Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

A Letter from the same to the Rev. Mr. Birt

A Letter from the same to the Right Hon. Henry

Fox.....

Ditto........

...............Ditto........Ditto....

A Letter from Sir C. H. Williams to the Rev. Mr.

Birt

[ocr errors]

Ditto........ ditto to the same..

Ditto........ ditto to the same....

Ditto........ ditto to the same.....

To Chloe, a Persuasive to love-" Since Nature ne'er acted in vain

......

.....

.....

The Fair Moralist-" As late by Thames's verdant side"

......

[ocr errors]

Page 73

....

[ocr errors][subsumed][merged small]

On Pope's having just published his Dunciad-“ At
length Pope conquers: Hervey, Wortley yield".... 112
Verses addressed to the Countess of Essex-" Fanny
beware of flattery"
Le Pater-noster de Madame de Pompadour-" Grand
Dieu je confesse mes crimes"
Verses, written by Sir C. H. Williams, on seeing a
Man with a heavy Load on his Back and an Oak-
Leaf in his Hat on the 29th of May.......

110

111

113

118

124

An Account of the Kings and Government of Poland i to the end in Letters to the Right hon. Henry Fox

:

ON BENEVOLENCE;

AN

EPISTLE TO EUMENES.

KIND
IND to my frailties still, Eumenes, hear;
Once more I try the patience of your ear.
Not oft I sing; the happier for the town,
So stunn'd already they're quite stupid grown
With monthly, daily-charming things I own..
Happy for them, I seldom court the Nine;
;
Another art, a serious art, is mine.

Of nauseous verses offer'd once a week,
You cannot say I did it, if you're sick.
'Twas ne'er my pride to shine by flashy fits
Amongst the Daily Advertiser wits.
Content if some few friends indulge my name,
So slightly am I stung with Love of Fame,

VOL. III.

B

I would not scrawl one hundred idle lines-
Not for the praise of all the magazines.

Yet once a moon, perhaps, I steal a night; And, if our Sire Apollo pleases, write. You smile; but all the train the Muse that

follow,

Christians and dunces, still we quote Apollo. Unhappy still our Poets will rehearse

To Goths, that stare astonish'd at their verse;
To the rank tribes submit their virgin lays :
So gross, so bestial, is the lust of praise!

I to sound judges from the mob appeal, And write to those who most my subject feel. Eumenes, these dry moral lines I trust With you, whom nought that's moral can disgust. With you I venture, in plain home-spun sense, What I imagine of Benevolence.

Of all the monsters of the human kind, What strikes you most is the low selfish mind.

You wonder how, without one liberal joy,
The steady miser can his years employ;
Without one friend, howe'er his fortunes thrive,
Despis'd and hated, how he bears to live.
With honest warmth of heart, with some degree
Of Pity that such wretched things should be.
You scorn the sordid knave-He grins at you,
And deems himself the wiser of the two.-
'Tis all but taste, howe'er we sift the case;
He has his joy, as every creature has.
'Tis true, he cannot boast an angel's share,
Yet has what happiness his organs bear.
Thou likewise mad'st the high seraphic soul,
Maker Omnipotent! and thou the owl.
Heav'n form'd him too, and doubtless for some
[views.
But Crane-court knows not yet all nature's

use;

[ocr errors]

'Tis chiefly taste, or blunt, or gross, or fine, Makes life insipid, bestial, or divine. Better be born, with Taste, to little rent, Than the dull monarch of a continent.

Without this bounty which the gods bestow,
Can Fortune make one favourite happy?—No.
As well might Fortune in her frolic vein,
Proclaim an oyster sovereign of the main.
Without fine nerves, and bosom justly warm'd,
An eye, an ear, a fancy, to be charm'd,
In vain majestic Wren expands the dome;
Blank as pale stucco Rubens lines the room;
Lost are the raptures of bold Handel's strain ;
Great Tully storms, sweet Virgil sings, in vain.
The beauteous forms of nature are effac'd

;

Tempè's soft charms, the raging watry waste, Each greatly-wild, each sweet romantic scene Unheeded rises, and almost unseen.

Yet these are joys, with some of better clay, To soothe the toils of life's embarrass'd way. These the fine frame with charming horrors chill,

And give the nerves delightfully to thrill.
But of all taste the noblest and the best,
The first enjoyment of the generous breast,

« ZurückWeiter »