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Soon as the Sun the face of Nature gilds, That moving shade, that pendant at his ear, For health and pleasure will we range the fields; That two-legg'd dog, still pawing on the peer. O'er her gay scenes and opening beauties run, Studying his looks, and watching at the board, While all the vast creation is our own.
He gapes to catch the droppings of my lord;
Like a press'd watch, repeats what t'other spoke : And in her sober majesty the Moon
Ecbo to nonsense! such a scene to hear! With milder glories mounts her silver throne; 'Tis just like Punch and his interpreter. Amidst ten thousand orbs with splendour crown'd, On trifles some are earnestly absurd, That pour their tributary beans around;
You'll think the world depends on ev'ry word. Through the long levellid tube our strengthen'd sight “ What, is not every mortal free to speak ? Shall mark distinct the spangles of the night ; I'll give my reasons, tho' I break my neck.” From world to world shall dart the boundless eye, And what's the question ?--if it shines or rains, And stretch from star to star, from shy to sky. Whether it is twelve or fifteen miles to Staines. The buzzing insect families appear,
The wretch reduc'd to rags by every vice, When suns unbind the rigour of the year;
Pride, projects, races, mistresses, and dice, Quick glance the myriads round the evening bower, The rich rogue shuns, though full as bad as he, Hosts of a day, or nations of an bour.
And knows a quarrel is good husbandry. (pelf,' Astonish'd we shall see th' unfolding race,
“ "Vis strange,” cries Peter, “ you are out of Stretch'd out in bulk, within the polish'd glass; I'm sure I thought you wiscr than myself;" Through whose small convex a new world we spy, Yet gives him nothing—but advice too late, Ne'er seen before, but by a seraph's eye!
Retrench, or rather mortgage your estate, So long in darkness shut froin human kind
I can advance the sum,-'tis best for both; Lay half God's wonders to a point confin'd ! But henceforth cut your coat to match your cloth. But in one peopled drop we now survey
A minister, in mere revenge and sport, In pride of power some little monster play; Shall give his foc a paltry place at court. O'er tribes invisible he reigns alone,
The dupe for every royal birth-day buys
New horses, coaches, clothes, and liveries ;
And now the wretch, ridiculously mad,
Draws on bis banker, mortgages and fails, I tremble now, and now I pant for fame;
Then to the country runs away from jails : With eager hopes this moment I aspire
There, ruin'd by the court, he sells a vote To catch or emulate thy glorious fire ;
To the next burgess, as of old he bought; The next pursue the rash attempt no inore,
Rubs down the steeds which once his chariot bore, But drop the quill, bow, wonder, and adore ; Or sweeps the town, which once he serv'd before. By thy strong genius overcome and aw'd !
But, by this roving metcor lel, I tend That fire from Heaven ! that spirit of a god! Beyond my theme, forgetful of my friend. Pleas'd and transported with thy name I tend Then take advice; I preach not out of time, Beyond my theme, forgetful of my friend ; When good lord Middlesex is bent on rhyme. And from my first design by rapture led,
Their humour check'd, or inclination cross'd, Neglect the living poet for the dead.
Sometimes the friendship of the great is lost.
For your reward you gain his love, and dine
On the best venison and the best French wine :
How the twelve peers have answer'd their creation, IX IMITATION OF HORACE, BOOK I. EPIST. XVIII. Nor in your wine or wrath betray your trust,
Be silent still, and obstinately just : Spence, with a friend you pass the hours away
Explore no secrets, draw no characters, In pointed jokes, yet innocently gay :
For Echo will repeat, and walls have ears : You ever differ'd from a flatterer more,
Nor let a busy fool a secret know, Than a chaste lady from a flaunting whore.
A secret gripes himn till he lets it go : 'Tis true you rallied every fault you found,
Words are like bullets, and we wish in vain, But gently tickled, while you cur'd the wound:
When once discharg'd, to call them back again. Unlike the paultry poets of the town, Rogues who expose themselves for half a crown : And still impose on every soul they meet
Defend, dear Spence, the honest and the civil, Rudeness for sense, and ribaldry for wit:
But to cry up a rascal that's the devil. Who, though half-starv'd, in spite of time and place, Who guards a good man's character, 'tis known, Repeat their rhymes, though dinner stays for grace:
At the same time protects and guards his owo. And as their poverty their dresses fit,
For as with houses 'tis with people's names, They think of course a sloven is a wit;
A shed may set a palace all on fames ; But sense (a truth these coxcombs ne'er suspect) The fire neglected on the cottage preys, Lies just 'twixt affectation and neglect.
But mounts at last into a general blaze. One step still lower, if you can, descend,
'Tis a fine thing, some think, a lord to know; To the mean wretch, the great man's humble friend; I wish his tradesmen could but think so toa
He gives his word—then all your hopes are gone : From hopes or fears your quiet to defend,
Most folks so partial to themselves are grown, When to delicious Pimperne I retire,
I think myself of size to fill a stall.