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YOUNG.

What blasting whispers, and what loud declaiming!
What lying, drinking, bawding, swearing, gaming
Friendship so cold, such warm incontinence;
Such griping avarice, such profuse expense;
Such dead devotion, such a zeal for crimes;
Such licens'd ill, such masquerading times;
Such venal faith, such misapplied applause;
Such flatter'd guilt, and such inverted laws!

Such dissolution through the whole I find,
"T is not a world, but chaos of mankind.
Since Sundays have no balls, the well-dress'd belle
Shines in the pew, but smiles to hear of Hell;
And casts an eye of sweet disdain on all
Who listen less to Collins than St. Paul.
Atheists have been but rare; since Nature's birth,
Till now, she-atheists ne'er appear'd on Earth.
Ye men of deep researches, say, whence springs
This daring character, in timorous things?
Who start at feathers, from an insect fly,
A match for nothing but the Deity.
But, not to wrong the fair, the Muse must own
In this pursuit they court not fame alone;
But join to that a more substantial view,
"From thinking free, to be free agents too."[down,
They strive with their own hearts, and keep them
In complaisance to all the fools in town.
O how they tremble at the name of prude!
And die with shame at thought of being good!
For what will Artimis, the rich and gay,
What will the wits, that is, the coxcombs, say?
They Heaven defy, to Earth's vile dregs a slave;
Through cowardice, most execrably brave.
With our own judgments durst we to comply,
In virtue should we live, in glory die.
Rise then, my Muse, in honest fury rise;
They dread a satire, who defy the skies.
Atheists are few: most nymphs a Godhead own;
And nothing but his attributes dethrone.
From atheists far, they stedfastly believe
God is, and is Almighty to forgive.
His other excellence they'll not dispute;
But mercy, sure, is his chief attribute.
Shall pleasures of a short duration chain
A lady's soul in everlasting pain?
Will the great Author us poor worms destroy,
For now and then a sip of transient joy?
No, he 's for ever in a smiling mood;
He's like themselves; or how could he be good?
And they blaspheme, who blacker schemes suppose.
Devoutly, thus, Jehovah they depose,
The pure! the just! and set up, in his stead,
A deity, that's perfectly well-bred.

"Dear Tillotson! be sure the best of men ;
Nor thought he more, than thought great Origen.
Though once upon a time he misbehav'd;
Poor Satan! doubtless, he 'll at length be sav'd.
Let priests do something for their one in ten;
It is their trade; so far they 're honest men.
Let them cant on, since they have got the knack,
And dress their notions, like themselves, in black;
Fright us with terrours of a world unknown,
From joys of this, to keep them all their own.
Of Earth's fair fruits, indeed, they claim a fee;
But then they leave our untith'd virtue free.
Virtue's a pretty thing to make a show:
Did ever mortal write like Rouchefoucault?"

Thus pleads the Devil's fair apologist,
And, pleading, safely enters on his list.

Let angel-forms angelic truths maintain;
Nature disjoins the beauteous and profane.
For what's true beauty, but fair virtue's face!
Virtue made visible in outward grace?
She, then, that 's haunted with an impious mind.
The more she charms, the more she shocks
kind.

But charms decline: the fair long vigils keep
They sleep no more! Quadrille has murder'd slees'
"Poor K-p!" cries Livia; "I have not been the
These two nights; the poor creature will despair.
I hate a crowd-but to do good, you know—
And people of condition should bestow."
Convinc'd, o'ercome, to K-p's grave matrons r
Now set a daughter, and now stake a son;
Let health, fame, temper, beauty, fortune, fly;
And beggar half their race-through charity.

Immortal were we, or else mortal quite,

I less should blame this criminal delight:
But since the gay assembly's gayest room
Is but an upper story to some tomb,
Methinks, we need not our short being shun,
And, thought to fly, contend to be undone.
We need not buy our ruin with our crime,
And give eternity to murder time.

