Then leave the wicked, barren way of rhyme,
Fly far from poverty-be wise in time-
Regard the office more—)
-Parnassus less-
Put your religion in a decent dress;
interest in the town advance,
Above the reach of muses or romance.
Besides, the town (a sober, honest town,
Which smiles on virtue, and gives vice a frown)
Bids censure brand with infamy her name,
I, even I, must think you are to blame.
Is there a street within this spacious place
That boasts the happiness of one fair face,
Where conversation does not turn on you,
Blaming your wild amours, your morals too,
Oaths, sacred and tremendous oaths? You swear
Oaths which might shock a Luttrell's soul to hear;
These very oaths, as if a thing of joke,
Made to betray, intended to be broke ;
Whilst the too tender and believing maid,
(Remember pretty *
* * *) is betray'd;
Then your religion-ah, beware! beware!
Although a deist is no monster here;
Yet hide your tenets-priests are powerful foes,
And priesthood fetters justice by the nose
Think not the merit of a jingling song
Can countenance the author's acting wrong;
Reform your manners, and with solemn air
Hear Catcott pray, and Robins squeak in
Robins, a reverend, cully-mully puff,
Who thinks all sermons, but his own, are stuff;
When harping on the dull, unmeaning text,
By disquisitions he's so sore perplex'd,
He stammers, instantaneously is drawn
A border'd piece of inspiration lawn,
Which being thrice unto his nose applied,
Into his pineal gland the vapours glide;
And now we hear the jingling doctor roar,
On subjects he dissected thrice before.
Honour the scarlet robe, and let the quill
Be silent when old Isaac eats his fill.
Regard thy interests, ever love thyself,
Rise into notice as you rise in pelf;
The muses have no credit here, and fame
'Confines itself to the mercantile name.
Then clip imagination's wing, be wise,
And great in wealth, to real greatness rise;
Or if you must persist to sing and dream,
Let only panegyric be your theme;
With pulpit adulation tickle Cutts,1
And wreathe with ivy, Garden's tavern butts;
Find sentiment in Dampier's empty look,
Genius in Collins, harmony in Rooke;
Swear Broderip's horrid noise the tuneful spheres,
And rescue Pindar from the songs of Shears.
Would you still further raise the fairy ground,
Praise Broughton,-for his eloquence profound,
His generosity, and his sentiment,
His active fancy, and his thoughts on Lent:
1 Dr. Cutts Barton, Dean of Bristol.
Make North or Chatham canonize his Grace,
And beg a pension, or procure a place.
Damn'd narrow notions! notions which dis
The boasted reason of the human race :
Bristol may keep her prudent maxims still,
I scorn her prudence, and I ever will:
Since all my vices magnified are here,
She cannot paint me worse than I appear;
When raving in the lunacy of ink,
I catch my pen, and publish what I think.1
REVOLVING in their destin'd sphere,
The hours begin another year
As rapidly to fly ;
Ah! think, Maria, (e'er in gray
Those auburn tresses fade away;)
So youth and beauty die.
1 Some of the lines in this poem appear also, with some slight alterations, in the " Whore of Babylon."
Tho' now the captivated throng
Adore with flattery and song,
And all before you bow:
Whilst unattentive to the strain,
You hear the humble muse complain,
Or wreathe your frowning brow.
Tho' poor Pitholeon's feeble line,
In opposition to the nine,
Still violates your name:
Tho' tales of passion meanly told,
As dull as Cumberland, as cold,
Strive to confess a flame.
Yet, when that bloom and dancing fire,
In silver'd rev'rence shall expire,
Aged, wrinkled, and defaced:
To keep one lover's flame alive,
Requires the genius of a Clive,
With Walpole's mental taste.1
Tho' rapture wantons in your air,
Tho' beyond simile you're fair,
Free, affable, serene:
Yet still one attribute divine
Should in your composition shine
Sincerity, I mean.
1 This stanza has been brought forward by the friends of Walpole, as a proof that Chatterton altered his opinion with respect to Walpole's treatment of him. Most probably it is only satire in disguise.-Dix's Life of Chatterton.
Tho' num'rous swains before you fall,
'Tis empty admiration all,
'Tis all that you require :
How momentary are their chains!
Like you, how unsincere the strains
Of those who but admire!
Accept, for once, advice from me,
And let the eye of censure see
Maria can be true:
No more for fools or empty beaux,
Heav'n's representatives disclose,
Or butterflies pursue.
Fly to your worthiest lover's arms,
To him resign your swelling charms,
And meet his gen'rous breast:
Or if Pitholeon suits your taste,
His muse with tatter'd fragments graced,
Shall read your cares to rest.
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