But both thofe orators, fo 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 profe.
Fortune foretun'd the dying notes of Rome:
Till I, thy conful fole, confol'd thy doom." 191
His fate had crept below the lifted fwords,
Had all his malice been to murder words.
I rather would be Mævius, thrash for rhimes
Like his, the fcorn and fcandal of the times, 195

Ver. 186. But both thofe orators,] Lydiat, mentioned by Johnfon in the fubfequent imitation, was not generally known, though a very learned man, and able mathematician, and many perfons enquired who he was. Galileo was well chofen to exemplify the hard fate of a very illuftrious philofopher.

Deign on the paffing world to turn thine eyes,
And paufe awhile from letters, to be wife;
There mark what ills the fcholar's life affail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
See nations flowly wife, and meanly juft,
To buried Merit raife the tardy bust.
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend,
Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end.

I cannot forbear adding, that Johnfon made an alteration in the fourth of thefe lines; at first it stood,

Toil, envy, want, the garret, and the jail.

When Lord Chesterfield difappointed him of the patronage he expected, he fuddenly altered it to

the patron, and the jail.

This Mr. William Collins informed me of, who was prefent at the time. He himself at laft met with a fuitable reward for his labours, by the gracious and generous penfion which the King gave him of 3001. a year. And a fuperb 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 fets out the happiness of his own confulfhip; famous for the vanity, and the ill poetry of it; for Tully, as he had a good deal of the one, fʊ he had no great share of the other.

Than that Philippic, fatally divine,

Which is infcrib'd the fecond, fhould be mine.
Nor he, the wonder of the Grecian throng,
Who drove them with the torrent of his tongue,
Who fhook the theatres, and fway'd the ftate 200
Of Athens, found a more propitious fate.
Whom, born beneath a boding horofcope,
His fire, the blear-ey'd Vulcan of a shop,
From Mars his forge, fent 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
The conqueror's chariot, and in triumph born,
A ftreamer from a boarded galley torn,
A chap-faln beaver loosely hanging by
The cloven helm, an arch of victory,
On whofe high convex fits a captive foe,
And fighing cafts a mournful look below;
Of every nation, each illustrious name,
Such toys as these have cheated into fame :

209

215

Ver. 196. The orations of Tully against Mark Anthony were filed by him Philippics, in imitation of Demofthenes, who had given that name before to thofe he made against Philip of Macedon.

Ver. 205. To learn] A juft definition of eloquence, and its abufe, efpecially in democracies. Dr. J. WARTON.

Ver. 208 This is a mock account of a Roman triumph.

Exchanging folid 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.

225

For who would Virtue for herself regard,
Or wed, without the portion of reward?
Yet this mad chace of fame, by few purfu'd,
Has drawn deftruction on the multitude:
This avarice of praise in times to come,
Thofe long infcriptions, 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 difperfe 230
The characters of all the lying verse.

For fepulchres 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 fo long a way; Which Ethiopia's double clime divides, And elephants in other mountains hides. Spain first he won, the Pyrenæans past, And steepy Alps, the mounds that Nature cast: And with corroding juices, as he went,

240

A paffage 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. Johnfon. Though he condemned fo many of the other works of Voltaire, yet he used to fpeak in the terms of high approbation of his history of this extraordinary warrior.

On what foundation ftands the warrior's pride,

How juft 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 pleafure and of pain.
No joys to him pacific fcepters yield,
War founds the trump, he rushes to the field.
Behold furrounding kings their pow'r combine,

And one capitulate, and one refign.

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 ftandards fly,
"And all be mine beneath the polar fky."

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 cold, his courfe delay,
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day:
The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,
And fhews his miferies in diftant lands.
Condemn'd a needy fupplicant to wait,
While ladies interpofe, and flaves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend?
Did not fubverted empire mark his end?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hoftile millions prefs him to the ground?
His fall was deftin'd to a barren ftrand,
A petty fortrefs, 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 paffage in the works of Pope, of greater energy and force of expreffion, than the foregoing paffage. The laft lines do not tally with the original; for contempt is heightened by the address,

I demens, et fævas curre per Alpes,
Ut Pueris placcas et Declamatio fias.

Dr. J. WARTON,

In three victorious battles over-run ;

Yet ftill uneafy, cries, There's nothing done,
Till level with the ground their gates are laid; 250
And Punic flags on Roman towers difplay'd.
Afk what a face belong'd to his high fame:
His picture fcarcely would deferve a frame:
A fign-poft dawber would difdain to paint
The one-ey'd hero on his elephant.
Now what's his end, O charming Glory! fay,
What rare fifth act to crown this huffing play?
In one deciding battle overcome,

255

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 fleeping tyrant's interdicted door.

264

What wond'rous fort of death has heaven defign'd, Diftinguish'd from the herd of human kind, For fo untam'd, fo turbulent a mind! Nor fwords at hand, nor hiffing darts afar, Are doom'd to avenge the tedious bloody war; But poifon, drawn through a ring's hollow plate, Muft finish him; a fucking infant's fate. Go, climb the rugged Alps, ambitious fool, To please 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 feas confin'd:

270

274