The love of gaming is the worst of ills;
With ceaseless storms the blacken'd soul it fills;
Inveighs at Heaven, neglects the ties of blood;
Destroys the power and will of doing good;
Kills health, pawns honour, plunges in disgrace
-spoils your fa
And, what is still more dreadful
See yonder set of thieves that live on spoil,
The scandal and the ruin of our isle!
And see (strange sight!) amid that ruffian hand,
A form divine high wave her snowy hand;
That rattles loud a small enchanted box,
Which, loud as thunder, on the board she knocks
And as fierce storms, which Earth's founda
shook,

From Eolus's cave impetuous broke,
From this small cavern a mix'd tempest flies,
Fear, rage, convulsion, tears, oaths, blasphenies
For men, I mean — the fair discharges none;
She (guiltless creature!) swears to Heaven alem
See her eyes start! cheeks glow! and de

swell!

Like the mad maid in the Cumean cell.
Thus that divine one her soft nights employs!
Thus tunes her soul to tender nuptial joys!
And when the cruel morning calls to bed,
And on her pillow lays her aching head,
With the dear images her dreams are crown'd,
round;
The die spins lovely, or the cards go
Imaginary ruin charms her still;
Her happy lord is cuckol'd by spadille:
And if she 's brought to bed, 't is ten to one,
He marks the forehead of her darling son.

O scene of horrour, and of wild despair,
Why is the rich Atrides' splendid heir
Constrain'd to quit his ancient lordly seat,
And hide his glories in a mean retreat?
Why that drawn sword? and whence that dis

cry?

Why pale distraction through the family?
See my lord threaten, and my lady weep,
And trembling servants from the tempest creep

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Shakspeare.

10

y that gay son to distant regions sent?
at fiends that daughter's destin'd match prevent?
y the whole house in sudden ruin laid,
nothing, but last night- - my lady play'd.
But wanders not my Satire from her theme?
his too owing to the love of fame?

ugh now your hearts on lucre are bestow'd,
was first a vain-devotion to the mode;

cease we here, since 't is a vice so strong; torrent sweeps all woman-kind along. s may be said, in honour of our times, t none now stand distinguish'd by their crimes. f sin you must, take Nature for your guide : e has some soft excuse to soothe your pride: fair apostates from love's ancient power! nothing ravish, but a golden shower? cards alone your glowing fancy seize; st Cupid learn to punt, e'er he can please? en you 're enamour'd of a lift or cast, at can the preacher more, to make us chaste? y must strong youths unmarried pine away? y find no woman disengag'd-from play. y pine the married? - O severer fate! y find from play no disengag'd estate. ria, at lovers false, untouch'd, and hard, ns pale, and trembles at a cruel card. Arria's Bible can secure her age; threescore years are shuffling with her page. le Death stands by, but till the game is done, sweep that stake, in justice, long his own; e old cards ting'd with sulphur, she takes fire; like snuffs sunk in sockets, blazes higher. gods! with new delights inspire the fair; give us sons, and save us from despair.

ons, brothers, fathers, husbands, tradesmen,
close

ny complaint, and brand your sins in prose:
I believe, as firmly as my Creed,
pite of all our wisdom, you 'll proceed :
pride so great, our passion is so strong,
rice to right confirms us in the wrong.
ar you cry," This fellow 's very odd."
en you chastise, who would not kiss the rod?
I've a charm your anger shall control,
1 turn your eyes with coldness on the vole.
he charm begins! To yonder flood of light,
t bursts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your sight.
at guardian power o'erwhelms your souls with
awe?

deeds are precepts, her example law;
dst empire's charms, how Carolina's heart
wws with the love of virtue, and of art!
Er favour is diffus'd to that degree,
cess of goodness! it has dawn'd on me :
en in my page, to balance numerous faults,
godlike deeds were shown, or generous thoughts,
smil'd, industrious to be pleas'd, nor knew
m whom my pen the borrow'd lustre drew.
Thus the majestic mother of mankind*,
her own charms most amiably blind,
the green margin innocently stood,
d gaz'd indulgent on the crystal flood;
rvey'd the stranger in the painted wave,

d, smiling, prais'd the beauties which she gave.

• Milton.

SATIRE VII.

TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.

Carmina tum melius, cum venerit Ipse, canemus.
VIRG.

