Thou who could'st laugh, where want enchain'd caprice,

Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece; Where wealth unloved without a mourner died; And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws,

And senates heard before they judged a cause; How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish tribe,

Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe?
Attentive truth and nature to descry,

And pierce each scene with philosophic eye.
To thee were solemn toys, or empty show,
The robes of pleasure and the vails of woe;
All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain,
Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are
vain.

Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind,
Renew'd at every glance on human kind;
How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare,
Search every state, and canvass every prayer.
Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's
gate,

Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great;
Delusive Fortune hears the incessant call,
They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.
On every stage the foes of peace attend, [end.
Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their
Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door
Pours in the morning worshipper no more;
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies,
To growing wealth the dedicator flies;
From every room descends the painted face,
That hung the bright palladium of the place;
And, smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold,
To better features yields the frame of gold;
For now no more we trace in every line
Heroic worth, benevolence divine:
The form distorted justifies the fall,
And detestation rids the indignant wall.

But will not Britain hear the last appeal,
Sign her foe's doom, or guard her favourite's zeal?
Through Freedom's sons no more remonstrance
rings,

Degrading nobles and controlling kings;
Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats,
And ask no questions but the price of votes ;
With weekly libels and septennial ale,
Their wish is full to riot and to rail.

In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand,
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand:

To him the church, the realm, their powers con

sign,

Through him the rays of regal bounty shine,
Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows,
His smile alone security bestows:

Still to new heights his restless wishes tower,
Claim leads to claim, and power advances power;
Till conquest unresisted ceased to please,
And rights submitted left him none to seize :
At length his sovereign frowns-the train of state
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate.

Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye,
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;
Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liveried army, and the menial lord.
With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd,
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.
Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings,
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.
Speak thou whose thoughts at humble peace

repine,

Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolsey's end be thine?
Or livest thou now, with safer pride content,
The wisest justice on the banks of Trent?
For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate,
On weak foundations raise the enormous weight?
Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow,
With louder ruin to the gulfs below.

What gave great Villiers to the assassin's knife,
And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life?
What murder'd Wentworth, and what exiled
Hyde,

By kings protected, and to kings allied?
What but their wish indulged in courts to shine,
And power too great to keep or to resign?

When first the college roll receives his name,
The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame;
Resistless burns the fever of renown,
Caught from the strong contagion of the gown:
O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread,
And Bacon's mansion trembles o'er his head.
Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth,
And virtue guide thee to the throne of Truth!
Yet should thy soul indulge the gen'rous heat
Till captive Science yields her last retreat;
Should reason guide thee with her brightest ray,
And pour on misty doubt resistless day;
Should no false kindness lure to loose delight,
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright;
Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain,
And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain;
Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,
Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart;
Should no disease thy torpid veins invade,
Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade;
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free,
Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee:
Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes,
And pause awhile from letters to be wise;
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
See nations, slowly wise and meanly just,
To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend,
Hear Lydiat's life,* and Galileo's end.

Nor deem, when Learning her last prize bestows,

The glitt'ring eminence exempt from foes;

[* A very learned divine and mathematician, rector of Okerton, near Banbury; "Having spoken in favour of monarchy and bishops, he was plundered by the parlia ment forces, and twice carried away prisoner from his rectory; and afterward had not a shirt to shift him in three months without he borrowed it." He died in 1646.See Boswell, (Ed. 1835,) vol. x. p. 225.]

warm

in vain ;

Think nothing gain'd," he cries, " till nought remain,

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, And all be mine beneath the polar sky." The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait;, Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay;Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day: The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd, a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand;

He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey,
And starves exhausted regions in his way;
Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more;
Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er,
Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his mind,
The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind,
New powers are claim'd, new powers are still
bestow'd,

Till rude resistance lops the spreading god;
The daring Greeks deride the martial show,
And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe;
Th' insulted sea with humbler thought he gains,
A single skiff to speed his flight remains;
Th' encumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded
coast

Through purple billows and a floating host.

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour,
Tries the dread summits of Cæsarean power,
With unexpected legions bursts away,
And sees defenceless realms receive his sway:
Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful
charms,

The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms;
From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze
Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise;
The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar,
With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war;
The baffled prince, in honour's flatt'ring bloom,
Of hasty greatness finds the fatal doom;
His foes' derision and his subjects' blame,
And steals to death from anguish and from
shame.

"Enlarge my life with multitude of days!"
In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays:
Hides from himself its state, and shuns to know,
That life protracted is protracted woe.
Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy,
And shuts up all the passages of joy :

In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour,
The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower;
With listless eyes the dotard views the store,
He views, and wonders that they please no

more;

.

Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless wines, And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain, Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain;

No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus

near;

Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend,
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend;
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue,
Perversely grave, or positively wrong.
The still returning tale, and ling'ring jest,
Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest,
While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring

sneer,

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear;
The watchful guests still hint the last offence;
The daughter's petulance, the son's expense,

From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord.
In gay hostility and barb'rous pride,

With half mankind embattled at his side,

And mould his passions till they make his will. Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade,

Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade;

But unextinguish'd av'rice still remains,
And dreaded losses aggravate his pains;
He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands,
His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands;
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes,
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.

But grant, the virtues af a temp'rate prime
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;
An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating conscience cheers;
The general fav'rite as the general friend:
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?
Yet even on this her load Misfortune flings,
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings;
New sorrow rises as the day returns,
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.
Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier,
Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear;
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops some joy from with'ring life away;
New forms arise, and different views engage,
Superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage,
Till pitying Nature signs the last release,
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.

But few there are whom hours like these await, Who set unclouded in the gulfs of Fate. From Lydia's monarch should the search descend, By Solon caution'd to regard his end, In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of dotage And Swift expires a driv❜ler and a show. [flow, The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face; Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring; And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a king.* Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise; Whom joys with soft varieties invite, By day the frolic, and the dance by night; Who frown with vanity, who smile with art; And ask the latest fashion of the heart; What care, what rules, your heedless charms shall save,

Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave?

Against your fame with fondness hate combines,
The rival batters, and the lover mines.
With distant voice neglected Virtue calls,
Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls;
Tired with contempt, she quits the slipp'ry reign,
And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain.
In crowd at once, where none the pass defend,
The harmless freedom, and the private friend.
The guardians yield, by force superior plied:
To Int'rest, Prudence; and to Flatt'ry, Pride.
Here Beauty falls betray'd, despised, distress'd,
And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.

[find? Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

[* Ann Vane, the mistress of Frederick Prince of Wales, father to George III.; and Catherine Sedley, the mistress of James II.] 78

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?
Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain
Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem religion vain.
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice.
Safe in his power, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious prayer;
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,
Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resign'd;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat:
These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain,
These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to
gain;

With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY GARRICK AT THE OPENING OF THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, 1747.

WHEN Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose; Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new: Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting Time toil'd after him in vain ; His powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd, And unresisted passion storm'd the breast.

Then Jonson came, instructed from the school, To please in method, and invent by rule; His studious patience and laborious art, By regular approach, essay'd the heart; Cold approbation gave the lingering bays; For those who durst not censure, scarce could A mortal born, he met the general doom, [praise. But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb.

The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare's flame.

Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ:
Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit.
Vice always found a sympathetic friend;
They pleased their age, and did not aim to mend.
Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise,
And proudly hoped to pimp in future days.
Their cause was general, their supports were
strong;

Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long :

Till Shame regain'd the post that Sense betray'd, And Virtue call'd Oblivion to her aid.

Then crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refined, For years the power of tragedy declined; From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, Till declamation roar'd whilst passion slept :

3B 2

Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread,
Philosophy remain'd, though Nature fled;
But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit,
She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of wit,
Exulting Folly hail'd the joyous day,
And pantomime and song confirm'd her sway.
But who the coming changes can presage,
And mark the future periods of the stage?
Perhaps, if skill could distant times explore,
New Behns, new Durfeys, yet remain in store;
Perhaps where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died,
On flying cars new sorcerers may ride;
Perhaps (for who can guess the effects of chance?)
Here Hunt may box, or Mahomet may dance.

Hard is his lot that here, by fortune placed,
Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste;
With every meteor of caprice must play,
And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day.
Ah! let not censure term our fate our choice:
The stage but echoes back the public voice;
The drama's laws the drama's patrons give;
For we that live to please, must please-to live.
Then prompt no more the follies you decry,
As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die;
'Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence
Of rescued nature, and reviving sense;
To chase the charms of sound, the pomp of show,
For useful mirth and salutary woe;
Bid scenic virtue form the rising age,

And truth diffuse her radiance from the stage.*

ON THE DEATH OF DR. ROBERT LEVETT.

1782.

CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.

Well tried through many a varying year, See Levett to the grave descend, Officious, innocent, sincere,

Of every friendless name the friend. Yet still he fills affection's eye,

Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; Nor, letter'd arrogance, deny

Thy praise to merit unrefined.

When fainting Nature call'd for aid,

And hovering Death prepared the blow, His vigorous remedy display'd

The power of art without the show.

In Misery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan,
And lonely want retired to die.

No summons mock'd by chill delay,
No petty gain disdain'd by pride;
The modest wants of every day

The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure th' Eternal Master found
The single talent well employ'd.

The busy day, the peaceful night,

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
His frame was firm, his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

Then with no throbs of fiery pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain,
And forced his soul the nearest way.†

PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE. OFT I've implored the gods in vain, And pray'd till I've been weary : For once I'll seek my wish to gain Of Oberon the fairy.

