The works: in verse and prose, of Dr. Thomas Parnell, ... Enlarged with variations and poems, not before publish'd.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [titlepage]

- TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT, EARL OF OXFORD AND EARL MORTIMER.

- THE CONTENTS.

- [poems]

- HESIOD: OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN.

- SONG.

- A SONG.

- SONG.

- ANACREONTIC.

- ANACREONTIC.

- A FAIRY TALE IN THE ANTIENT ENGLISH STYLE.

- THE VIGIL OF VENUS. WRITTEN IN THE TIME OF JULIUS CAESAR, AND BY SOME ASCRIBED TO CATULLUS.

- PERVIGILIUM VENERIS.

- HOMER'S BATRACHOMUOMACHIA: OR, THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.

- BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. BOOK I.

- BOOK II.

- BOOK III.

- TO MR. POPE.

- PART OF THE FIRST CANTO OF THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. WITH A TRANSLATION IN LEONINE VERSE, AFTER THE MANNER OF THE ANCIENT MONKS.

- [poem]

- HEALTH; AN ECLOGUE.

- THE FLIES; AN ECLOGUE.

- AN ELEGY, TO AN OLD BEAUTY.

- THE BOOK-WORM.

- AN ALLEGORY ON MAN

- AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES.

- A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH.

- A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

- THE HERMIT.

- [proseworks]

- VISIONS, PUBLISH'D IN THE SPECTATORS, &c. BY THE SAME HAND.

- VISION I. SPECTATOR. No 460.

- VISION II. SPECTATOR. No 501.

- VISION III. GUARDIAN. No 56.

- VISION IV. GUARDIAN. No 66.

- VISION V.

- THE LIFE OF ZOILUS: AND HIS REMARKS ON HOMER'S BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.

- PREFACE.

- THE LIFE OF ZOILUS.

- ZOILUS's REMARKS.

- THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS UPON HOMER'S BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- [variations]

- ALTERATIONS IN HESIOD.

- SONG.

- IN THE BOOK-WORM.

- IN THE NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH.

- IN THE HERMIT.

- THE FOLLOWING POEMS ARE PUBLISHED FROM THE MANUSCRIPT FROM WHICH THE FORE GOING VARIATIONS WERE TAKEN.

- BACCHUS: OR, THE VINES OF LESBOS.

- ELYSIUM.

- TO DR. SWIFT.

- PIETY: OR, THE VISION.

- ECSTACY.

THE WORKS, IN VERSE AND PROSE, OF DR. THOMAS PARNELL, LATE ARCH-DEACON OF CLOGHER.

ENLARGED WITH VARIATIONS AND POEMS, NOT BEFORE PUBLISH'D.

GLASGOW, PRINTED AND SOLD BY R. AND A. FOULIS

MDCCLV.

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS; WRITTEN BY DR. THOMAS PARNELL, LATE ARCH-DEACON OF CLOGHER: AND PUBLISH'D BY MR. POPE.

DIGNUM LAUDE VIRUM MUSA VETAT MORI.
HOR.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT, EARL OF OXFORD AND EARL MORTIMER.

SUCH were the notes thy once lov'd Poet sung,

'Till death untimely stop'd his tuneful tongue.

O just beheld, and lost! admir'd, and mourn'd!

With softest manners, gentlest arts, adorn'd!

Blest in each science, blest in ev'ry strain!

Dear to the Muse, to HARLEY dear—in vain!

FOR him, thou oft hast bid the world attend,

Fond to forget the statesman in the friend;

For SWIFT and him, despis'd the farce of state,

The sober follies of the wise and great;

Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,

And pleas'd to 'scape from flattery to wit.

ABSENT or dead, still let a friend be dear,

(A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear)

Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilsome days,

Still hear thy PARNELL in his living lays:

Who careless, now, of int'rest, fame, or fate,

Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was great;

Or deeming meanest what we greatest call,

Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall.

And sure if ought below the seats divine

Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine:

A soul supreme, in each hard instance try'd,

Above all pain, all anger, and all pride,

The rage of pow'r, the blast of public breath,

The lust of lucre, and the dread of death.

IN vain to desarts thy retreat is made;

The muse attends thee to the silent shade:

'Tis her's, the brave man's latest steps to trace,

Re-judge his acts, and dignify disgrace.

When int'rest calls off all her sneaking train,

When all th' oblig'd desert, and all the vain;

She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,

When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewel.

Ev'n now she shades thy evening walk with bays,

(No hireling she, no prostitute to praise)

Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray,

Eyes the calm sun-set of thy various day,

Thro' fortune's cloud one truly great can see,

Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

SEPT. 25. 1721.
A. POPE.