On this last labour, this my closing strain,
Smile, Walpole, or the Nine inspire in vain :
To thee, 't is due; that verse how justly thine,
Where Brunswick's glory crowns the whole design!
That glory, which thy counsels make so bright;
That glory, which on thee reflects a light.
Illustrious commerce, and but rarely known,
To give, and take, a lustre from the throne.

Nor think that thou art foreign to my theme;
The fountain is not foreign to the stream.
How all mankind will be surpris'd to see
This flood of British folly charg'd on thee!
Say, Britain! whence this caprice of thy sons,
Which through their various ranks with fury runs?
The cause is plain, a cause which we must bless;
For caprice is the daughter of success.
(A bad effect, but from a pleasing cause!)
And gives our rulers undesign'd applause;
Tells how their conduct bids our wealth increase,
And lulls us in the downy lap of peace.
While I survey the blessings of our isle,
Her arts triumphant in the royal smile,
Her public wounds bound up, her credit high,
Her commerce spreading sails in every sky,
The pleasing scene recalls my theme again,
| And shows the madness of ambitious men,
Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murdering sword,
And burn to give mankind a single lord.

The follies past are of a private kind;
Their sphere is small; their mischief is confin'd:
But daring men there are (Awake, my Muse,
And raise thy verse!) who bolder phrenzy choose :
Who, stung by glory, rave, and bound away:
The world their field, and human kind their prey.

The Grecian chief, th' enthusiast of his pride,
With Rage and Terrour stalking by his side,
Raves round the globe; he soars into a god!
Stand fast, Olympus! and sustain his nod.
The pest divine in horrid grandeur reigns,
And thrives on mankind's miseries and pains.
What slaughter'd hosts! what cities in a blaze!
What wasted countries! and what crimson seas!
With orphans' tears his impious bowl o'erflows,
And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose.

And cannot thrice ten hundred years unpraise
The boisterous boy, and blast his guilty bays?
Why want we then encomiums on the storm,
Or famine, or volcano? They perform
Their mighty deeds; they, hero-like, can slay,
And spread their ample deserts in a day.
O great alliance! O divine renown!
With dearth, and pestilence, to share the crown.
When men extol a wild destroyer's name,
Earth's Builder and Preserver they blaspheme.
One to destroy, is murder by the law;
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe ;
To murder thousands, takes a specious name,
War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.
When, after battle, I the field have seen
Spread o'er with ghastly shapes, which once were

men;

A nation crush'd, a nation of the brave!
A realm of death! and on this side the grave!
Are there, said I, who from this sad survey,
This human chaos, carry smiles away?
How did my heart with indignation rise!
How honest nature swell'd into my eyes!
How was I shock'd to think the hero's trade
Of such materials, fame and triumph, made!

How guilty these! Yet not less guilty they,
Who reach false glory by a smoother way;
Who wrap destruction up in gentle words,
And bows, and smiles, more fatal than their swords;
Who stifle nature, and subsist on art;
Who coin the face, and petrify the heart;
All real kindness for the show discard,
As marble polish'd, and as marble hard;
Who do for gold what Christians do through grace,
"With open arms their enemies embrace;"
Who give a nod when broken hearts repine;
"The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine:"
Or, if they serve you, serve you disinclin'd,
And, in their height of kindness, are unkind.
Such courtiers were, and such again may be,
Walpole, when men forget to copy thee.

Here cease, my Muse! the catalogue is writ;
Nor one more candidate for fame admit,
Though disappointed thousands justly blame
Thy partial pen, and boast an equal claim:
Be this their comfort, fools, omitted here,
May furnish laughter for another year.
Then let Crispino, who was ne'er refus'd
The justice yet of being well abus'd,
With patience wait; and be content to reign
The pink of puppies in some future strain.

Some future strain, in which the Muse shall tell How science dwindles, and how volumes swell.

How commentators each dark passage shun, And hold their farthing candle to the Sun. How tortur'd texts to speak our sense are made, And every vice is to the Scripture laid.

How misers squeeze a young voluptuous peer; His sins to Lucifer not half so dear.

How Versus is less qualified to steal
With sword and pistol, than with wax and seal.

How lawyers' fees to such excess are run,
That clients are redress'd till they 're undone.
How one man's anguish is another's sport;
And e'en denials cost us dear at court.

How man eternally false judgments makes, And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes.