Sweet airy being, wanton sprite,
Who livest in woods unseen;
And oft by Cynthia's silver light
Trip'st gaily o'er the green.

[* There are but two decent prologues in our tongue, Pope's to Cato, Johnson's to Drury Lane. These, with the epilogues to "The Distrest Mother," and I think one of Goldsmith's, and a prologue of old Colman's to Beaumont and Fletcher's "Philaster," are the best things of the kind we have.-BYRON.]

If e'er thy pitying heart was moved
As ancient stories tell;

And for th' Athenian maid who loved,

Thou sought'st a wond'rous spell.

Oh! deign once more t' exert thy power!
Haply some herb or tree,

Sovereign as juice from western flower,
Conceals a balm for me.

[† TO DR. LAWRENCE.

Jan. 17th, 1782.

Sir, Our old friend, Mr. Levett, who was last night eminently cheerful, died this morning. The man who lay in the same room, hearing an uncommon noise, got up and tried to make him speak, but without effect. He then called Mr. Holder, the apothecary, who, though when he came be thought him dead, opened a vein, but could draw no blood. So has ended the long life of a very useful and very blameless man. I am, sir, your most humble servant,

SAM. JOHNSON.]

I ask no kind return in love,

No tempting charm to please;
Far from the heart such gifts remove,
That sighs for peace and ease!

Nor ease, nor peace, that heart can know,
That like the needle true,

Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

But, turning, trembles too.

Far as distress the soul can wound, "I'is pain in each degree;

"Tis bliss but to a certain bound

Beyond-is agony;

Then take this treacherous sense of mine,
Which dooms me still to smart;
Which pleasure can to pain refine,
To pain new pangs impart.

Oh! haste to shed the sovereign balm,
My shatter'd nerves new-string;
And for my guest, serenely calm,
The nymph Indifference bring!

At her approach, see Hope, şee Fear,
See Expectation fly!
And Disappointment in the rear,
That blasts the purposed joy.

The tears, which Pity taught to flow,

My eyes shall then disown;

The heart, that throbb'd at others' woe,
Shall then scarce feel its own.

The wounds, which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall close;
And tranquil days shall still succeed
To nights of sweet repose.

O fairy-elf! but grant me this,
This one kind comfort send!
And so may never-fading bliss
Thy flowery paths attend!

So may the glow-worm's glittering light
Thy tiny footsteps lead

To some new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread!

And be thy acorn-goblet fill'd

With heaven's ambrosial dew,
From sweetest, freshet flowers distill'd,
That shed fresh sweets for you.

And what of life remains for me,
I'll pass in sober ease;
Half-pleased, contented will I be,
Content-but half to please.

WILLIAM WHITEHEAD was born in Cambridge. "It would be vain," says his biographer, Mason, the poet, "to conceal that he was of low extraction; because the secret has been more than once divulged by those who gain what they think an honest livelihood by publishing the lives of the living; and it would be injurious to his memory, because his having risen much above the level of his origin bespeaks an intrinsic merit, which mere ancestry can never confer. Let it then be rather boasted than whispered, that he was the son of a baker." This is really making too much of a small thing. Every day certainly witnesses more wonderful events, than the son of a tradesman rising to the honours of a poet laureate, and the post of a travelling tutor. Why 1 Mason should speak of the secret of his extraction being divulged, is difficult to conceive, unless we suppose that Whitehead was weak enough to have wished to conceal it; a suspicion, however, which it is not fair to indulge, when we look to the general respectability of his personal character, and to the honest pride which he evinced, in voluntarily discharging his father's debts. But, with all respect for Whitehead, be it observed, that the annals of " Baking" can boast of much more illustrious individuals having sprung from the loins of its professors.

His father, however, was a man of taste and

expenditure, much above the pitch of a baker. He spent most of his time in ornamenting a piece of ground, near Grantchester, which still goes by the name of Whitehead's Folly; and he left debts behind him at his death, that would have done honour to the prodigality of a poet. In consequence of his father dying in such circumstances, young Whitehead's education was accomplished with great difficulty, by the strictest economy on his own part, and the assistance of his mother, whose discharge of duty to him he has gratefully recorded. At the age of fourteen, he was put to Winchester school, upon the foundation. He was there distinguished by his love of reading, and by his facility in the production of English verse; and before he was sixteen he had written an entire comedy. When the Earl of Peterborough, accompanied by Pope, visited Winchester school, in the year 1733, he gave ten guineas, to be distributed in prizes among the boys. Pope prescribed the subject, which was "Peterborough," and young Whitehead was one of the six who shared the prize money. It would appear that Pope had distinguished him on this occasion, as the reputation of his notice was afterward of advantage to Whitehead when he went to the university. He also gained some applause at Winchester for his powers of acting, in the part of Mercia, in Cato. He was a graceful re