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My MANDOLINE -What place can inufic find
Amid the discord of my restless mind?

How shall I waite this time which fiowly flies !
How lull to flumber my reluctant eyes!
This night the happy and th' unhappy keep
Vigils alik, -NORFOLK has murder'd flerp.

The FA K E ER:




A , a )

FAKEER (a religious well known in the East,

With no canting, no fly jesuitical arts,
Field-preaching, hypocrisy, learning, or parts,
By a happy refinement in mortification,
Grew the oracle, saint, and the pope of his nation.
But what did lie do this esteem to acquire ?
Did he torture his head or his bofom with fire?
Was his neck in a portable pillory cas'd?
Did he faften a chain to his leg or his wait?
No. His holiness rose to his sovereign pitch
By the merit of running long nails in his breech.

A wealthy young Indian, approaching the fhrine,
Thus in banter accoits the prophetic divine :
This tribute accept for your int'rest with FO,
Whom with torture you serve, and whose will you must


To your suppliant disclose his immortal decrees
Tell me which of the heav'ns is allotted for me,

Let me first know your merits.


I strive to be justo
To be true to my friend, to my wife, to my trult :
In religion I duly observe every form:
With a heart to my country devoted and warm :
I give to the poor, and I lend to the rich -

But how many

nails do

run in your


With submission I speak to your rev'rence's tail;
Bat mine has no tatte for a tenpenny


Well ! I'll pray to our prophet, and get you preferr'd;
Though no farther expect than to heaven the third.
With me in the thirtieth your seat to obtain,
You must qualify duly with hunger and pain.

With you in the thirtieth! you impudent rogue !
Can such wretches as you give to madness a vogue !
Though the priesthood of FO on the vulgar impose,
By squinting whole years at the end of their nose,
Though with cruel devices of mortification
They adore a vain idol of modern creation,

: Does

Does the God of the heav'ns such a service direct ?
Can his mercy approve a felf-punishing sect?
Will his wisdom be worship'd with chains and with nails?
Or e'er look for his rites in your noses and tails ?
Come along to my house, and these penances leave,
Give your belly a feast, and your breech a reprieve.

This reasoning unhing'd each fanatical notion;
And stagger'd our saint in his chair of promotion.
At length with reluctance he rose from his feat;
And resigning his nails and his fame for retreat,
Two weeks his new life he admir'd and enjoy'd :
The third he with plenty and quiet was cloy'd.
To live undistinguish'd to him was the pain,
An existence unnotic'd he could not fustain.
In retirement he figh'd for the fame-giving chair,
For the crowd to admire him, to rev’rence and stare :
No endearments of pleasure and ease could prevail;
He the faintship refum'd, and new larded his tail.

Our FAKEEi reprefents all the vot’ries of fame;
Their ideas, their means, and their end is the fame:
The sportsman, the buck; all the heroes of vice,
With their gallantry, lewdness, the bottle and dice;
The poets, the critics, the metaphyficians,
The courtier, the patriot, all

' politicians ;
The statesman begirt with th' importunate ring,
(I had almost compleated my lift with the king) ;
All labour alike to illustrate
All tortur'd by choice with th' invisible nail.

my tale;


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IS fo-though we're surpris'd to hear it :

The laurel is bestow'd on merit.
How hush'd is every envious voice!
Confounded hy so just a choice,
Though by prescriptive right prepar'd
To libel the selected bard.

But as you see the statesman's fate
In this our democratic state,
Whom virtue strives in vain to guard
From the rude pamphlet and the card;
You'll find the demagogues of Pindus
In envy not a jot behind us :
For each Aonian politician
(Whose element is opposition),
Will shew how greatly they furpass us
In gall and wormwood at Parnassus.

Thus as the fame detracting spirit
Attends on all diftinguish'd merit,



When 'tis your turn, observe, the quarrel
Is not with you, but with the laurel.

Suppose that laurel on your brow,
For cypress changed, funereal bough!

See all things take a diff'rent turn! • The very critics sweetly mourn,

And leave their fatire's pois’nous sting
In plaintive elegies to sing :.
With folemn threnody and dirge
Conduct you to Elyfium's verge.
At Westminster the surplic'd dean
The sad but honourable scene
Prepares. The well-attended herse
Bears you amid the kings of verse.
Each rite observ’d, each duty paid,
Your fame on marble is display'd,
With fymbols which your genius suit;
The mask, the bulkin, and the flute;
The laurel crown aloft is hung ;
And o'er the sculptur'd lyre unstrung
Sad allegoric figures leaning-
(How folks will gape to find their meaning!)
And a long epitaph is spread,
Which happy You will never read.
But hold-The change is so inviting
I own, I tremble while I'm writing,


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