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But both those orators, so much renown'd,
In their own depths of eloquence were drown'd:
The hand and head were never loft, of those
Who dealt in doggrel, or who punn'd in prose.
“ Fortune foretun'd the dying notes of Rome:
“ Till I, thy consul fole, confold thy doom.” 191
His fate had crept below the lifted swords,
Had all his malice been to murder words.
I rather would be Mævius, thrash for rhimes
Like his, the scorn and scandal of the times, 195
Than that Philippic, fatally divine,
Which is infcrib'd the second, should be mine.

Ver. 186. But both those orators,] Lydiat, mentioned by Johnson in the subsequent imitation, was not generally known, though a very learned man, and able mathematician, and many persons enquired who he was. Galileo was well chofen to exemplify the hard fate of a very illustrious philosopher.

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 affail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
See nations fowly wife, and meanly just,
To buried Merit raise the tardy buft.
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend,

Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end. I cannot forbear adding, that Johnson made an alteration in the fourth of these lines; at first it stood,

Toil, envy, want, the garret, and the jail. When Lord Chesterfield disappointed him of the patronage le expected, he suddenly altered it to

the patron, and the jail. This Mr. William Collins informed me of, who was present at the time. He himself at last met with a suitable reward for his labours, by the gracious and generous penfion which the King gave him of 3001. a year. And a superb monument and statue of him is erected in St. Paul's cathedral. Dr. J. WARTON.

Ver. 190. The Latin of this couplet is a famous verse of Tully's, in which he sets out the happiness of his own consulship; famous for the vanity, and the ill poetry of it; for Tully, as he had a good deal of the one, su he had no great share of the other.

Nor he, the wonder of the Grecian throng,
Who drove them with the torrent of his tongue,
Who shook the theatres, and sway'd the state 200
Of Athens, found a more propitious fate.
Whom, born beneath a boding horoscope,
His fire, the blear-ey'd Vulcan of a shop,
From Mars his forge, sent to Minerva’s fchools,
To learn the unlucky art of wheedling fools. 205

With itch of honour, and opinion, vain, All things beyond their native worth we strain : The spoils of war, brought to Feretrian Jove, An empty coat of armour hung above

209 The conqueror's chariot, and in triumph born, A streamer from a boarded galley torn, A chap-faln beaver loosely hanging by The cloven helm, an arch of victory, On whose high convex fits a captive foe, And sighing casts a mournful look below; Of every nation, each illustrious name, Such toys as these have cheated into fame :


Ver. 196. The orations of Tully against Mark Anthony were ftiled by him Philippics, in imitation of Demofthenes, who had given that name before to those he made against Philip of Mas : cedon.

Ver. 205. To learn] A just definition of eloquence, and its abuse, especially in democracies.

Dr. J. WARTON. Ver. 208 This is a mock account of a Roman triumph.


Exchanging solid quiet, to obtain
The windy fatisfaction of the brain.

219 So much the thirst of honour fires the blood; So

many would be great, fo few be good. For who would Virtue for herfelf regard, Or wed, without the portion of reward ? Yet this mad chace of fame, by few pursu'd, Has drawn destruction on the multitude : This avarice of praise in times to come, Those long inscriptions, crowded on the tomb, Should fome wild fig-tree take her native bent, And heave below the gaudy monument, Would crack the marble titles, and disperse 230 The characters of all the lying verse. For sepulchres themselves must crumbling fall In time's abyss, the common grave of all. .

Great Hannibal within the balance lay; And tell how many pounds his afhes weigh ; 235 Whom Afric was not able to contain, Whose length runs level with the Atlantic main, And wearies fruitful Nilus, to convey His fun-beat waters by so long a way ; Which Ethiopia's double clime divides, 240 And elephants in other mountains lides. Spain first he won, the Pyrenæans paft, And steepy Alps, the mounds that Nature cast: And with corroding juices, as he went, A passage through the living rocks he rent. 245

Then, like a torrent, rolling from on high,
He pours his headlong rage on Italy;

Ver. 247. He pours his headlong] Charles XII. of Sweden was a very favourite character of Dr. Johnson. Though he condemned so many of the other works of Voltaire, yet he used to speak in the terms of high approbation of his hiltory of this extraordinary warrior.

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide :
No dangers fright him, and no labours tire,
A frame of adamant, a foul of fire;
O’er love, o'er fear extends his wide domain,
Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain.
No joys to him pacific fcepters yield,
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field.
Behold surrounding kings their pow'r combine,
And one capitulate, and one resign.
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms 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 fufpended wait.
Stern Famine guards the folitary coast,
And Winter barricades the realm of froft ;
He comes ; nor want, nor cuid, his course delay,
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day:
The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,
And shews his miferies in diftant lands.
Condemn’d a needy supplicant to wait,
While ladies interpore, and Naves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend ?
Did not subverted empire mark his end ?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
His fall was destin'd 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.
I do not recollect any passage in the works of Pope, of greater
energy and force of expreslion, than the foregoing passage. The
last lines do not tally with the original; for contempt is height-
ened by the address,

I demens, et fævas curre per Alpes,
Ut Pueris placeas et Declamatio tias. Dr, J. WAKTON.

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In three victorious battles over-run ;
Yet still uneasy, cries, There's nothing done,
Till level with the ground their gates are laid; 250
And Punic flags on Roman towers display'd.

Alk what a face belong’d to his high fame:
His picture scarcely would deserve a frame:
A sign-post dawber would disdain to paint
The one-ey'd hero on his elephant.
Now what's his end, O charming Glory! say,
What rare fifth act to crown this huffing play?
In one deciding battle overcome,
He flies, is banish'd from his native home:
Begs refuge in a foreign court, and there 260
Attends, his mean petition to prefer;
Repuls’d by furly grooms, who wait before
The Neeping tyrant's interdicted door.
What wond'rous fort of death has heaven

design'd, Distinguish'd from the herd of human kind, For so untam’d, fo turbulent a inind ! Nor swords at hand, nor hissing darts afar, Are doom'd to avenge the tedious bloody war; But poison, drawn through a ring's hollow plate, Must finish him ; a fucking infant's fate. Go, climb the rugged Alps, ambitious fool, To pleafe the boys, and be a theme at school.

One world fuffic'd not Alexander's mind; Coop'd up, he feem'd in earth and seas confin'd:




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