THE CONTENTS.

- HESIOD, or the Rise of Woman. PAGE 1

- Song. PAGE 11, 12, 13

- Anacreontic. PAGE 15, 17

- A Fairy Tale, in the antient English Style. PAGE 20

- The Vigil of Venus, written in the Time of Julius Caesar, and by some ascribed to Catullus. PAGE 29

- Battle of the Frogs and Mice. PAGE 43

- To Mr. Pope. PAGE 62

- Part of the first Canto of the Rape of the Lock, with a Translation in Leonine Verse, after the Manner of the antient Monks. PAGE 66

- Health; an Eclogue. PAGE 69

- The Flies; an Eclogue. PAGE 72

- An Elegy. To an old Beauty. PAGE 75

- The Book-Worm. PAGE 78

- An Allegory on Man. PAGE 82

- An Imitation of some French Verses. PAGE 86

- A Night-Piece on Death. PAGE 89

- A Hymn to Contentment. PAGE 93

- The Hermit. PAGE 96

VISIONS.

- VISION I. PAGE 109

- Vision II. PAGE 116

- Vision III. PAGE 123

- Vision IV. PAGE 131

- Vision V. PAGE 132

- The Life of Zoilus. To which is prefixed a Preface by the Author. PAGE 145

- The Remarks of Zoilus upon Homer's Battle of the Frogs and Mice. PAGE 177

- Variations. PAGE 203

- Bacchus, or the Vines of Lesbos. PAGE 211

- Elysium. PAGE 215

- To Dr. Swift. PAGE 221

- Piety, or the Vision. PAGE 225

- Ecstasy. PAGE 229

HESIOD: OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN.

WHAT antient times (those times we fancy wise)

Have left on long record of Woman's rise,

What morals teach it, and what fables hide,

What author wrote it, how that author dy'd,

All these I sing. In Greece they fram'd the tale

(In Greece, 'twas thought a Woman might be frail.)

Ye modern beauties! where the poet drew

His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you;

And warn'd by him, ye wanton pens, beware

How Heav'n's concern'd to vindicate the fair.

The case was Hesiod's; he the fable writ;

Some think with meaning, some with idle wit:

Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please;

I wave the contest, and commence the lays.

In days of yore, (no matter where or when,

'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men)

That one Prometheus, sprung of heav'nly birth,

(Our author's song can witness) liv'd on earth.

He carv'd the turf to mold a manly frame,

And stole from Jove his animating flame.

The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,

When thus the monarch of the stars began.

Oh vers'd in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire

To kindle clay with never-dying fire!

Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine;

The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine:

And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd,

As suits the counsel of a God to find;

A pleasing bosom-cheat, a specious ill,

Which felt thy curse, yet covet still to feel.

He said, and Vulcan strait the sire commands,

To temper mortar with etherial hands;

In such a shape to mold a rising fair,

As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear;

To make her eyes with diamond-water shine,

And form her organs for a voice divine.

'Twas thus the sire ordain'd; the pow'r obey'd;

And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made;

The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath,

Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breathe.

As Vulcan ends, the chearful Queen of Charms

Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms;

From that embrace a fine complexion spread,

Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red.

Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts,

Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts;

A mind for love, but still a changing mind;

The lisp affected, and the glance design'd;

The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink,

The gentle-swimming walk, the courteous sink,

The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown,

For decent yielding looks declining down,

The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd desire

Wou'd own its melting in a mutual fire;

Gay smiles to comfort; April show'rs to move;

And all the nature, all the art, of love.

Gold-scepter'd Juno next exalts the fair;

Her touch endows her with imperious air,

Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride,

Strong sov'reign will, and some desire to chide:

For which, an eloquence, that aims to vex,

With native tropes of anger, arms the sex.

Minerva (skilful goddess) train'd the maid

To twirl the spindle by the twisting thread,

To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part,

Cross the long weft, and close the web with art,

An useful gift; but what profuse expence,

What world of fashions, took its rise from hence!

Young Hermes next, a close-contriving god,

Her brows encircled with his serpent rod:

Then plots and fair excuses, fill'd her brain,

The views of breaking am'rous vows for gain,

The price of favours; the designing arts

That aim at riches in contempt of hearts;

And for a comfort in the marriage life,

The little, pilf'ring temper of a wise.

Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung,

And fond perswasion tip'd her easy tongue;

He gave her words, where oily flatt'ry lays

The pleasing colours of the art of praise;

And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone,

Which frets another's spleen to cure its own.

Those sacred virgins whom the bards revere,

Tun'd all her voice, and shed a sweetness there,

To make her sense with double charms abound,

Or make her lively nonsense please by sound.

