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Treat them, ye judges ! with an honest scorn , Let him be what he will, Turk, Pagah, Jew i And weed the cockle , from the generous corn: For Christian ministers of state are few. There's true good-nature in your disrespect; Behind the curtain lurks the fountain head, In justice to the good, the bad neglect :

That pours his politics through pipes of lead; For immortality, if hard/hips plead,

Whillt far and near ejaculate, and fpuot It is not theirs who write, but ours who read. O’er tea and coffee, poifon to the rout :

But, O! what wisdom can convince a fool, But when they have belpatter'd all they may, But that 'tis dulness to conceive him dull ? The statesman throws his filthy Iquirts away! Tis fad experience takes the cenfor's part, With golden forceps, these, another takes, Conviction, not from reason, but from fmart. And state elixirs of the vipers makes. A virgin-author, secent from the press,

The richest statesman wants wherewith to pay The sheets yet wet, applauds his great success; A servile fycophant, if well they weigli Surveys them, reads them, takes their charms How much it costs the wretch to be lo base; to bed,

Nor can the greates powers cnough disgrace; Those in his hand, and glory in his head : Enough chastife, such prostitute applause, 'Tis joy top great; a fever of delight!

If well they weigh how much it stains their His heart beats thick, nor close his eyes all night: causes But, rising the next morn to claip his fame, But are our writers ever in the wrong? He finds that without sleeping he could dreanı : Does virtue ne'er seduce the venal tongue ? So sparks, they say, take goddesses to bed, Yes; if well brib'd, for virtue's self they fight; And find rext day the devil in their stead. Still in the wrong, though champions for the In vain advertisements the town o'erspread;

right: They ’re epitaphs, and say the work is deado Whoe'er their crimes for interest only quit, Who press for fame, but {mall recruits will raise ; Sio on in virtue, and good deeds commit. Tis volunteers alone can give the bays.

Nought but inconstancy Britannia meets; A famous author visits a great man,

And broken faith in their abandon'd sheets; Of his immortal work displays the plan,

From the fame hand how various is the And fays, “Sir, l’m your friend; all feats dif- What civil war their brother pamphlets wage!

Tracts battle tracts, felf-contradi&tions glare; " Your glory, and my own, Sall live by this ; Say, is this lunacy ?-I wish it were. * Your power is fixt, your fame through time If such our writers, Startled at the light, convey’d.

Felons may bless their Mars they cannot write! “ And Britain Europe's Queen--if I am paid." How juftly Proteus' transmigrations fit A Statesman has his answer in a trice;

The monstrous changes of a modern wit! "Sir, fuch a genius is beyond all price ; Now such a gentle Aream of eloquence 6. What man can pay for this?"-Away he turns : As feldom rikes to the verge of sense ; His work is folded, and his borom burns : Now, by mad rage, transform'd into a flames His patron he will patronize, no more ;

Which yet fit engines, well apply'd, can fame; But rulhes like a tempest out of door.

Now, on immoder trash, the swine obfcene Lolt is the patriot, and extinct. his name! Invites the town to sup at Drury-lane; Out comes the piece, apother, and the same;

A dreadful lion, now he roars at power, For , his magic pen evokes an 0,

Which fends him to his brothers at the Tower; And turns the tide of Europe on the foe : He's now a ferpent, and his double tongue He rams bis quill with scandal and with scoff; Salutes, nay licks, the feet of those he Nung; but 'tis fo very foul, it won't go off :

What knot can bind him, his evasion such ? Dreadful his thunders, while unprinted, roar; One knot he well deserves, which might do much. But, when once publish'd, they are heard no The flood, fame, twine, the lion, and the snake, more.