This swarm of themes that settles on my pen, Which I, like summer flies, shake off again, Let others sing; to whom my weak essay But sounds a prelude, and points out their prey: That duty done, I hasten to complete My own design, for Tonson 's at the gate.

The Love of Fame in its effect survey'd, The Muse has sung: be now the cause display'd: Since so diffusive, and so wide its sway, What is this power, whom all mankind obey?

Shot from above, by Heaven's indulgence, came This generous ardour, this unconquer'd flame, To warm, to raise, to deify, mankind, Still burning brightest in the noblest mind. By large-soul'd men, for thirst of fame renown'd, Wise laws were fram'd, and sacred arts were found; Desire of praise first broke the patriot's rest; And made a bulwark of the warrior's breast; It bids Argyll in fields and senate shine : What more can prove its origin divine?

But oh! this passion planted in the soul, On eagle's wings to mount her to the Pole, The flaming minister of virtue meant, Set up false gods, and wrong'd her high descent.

Ambition, hence, exerts a doubtful force, Of blots, and beauties, an alternate source; Hence Gildon rails, that raven of the pit, Who thrives upon the carcases of wit; And in art-loving Scarborough is seen How kind a patron Pollia might have been. Pursuit of fame with pedants fills our schools, And into corcombs burnishes our fools; Pursuit of fame makes solid learning bright, And Newton lifts above a mortal height; That key of Nature, by whose wit she clears Her long, long secrets of five thousand years.

Would you then fully comprehend the whole, Why, and in what degrees, pride sways the sout? (For, though in all, not equally she reigns) Awake to knowledge, and attend my strains.

Ye doctors! hear the doctrine I disclose, As true, as if 't were writ in dullest prose; As if a letter'd dunce had said, ""T is right," And imprimatur usher'd it to light.

Ambition, in the truly noble mind, With sister Virtue is for ever join'd; As in fam'd Lucrece, who, with equal dread, From guilt and shame, by her last conduct, fed: | Her virtue long rebell'd in firm disdain, And the sword pointed at her heart in vain; But, when the slave was threaten'd to be laid Dead by her side, her Love of Fame obey'd

In meaner minds Ambition works alone;
But with such art puts Virtue's aspect on,
That not more like in feature and in mien,
The God and mortal in the comic scene.
False Julius, ambush'd in this fair disguise,
Soon made the Roman liberties his prize.

No mask in basest minds Ambition wears,
But in full light pricks up her ass's ears:
All I have sung are instances of this,
And prove my theme unfolded not amiss.

Ye vain! desist from your erroneous strife;
Be wise, and quit the false sublime of life.
The true ambition there alone resides,
Where justice vindicates, and wisdom guides;
Where inward dignity joins outward state;
Our purpose good, as our achievement great;
Where public blessings public praise attend;
Where glory is our motive, not our end.
Wouldst thou be fam'd? Have those high der

in view

Brave men would act, though scandal should ensu Behold a prince! whom no swoin thoughts

flame;

No pride of thrones, no fever after fame:
But when the welfare of mankind inspires,
And death in view to dear-bought glory fires
Proud conquests then, then regal pomps delight;
Then crowns, then triumphs, sparkle in his sigh
Tumult and noise are dear, which with them bring
His people's blessings to their ardent king:
But, when those great heroic motives cease,
His swelling soul subsides to native peace;
From tedious grandeur's faded charms withdraws
A sudden foe to splendour and applause;
Greatly deferring his arrears of fame,
Till men and angels jointly shout his name.

• Amphitryon.

pride celestial! which can pride disdain ; blest ambition! which can ne'er be vain. From one fam'd Alpine hill, which props the sky, n whose deep womb unfathom'd waters lie, lere burst the Rhone and sounding Po; there shine, n infant rills, the Danube and the Rhine; rom the rich store one fruitful urn supplies, Whole kingdoms smile, a thousand harvests rise. In Brunswick such a source the Muse adores, Which public blessings through half Europe pours. Then his heart burns with such a god-like aim, ngels and George are rivals for the fame; eorge, who in foes can soft affections raise, nd charm envenom'd satire into praise. Nor human rage alone his power perceives, ut the mad winds, and the tumultuous waves. 'en storms (Death's fiercest ministers!) forbear, nd, in their own wild empire, learn to spare. bus Nature's self, supporting man's decree, yles Britain's sovereign, sovereign of the sea. • The king in danger by sea,

