, Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part; Practis'd their master's notions to embrace, Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face ;

With every wild absurdity comply,

And view each object with another's eye;
To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear,
To pour at will the counterfeited tear,

And as their patron hints the cold or heat,
To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.
How, when competitors like these contend,
Can surly virtue hope to fix a friend ?

Slaves that with serious impudence beguile,
And lye without a blush, without a smile;
Exalt each trifle, every vice adore,
Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore;
Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear
He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air.

For arts like these preferr'd, admir'd, caress'd, They first invade your table, then your breast; Explore your secrets with insiduous art, Watch the weak bar, and ransack all the heart; Then soon your ill-plac'd confidence repay, Commence your lords, and govern or betray.

By numbers here from shame or censure free,
All crimes are safe, but hated poverty.
This, only this, the rigid law pursues,

This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse.
The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak,
Wakes from his dream, and labors for a joke;
With brisker air, the silken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harrass the distress'd;
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest ;
Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart,
Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.

Has heaven reserv'd, in pity to the poor, No pathless waste or undiscover'd shore ?

No secret island in the boundless main ?
No peaceful desart yet unclaim'd by SPAIN ?
Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore,
And bear oppression's insolence no more.

This mournful truth is every where confess'd, SLOW RISES WORTH, BY POVERTY DEPRESS'D: But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold, Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are sold; Where won by bribes, by flatteries implor'd, The groom retails the favors of his lord.

But hark! th' affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries Roll through the streets and thunder to the skies: Rais'd from some pleasing dream of wealth and pow'r, Some pompous palace or some blissful bow'r, Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight Sustain th' approaching fire's tremendous light; Swift from pursuing horrors take your way, And leave your little ALL to flames a prey; Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam, For where can starving merit find a home? In vain your mournful narrative disclose, While all neglect, and most insult your woes.

Should heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth confound,

And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o'er the land the dismal rumor flies,

And public mournings pacify the skies;

The laureat tribe in servile verse relate,
How virtue wars with persecuting fate;
With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band
Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.
See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,
And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome;
The price of boroughs and of souls restore;
And raise his treasures higher than before.
Now bless'd with all the baubbles of the great,
The polish'd marble, and the shining plate,
Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire,
And hopes from angry heav'n another fire.

Could'st thou resign the park and play content,
For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent;
There might'st thou find some elegant retreat,
Some hireling senator's deserted seat;

And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land,
For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand;
There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flow'rs,
Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bow'rs;
And, while thy beds a cheap repast afford,

Despise the dainties of a venal lord.

There every bush with nature's music rings,
There every breeze bears health upon its wings;
On all thy hours security shall smile,

And bless thy evening walk and morning toil.

Prepare for death, if here at night you roam, And sign your will before you sup from home.

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