Those fivefold monsters, modern authors make : Thus distant bugbears fright, but, nearer draw, The Snake reigns moft, Snakes, Pliny says, alc The block's a block, and turns to mirth your

bred,

When the brain's perish'd in a human head. Can those oblige, whose heads and hearts are Ye grovelling, trodden, whipt, Atript, turncoat fuch?

things, No ; every party 's tainted by their touch. Made up of venom, volumes, stains, and stings! Infected persons ffy each pablic place;

Thrown from the Tree of Knowledge, like you, And none, or enemies alone, embrace :

curst To the foul fiend their every passion 's fold: : To scribble in the dust, was Spake the first. They love, and hate, extempore, for gold: What if the figure should in fult prove true i What image of their fury can we form?.

It did in Elkenah ", why not in you? Dulness and rage, a puddle in a storm.

Poor Elkenah, all other changes past, Reft they in peace? If you are pleas'd to buy, For bread in Smithfield dragons hiit at last, To swell your fails, like Lapland winds they fy : Spit streams of fire to make the butchers gape, Write they with rage? The tempeft quickly And found his manners suited to his shape : A late-Ulysses tanes them with his bags;

Settle, the city pect,

awe.

flags;

Sach Such is the fate of talents mifapply'd;

Let these instruct, with truth's illustrious ray, So liv'd your Prototype ; and so he dy'd.

Awake the world, and scare our owls away. Th' abandon'd manners of our writing train Mean while, O friend ! indulge me, if I give May tempt mankind to think religion vain; Some needful precepts how to write, aud lives But in their fate, their habit, and their mien, Serious should be an author's final views; That gods there are is eminently seen :

Who write for pure amufement, ne'er amufe. Heav'n stands absolv'd by vengeance on their pen, An Author ! 'T'is a venerable name ! And marks the murderers of fame from men : How few deserve it, and what numbers claim. Through meagre jaws they draw their venal Unbleft with sense above their peers refin’d, breath,

Who shall stand up, di&tators to mankind ? As ghaftly as their brothers in Macbeth :

Nay, who dare fine, if not in virtue's cause, Their feet through faithless leather meet the dirt, That sole proprietor of just applause ? And oftener chang'd their principles than shirte Ye restless men, who pant for letter'd praise, The transient vestments of these frugal men, With whom would you consult to gain the bays ? Hastens to paper for our miith again :

With those great authors whose fam'd works you Too foon (O merry-melancholy fate!)

read? They beg in rhyme, and warble through a grate : 'Tis well: go, then, consult the laureld shade,

The man lampoon'd forgets it at the fight; What answer will the laureld hade return? The friend through pity gives, the foe through Hear it, and tremble! he commands you burn spite;

The noblest works his envy'd genius writ, And, though full conscious of his injar'd parse, That boast of nought more excellent than wit. Lintot relents, nor Curll can with them worfe. If this be true, as 'tis a truth molt dread, So fare the men, who writers dare commence Woe to the page which has not that to plead ! Without their patent, probity and fenfe.

lontainc and Chaucer, dying, willi'd unwrote From these, their politics our Quidnuncs feek, The sprightlieft efforts of their wantoji thought : And Saturday's the learning of the week : Sidney and Waller, brightest fons of fame, These labouring wits, like paviours, mend our ways, Condemn the charm of ages to the fame : With heavy, huge, repeated, Aat essays;

And in one point is all true wisdom caft, Ram their coarse nonsense down, though ne'er To think that early we must think at last. fo dull;

Immo tal wits, ev'n dead, break nature's laws, And hem at every thump upon your sçull : Injurious still to virtue's facred cause ; These staunch-bred writing hounds begin the cry, and their guilt growing, as their bodies rot, And honest folly echoes to the lye.

(Revers'd ambition !) pant to be forgot. O how I laugh, when I a blockhead see,

Thus ends your courted fume : does lucre then, Thanking a villain for his probily !

The facred thirst of gold, betray your pen? Who stretches but a most respectful ear,

In prose 'tis blameable, in verse 'tis worse, With Inares for woodcocks in his holy leer : Provokes the Muse, extorts Apollo's curse; It tickles through my soul to hear the cock's His sacred influence never should be sold,, Sincere encomnium on his friend the fax,

'Tis arrant (mony to sing for gold : Sole patron of his liberties and rights!