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While sea and air, great Brunswick ! shook our state,

And sported with a king's and kingdom's fate,
Depriv'd of what she lov'd, and press'd by fear
Of ever losing what she held most dear,
How did Britannia, like Achilles, weep,
And tell her sorrows to the kindred deep!
Hang o'er the floods, and, in devotion warm,
Strive, for thee, with the surge, and fight the storm!
What felt thy Walpole, pilot of the realm!
Our Palinurus slept not at the helm ;
His eye ne'er clos'd; long since inur'd to wake,
And out-watch every star for Brunswick's sake:
By thwarting passions tost, by fares opprest,
He found the tempest pictur'd in his breast:
But, now, what joys that gloom of heart dispel,
No powers of language-but his own, can tell;
His own, which Nature and the Graces form,
At will, to raise, or hush the civil storm.

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MARK AKENSIDE.

MARK ARK AKENSIDE was born in 1721, at Newcastle- | reputation increased; so that, on the settleme upon-Tyne, where his father was a substantial of the Queen's household, he was appointed an butcher. After receiving an education, first at a her Majesty's physicians-an honour for which i grammar-school, and then at a private academy at is supposed to have been indebted to Mr. Dyn his native place, he was sent to the university of It is affirmed that Dr. Akenside assumed Edinburgh, for the purpose of being fitted for a haughtiness and ostentation of manner which va Dissenting minister. He soon, however, exchanged not calculated to ingratiate him with his brains his studies for those of medicine; and, after con- of the faculty, or to render him generally octinuing three years at Edinburgh, he removed to ceptable. He died of a putrid fever, in June, 177 "On the Pleasures of the Leyden, where he took the degree of M. D. in 1744. in the forty-ninth year of his age. Respecting his poem In the same year his poem "On the Pleasures of the Imagination" made its appearance, which was Imagination," of which Addison's papers in the Sper received with great applause, and raised the author tator are the ground-work, it would be an injury It was soon followed deny him the claims of an original writer, which at once into poetical fame. by a warm invective against the celebrated Pulteney, merited by the expansion of the plan of this pres In 1745 original, and by enriching its illustrations from t Earl of Bath, in an "Epistle to Curio." he published ten Odes on different subjects, and in stores of philosophy and poetry. No poem of s All these works cha- elevated and abstracted a kind was ever so popar various styles and manners. racterized him as a zealous votary of Grecian phi- It went through several editions soon after its losophy and classical literature, and an ardent lover pearance, and is still read with enthusiasm by th of liberty. He continued, from time to time, to who have acquired a relish for the conception publish his poetical effusions, most of which first of pure poetry, and the strains of numerous bri verse. The author was known to have been e Of these, the appeared in Dodsley's collection. ployed many years in correcting, or rather re most considerable is, a " Hymn to the Naiads." His professional career affords few incidents modelling, this work; but the unfinished dragit worth recording. He settled for a short time at of this design seems to have rendered it pro Northampton; then removed to Hampstead; and that the piece would have lost as much in po While his prac- as it would have gained in philosophy. finally fixed himself in London. tice was small, he was generously assisted by his friend, Mr. Jeremiah Dyson, who made him an He pursued the allowance of 300l. per annum. regular course to advancement, becoming Fellow of the Royal Society, Physician to St. Thomas's Hospital, Doctor of Physic by mandamus at Cambridge, and Fellow of the London College of Physicians. He also published several occasional pieces on medical subjects, among which was a Treatise on the Epidemic Dysentery of 1764, written in elegant Latin. By these efforts his practice and

Of his other poems, the Hymn to the Naiad With the purest spirit d the longest and best. classical literature, it contains much mythologic ingenuity, and many poetical ideas, beautifully e pressed. In his lyric productions, the copiousnes and elevation of thought does not compensate the total want of grace, ease, and appropriate h The only sparks of animation which th mony. exhibit occur when they touch on political tops and it is in these instances alone we have ventur to select them.

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