'Tis immortality Mould fire your mind; While gracelets Reynard listens till he bites. Scorn a less paymaster than all mankind. As, when the trumpet lounds, th' oʻtrloaded If bribes ye seek, know this, ye writing tribe Rate

Who writes for virtue has the largest bribe : Discharges all her poor and profligate;

All's on the party of the virtuous man; Crimes of all kinds dishonour'd weapons wield, The good will furely ferve bim, if they can; And prisons pour their filth into the field ; The bad, when interest or anbition guide, Thus nature's refuse, and the dregs of men, And 'tis at once their interest and their pride : Compose the black militia of the

pen

But thould both fail to take him to their care,
He boasts a greater friend, and both inay spare.

Letters to man uncommon light difpenfe ;

And what is virtue, but luperior sense?
EPISTLE II.

In parts and learning ye who place your pride,
Your faults are crimes, your crimes are double-

dy'd.

What is a scandal of the first renown,
Here, where it most should thine, the

But letter'd knaves, and atheisis in a gown?
Muses' seat?

'Tis harder far to please than give offence; Where, mortal, or immortal, as they pleale,

The least misconduct damns the brightest sense; The learn'd may chuse eternity or ease ?

Each thallow pate, that cannot read your name, Has not a + Royal Patron wisely Itrove

Can read your life, and will be proud to blame. To woo the Mufe in her Athenian grove?

Flagitious manners make impressions deep Added new strings to her harmonious shell,

On those that o'er a page of Milton sleep : And given new tongues to those who spoke So True, there are fools; but wise men lay the

Nor in their dulness think to save your shame, well?

fame, + King George YOL, YIH.

Hits

FROM OXFORD,

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Wits are a despicable race of men,

Our age demands correctness; Addison If they confine their talents to the pen;

And this commendablé hort have done. When the man shocks us, while the writer shines, Now writers find, as once Achilles found, Our fcorn in lite, our envy in his lines.

The wbole is mortal, if a pari's unsound. Yet, proud of parts, with prudence fome dispense, He that strikes out, and firikes not out the beft, And play the fool, because they're men of 'ense. Pours luftre in, and dignifies the reft. What instances bleed recent in each thought, Give e er so little, it what's right be there, Of men to ruin by their genius, brought !

Wo praise for what you burn, and what you spare; Againit their wills what numbers ruin mun, The part yon burn, ímc'ls fwcet before the thrint, Purely through want of wit to be undone? And is as incenic to the part divine. Nature has Mewn, by making it fo rore,

Nor frequent write, though you can do it well: That reit's a jewel which we need not wear. Men may tou oft, though not too mub, excel. Of plain found senfe life's current coin is made; A few good works gain fame, more tink their With that we drive the most fubitantial trade. price;

Prudence protects and guides us, wit betrays ; Mankind are fickle, and hate paying twice: A splendid source of ill ten thousand ways; They granted you writ well, what can they more, A certain snare to miseries immerse;

Unless you let them praise foi giving o'er? A gay prerogative from common fenfe;

Do boldly what you do; and let your page Unless strong judgment thar wild thing can tame, Smile, if it smiles, and if it rages, rage. And break to paths of virtuo and of fame. So faintly Lucius centures and commends,

Bot graut your judgment equal to the best, That Lucius has no foes, except his friends. Sense fi:Is your heat, and genius fires your breast; Let futire less engage you than applause: Yet still forbear: your uit (consider well) It shews a generous mind to wink at flaws : "Tis great to thew, but greater to conceal; Is genius yours? Be yours a glorious end, As it is great to seize the golden prize

Be your king's, country's, trutb's, religion's friend; Of place or power ; but greater to defpife. The public glory by your own beget;

If fill you languish for an author's name, Run nacions, run poiterity, in debt. Think private mcrit less than public fame, and lince the fani'd alone make others live, And fancy not to writc is not to live ;

First bave that glory you presume to give. Peferve, and take, the great prerogative.

If fatire charms, strike faults, but fpare the But ponder what it is; how dear 't will coll,

man ;
To write one page which you may juftly boat. 'Tis dull to be as witty as you can.

Senfe may be good, yet not deferve the press; Satire recoils whenever charg'd too high;
Who write, an awful character profess;

Round your own fame the fatal splinters Ay. The world as pupil of their wildom clain, As the loft plume gives swiftness to the dart, And for their stipend an immortal famt :

Good-breeding senas the fatire to the heart. Nothing but what is folid or refin'd,

Painters and surgeons may the structure scan; Should dare ask public audience of mankind. Genius and norals be with you the man :

Severely weigh your learning and your wit : Defaults in those alone thould givo offence ! Keep down your pride liy what is nobly wiit; Who strikes the person, pleads his innocence. No writer, fam'd in your own way, pass o'er; Mỹ narrow-minded fatire can't extend Mich trufi example, but refersion more : To Codras' form ; I'm not so much his friend : More had the antients writ; they more had Himteif should publich that (the world agree) taught;

Before his works, or in the pillory. Which hews fome work is left' for modern | Let him be black, fair, tail, sort, thin, of fat, tlought.'

Dirty or clean, I find no theme in that. This weigh’il perfection know; sind, know Is thay call'd humour? It has this pretence, Toil, burn for that; but do not aim at more';. 'Tis neither virtue, beceding, wit or fepfe. Atore, beneath it, the just limits' fix;

Unless you boait the genius of a Swift, And zealously prefer foar lines to fix.

Beware of humour, the dull roguc's last foift. Write and re-write, blot out, and write again, Can others write like you ? Your talk give o'er, And for its fiftrjs ne'er applaud your pen, 'Tis printing what was publish'd long before. Icave to the jockeys that Newmarket praise, If nought peculiar through your labours run, Slow runs the Pegasus that wins the bays.

They're duplicates, and twenty are but one. Auch time for immortalily to pay,

Think frequently, think close, read nature, turn Is just and wife; for leis is throu'm away.

Mens manners o'er, and half your volumes born ; Time only can mature the labouring brain; To nurse with quick reflection be your strife, Time is the father, and the midwife pain : Thoughts born from present objects, warm from The same good sense that makes a man excel, life; Still makes him doubt he nc'er has written well. When most unfought, such inspirations rise, Dowuright impossibilities they seek ;

Slighted by fools, and cherith'd by the wise : What man can be im n ortal in a week?

Expect peculiar fame from these alone; Excuse no fault; though beauriful, I will These make an author, these are all your own. harm;

Life, like their bibles, coolly men turn o'er; Oncfault shocks more than twenty beauties charm. Hencc unexperienc'd children of threescore.

Truc

TO THE

.

THo taught

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True, all men think of course, as all men

AN EPIST LE dream ; And if they lightly thiok, 'tis much the famę.

Letters admit rot of a half-renown;
They give you nothing, or th y give a crown. RIGHT HON. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE,
No work e'er gain'd true fame, or ever can,
But what did honor to the name of man.

BY MR. DODDINGTON:
Weighty the fubje&, cogent the discourse,
Clear be the style, the very found of force s

AFTERWARDS LORD MELCOMBE.
Ealy the conduct, simple the difign,
Striking the moral, and the foul divipe :

- Que censet Amiculus, ut,

etfi

Hor. Let nature art, and judgment wit, exceed;

Cecus iter monftrare velit." O'er learning seaton reign ; o'er that, your Creed :

"HOUGH strength of genius, by experience Thus virtue's feeds, at once, and laurels, grows, Do thus, and rise a Pope, or a Despreau :

Gives thee to found the depths of hunan And when your genius exquisitely shines,

thought, Live up to the full lustre of your lines :

To trace the various workings of the mind, Parts but expose those men who virtue quit;

And rule the secret springs, that rule mankind; A fallen angel is a fallen wit ;

(Rare gift!) yet, Walpole, wilt thou condescend.. And they plead Lucifer's detested cause,

To listen, if thy unexperienc’d friend Who for bare talents challenge our applause.

Can aught of use impart, though void of skill, Would you restore just honours, to the pen ?

And win attention by lincere good-will; From able writers rise to worthy men.

For friendship, sometimes, want of parts suppliese “ Who's this with nonsense, nonfenfe would The heart may furnish what the head denies. " restrain ? :

As when the rapid Rhone, o'er swelling tides, " Who's this (they cry), lo vainly schools the To grace old Ocean's court, in triumph rides, “ vain ?

Though rich his source, he drains à thousand " Who damns our trash, wich fo much, trash re

Iprings, “ plete?

Nor scorns the tribute each small rivulet brings, 5 As, three. ells round, huge. Cheyne, rails at

So thou shalt, hence, absorb each feeble

ray,

Each dawn of meaning, in thy brighter day; meat ?" Shall. I with Baviys then my voice exalt,

Shast like, or, where thou canst not like, excusez And challenge all mankind to find one fault ?

Since no mean interest shall profane the Muse, With huge exumens overwhelm my page,

No malice, wrapt in truth's disguise, offend, And darken reason with dogmatic rage?

Nor flattery taint the freedom of the friend. As if, one tedious volume writ in rhyme,

When first a generous mind surveys the great, In profe a duller could excuse the crime? And views the crowds that on their fortune wait Sure, next to waiting, the most idle thing

Pleas'd with the low (though little understood) Is gravely to harangire on what we íing.

He only seeks the power, to do the good ; At that tribunal Itands the writing tribe,

Thinks, till he tries, 'tis godlike to dispose, Which nothing can intimidate or bribe,

And gratitude fill springs, where bounty fows; Time is the judge ; Time has nor friend nor

That every grant sincere affection wins, foe;

And where our wants have end, our love begins ; False fame must wither, and the true will grow.

But those who long the paths of state have trod, Arm'd with this tru:h, all critics I defy;

Learn from the clamours of the murinuring For if I fall, by my orun pen I die :

crowd, While snarlers strive with proud but fruitless Which cramm’d, yet craving fill, their gateş pain,

besiege, To wound immortals, or to pay the pain.

'Tis easier far to give, than to oblige. Sore prett with danger, and in awful dread

This of my conduct seems the nicest part, Of twenty pamphlets level'd at my head,

The chief perfection of the statesman's art, Thus have I forg'd a buckler in my brairi,

To give to fair affent a fairer face, Of recent form, to serve me this campaign ;

Or foften a refusal into grace :

But few there are that can be truly kind,
And safely hope to quit the dreadfui ficid.
Delug'd with ink, and sleep behind my field;

Or know to fix their favours on the mind;
Unless dire Codius rouses to the fray

Hence, fome, whene'er they would oblige, offend, In all his might, and damns me-for a day.

And while they make the fortune, lose the friend; As turns a Hock of geefe, and, on the green,

Still give, unthank'd; still squander, not beltow; Poke out their foolih necks in aukward 1pleen, For grear men want not, what to give, but how. (Ridiculous in rage !) to bifs, not bite,

The race of men that follow courts, 'tis true, So war their quills, when fons of dulness write.

Think all they get, and more than all, their due ;

Stil)

vance,

Still ask, but ne'er consult their own deserts, We love the honest, and esteem the brire, And measure by their interest, not their parts : Despite the coxcomb), but detest the knave; From this mistake to many men we fee,

No Thew of parts the truly wise seduce, But ill become the thing they wish'd to be ;

To think that knaves can be of real use. Hence discontent, and fresh demands arise,

The man who contradıds the public voice, More power, more favour in the great man's And strives to dignify a worthless choice, eyes;

Attem pts a task that on that choice reflects, All feel a want, though none the cause suspects, And lends us light to point out new defects. But hate their patron, for their own defects; One worthless man, that gains what he pretends, Such none can please, but who refurn:s their Difgusts a thousand unpretending friends : hearts,

And since no art can make a counterpafs, And, when he gives them places, gives them or add the weight of gold to mimic brass, parts.

When princes to bad ore their image join, As these o'erprize their worth, so sure the great They more debase the samp, than raise the coite May fell their favour at too dear a rate;

Be thine the care, true merit to reward, When merit pines, while claniour is preferr'd, And gaiv the good nor will that tak be hard ; And long attachment waits among the herd; Souls form'd alike fo quick by nature blend, When no distinction, where diftin&tion 's due, An honest man is more than half thy friend. Marks from the many the superior few;

Him, no meaa views, or haste to rise, fall When strong cabal cor: trains them to be just,

fway, And makes them give at laft-because they must; | Thy choice to fully, or thy trult betray : What hopes that men of real worth should prize, Ambition, here, shall at due distance Rand ; What neither friendship gives, nor merit buys ? Nor is wit dangerous in an honeft hand :

The man who jusly o'er the whole presides, Besides, if failings at the bottom lie, His well-weigh'd choice with wife affection We view those failings with a lover's eye; guides ;

Though small his genius, let him do his bell, Knows when to stop with grace, and when ad-Our wishes and belief supply the rest.

Let others barter servile faith for gold, Nor gives through importunity or chance , His friendship is not to be bought or fold : But thinks how little gratitude is ow'd,

Fierce opposition he, unmor'd, shall face, When favours are extorted, not bestow'd. Modest in favour, daring in disgrace, When, safe on Mote ourselves, we see the To share thy adverse fate alone, pretend; crowd

In power, a fervant; out of power, a friend. Surround the great, importunate, and loud ; Here pour thy favours in an ample food, Through such a tumult, 'tis no eaty talk

Indulge thy boundless thirst of doing good : To drive the man of real worih to alk;

Nor think that good to him alone con n'd; Surrounded thus, and giddy with the show, Such to oblige, is to oblige mankind. T'is hard for great men, rightly to beltow; If thus thy mighty maiter's Neps thou trace, From hence fo few are skill'd, in either cate, The brave to cherish, and the good to grace ; To alk with dignity, or give with grace.

Long Palt thou stand from rage and faction free, Sometimes the great, feduc'd by love of parts, And teach us long to love the king, through thee : Consult our genins, and neglect our hearts ; Or fall a victim dangerous to the foe, Pleas’d with the glittering fparks that genius And make him tremble when he frikes the Alings,

blow; They lift us, towering on their eagle's wings, While honour, gratitude, affectiou join Niark out the fiights by which themselves begun, To deck thy close, and brighten thy decline ; And teach our dazzled eyes to bear the sun ; (Illustrious doom !) the great, when thus dif "Till we forget the hand that made us great,

plac'd, And grow to envy, not to emulate :

With friendship guarded, and with virtue grac'd, To emulate, a generous warmth implies,

In aweful ruin, like Rome's fenate, fall, To teach the virtues, that inake great men r The prey and worship of the wondering Gaul. But envy wears a mean malignant face,

No doubt, to genias fome reward is due, And aims not at their virtues--but their place, (Excluding that, were satirizing you ;)

Such to oblige, how vain is the pretence ! But, yet, believe thy undesigning friend, When every farour is a fresh offence,

When truth and genius for thy choice contend, Diy which fuperior pouer is still imply'd, Though both have weight when in the balance sind, while it helps thcir fortune, hurts their calt, pride.

Let probity be first, and parts the last. Slighi is the hate, neglect or hardships breed ; On these foundations if thou dar'll be great, But role who hate from envy, hate indeed. And check the growth of folly and deceit; “Sisice fo perplex'd the choice, whom shall When party rage Mall droop through length of we trust?

days, Vethinks I hear thee cry—The brave and just; And calửmny be ripend into praise, The man by no mean fears or hopes controld, Then future times shall to thy worth allow lo servestice from affcction, not for gold, That fame, which envy would call Aattery aow

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