To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought

A robe in all the dies of beauty wrought,

And plac'd their boxes o'er a rich brocade

Where pictur'd Loves on ev'ry cover play'd;

Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art

Had fram'd to merit Cytherea's heart;

The wire to curl, the close indented comb

To call the locks that lightly wander, home;

And chief, the mirrour, where the ravish'd maid

Beholds and loves her own reflected shade.

Fair Flora lent her stores, the purpled Hours

Confin'd her tresses with a wreath of flow'rs;

Within the wreath arose a radiant crown;

A veil pellucid hung depending down;

Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold,

The purfled border deck'd the floor with gold.

Her robe (which closely by the girdle brac't

Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waste)

Flow'd to the feet; to copy Venus' air,

When Venus' statues have a robe to wear.

The new-sprung creature finish'd thus for harms,

Adjusts her habit, practises her charms,

With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles,

Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles:

Then conscious of her worth, with easy pace

Glides by the glass, and turning views her face.

A finer flax than what they wrought before,

Thro' time's deep cave the Sister Fates explore,

Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave,

And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive.

Flow from the rock, my flax! and swiftly flow,

Pursue thy thread; the spindle runs below.

A creature fond and changing, fair and vain,

The creature Woman, rises now to reign.

New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly;

New love begins, a love produc'd to dye;

New parts distress the troubled scenes of life,

The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife.

Men, born to labour, all with pains provide;

Women have time, to sacrifice to pride:

They want the care of man, their want they know,

And dress to please with heart-alluring show,

The show prevailing, for the sway contend,

And make a servant where they meet a friend.

Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts

A loitering race the painful bee supports,

From sun to sun, from bank to bank he flies,

With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs,

Fly where he will, at home the race remain,

Prune the silk dress, and murm'ring eat the gain.

Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride,

Whose temper betters by the father's side;

Unlike the rest that double human care,

Fond to relieve, or resolute to share:

Happy the man whom thus his stars advance!

The curse is gen'ral, but the blessing chance.

Thus sung the Sisters, while the gods admire

Their beauteous creature, made for man in ire;

The young Pandora she, whom all contend

To make too perfect not to gain her end:

Then bid the winds that fly to breathe the Spring,

Return to bear her on a gentle wing;

With wafting airs the winds obsequious blow,

And land the shining vengeance safe below,

A golden coffer in her hand she bore,

(The present treach'rous, but the bearer more)

'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above,

That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love.

Her gay descent the man perceiv'd afar,

Wond'ring he run to catch the falling star;

But so surpriz'd, as none but he can tell,

Who lov'd so quickly, and who lov'd so well.

O'er all his veins the wand'ring passion burns,

He calls her nymph, and ev'ry nymph by turns.

Her form to lovely Venus he prefers,

Or swears that Venus' must be such as hers.

She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to teize,

Neglects his offers while her airs she plays,

Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown,

In brisk disorder trips it up and down,

Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm,

And sits, and blushes, smiles; and yields, in form.

"Now take what Jove design'd (she softly cry'd)

"This box thy portion, and myself thy bride:"

Fir'd with the prospect of the double charms,

He snatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms.

Unhappy man! to whom so bright she shone:

The fatal gift, her tempting self, unknown!

The winds were silent, all the waves asleep,

And heav'n was trac'd upon the flatt'ring deep;

But whilst he looks unmindful of a storm,

And thinks the water wears a stable form,

What dreadful din around his ears shall rise!

What frowns confuse his picture of the skies!

At first the creature man was fram'd alone,

Lord of himself, and all the world his own.

For him the nymphs in green forsook the woods,

For him the nymphs in blue forsook the floods;

In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave,

They bore him heroes in the secret cave.

No care destroy'd, no sick disorder prey'd,

No bending age his sprightly form decay'd,

No wars were known, no females heard to rage,

And Poets tell us, 'twas a golden age.

When Woman came, those ills the box confin'd

Burst furious out, and poison'd all the wind,

From point to point, from pole to pole they flew,

Spread as they went, and in the progress grew:

The nymphs regretting left the mortal race,

And alt'ring nature wore a sickly face;

New terms of folly rose, new states of care;

New plagues, to suffer, and to please, the fair!

The days of whining, and of wild intrigues,

Commenc'd, or finish'd, with the breach of leagues;

The mean designs of well-dissembled love;

The sordid matches never join'd above;

Abroad, the labour, and at home the noise,

(Man's double suff'rings for domestic joys)

The curse of jealousy; expence, and strife;

Divorce, the public brand of shameful life;

The rival's sword; the qualm that takes the fair;

Disdain for passion, passion in despair—

These, and a thousand, yet unnam'd, we find;

Ah fear the thousand, yet unnam'd behind!

Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung,

The mountain echo'd, and the valley rung,

The sacred groves a fix'd attention show,

The chrystal Helicon forbore to flow,

The sky grew bright, and (if his verse be true)

The Muses came to give the laurel too.

But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit,

If Love swore vengeance for the tales he writ?

Ye fair offended, hear your friend relate

What heavy judgment prov'd the writer's fate,

Tho' when it happen'd, no relation clears,

'Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years.

Where, dark and silent, with a twisted shade

The neighb'ring woods a native arbour made,

There oft a tender pair for am'rous play

Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away;

A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he,

A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe she:

But swelling nature in a fatal hour

Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bow'r;

The dire disgrace her brothers count their own,

And track her steps, to make its author known.

It chanc'd one evening, ('twas the lover's day)

Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay;

When Hesiod wand'ring, mus'd along the plain,

And fix'd his seat where love had fix'd the scene;

A strong suspicion strait possest their mind,

(For poets ever were a gentle kind.)

But when Evanthe near the passage stood,

Flung back a doubtful look, and shot the wood,

"Now take (at once they cry) thy due reward,"

And urg'd with erring rage, assault the bard.

His corps the sea receiv'd. The dolphins bore

('Twas all the Gods would do) the corps to shore.

Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes,

And see the dreams of antient wisdom rise;

I see the Muses round the body cry,

But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by;

He wheels his arrow with insulting hand,

And thus inscribes the moral on the sand.

"Here Hesiod lies: ye future bards, beware

"How far your moral tales incense the fair:

"Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed;

"Without his quiver Cupid caus'd the deed:

"He judg'd this turn of malice justly due,

"And Hesiod dy'd for joys he never knew."

SONG.

WHEN thy beauty appears,

In its graces and airs,

All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky;

At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears,

So strangely you dazzle my eye!

But when without art,

Your kind thoughts you impart,

When your love runs in blushes thro' ev'ry vein;

When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart,

Then I know you're a woman again.

There's a passion and pride

In our sex (she reply'd)

And thus (might I gratify both) I wou'd do:

Still an angel appear to each lover beside,

But still be a woman to you.

A SONG.

THYRSIS, a young and am'rous swain,

Saw two, the beauties of the plain;

Who both his heart subdue:

Gay Caelia's eyes were dazzling fair,

Sabina's easy shape and air

With softer magic drew.

He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove;

Lives in a fond romance of love,

And seems for each to die;

'Till each a little spiteful grown,

Sabina Caelia's shape ran down,

And she Sabina's eye.

Their envy made the shepherd find

Those eyes, which love could only blind;

So set the lover free:

No more he haunts the grove or stream,

Or with a true-love knot and name

Engraves a wounded tree.

Ah Caelia! (sly Sabina cry'd)

Tho' neither love, we're both deny'd;

Now to support the sex's pride,

Let either fix the dart.

Poor girl! (says Caelia) say no more;

For shou'd the swain but one adore,

That spite which broke his chains before,

Wou'd break the other's heart.

SONG.

MY days have been so wond'rous free,

The little birds that fly

With careless ease from tree to tree,

Were but as bless'd as I.

Ask gliding waters, if a tear

Of mine encreas'd their stream?

Or ask the flying gales, if e'er

I lent one sigh to them?

But now my former days retire,

And I'm by beauty caught,

The tender chains of sweet desire

Are fix'd upon my thought.

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines!

Ye swains that haunt the grove!

Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds!

Ye close retreats of love!

With all of nature, all of art,

Assist the dear design;

O teach a young unpractis'd heart,

To make my Nancy mine.

The very thought of change I hate,

As much as of despair;

Nor ever covet to be great,

Unless it be for her.

'Tis true, the passion in my mind

Is mix'd with soft distress;

Yet while the fair I love is kind,

I cannot wish it less.

ANACREONTIC.

WHEN Spring came on with fresh delight,

To cheer the soul, and charm the sight,

While easy breezes, softer rain,

And warmer suns salute the plain;

'Twas then, in yonder piny grove,

That Nature went to meet with Love.

Green was her robe, and green her wreath,

Where-e'er she trod, 'twas green beneath;

Where-e'er she turn'd, the pulses beat

With new recruits of genial heat;

And in her train the birds appear,

To match for all the coming year.

Rais'd on a bank, where daizys grew,

And vi'lets intermix'd a blue,

She finds the boy she went to find;

A thousand pleasures wait behind,

Aside, a thousand arrows ly,

But all unfeather'd wait to fly.

When they met, the Dame and Boy,

Dancing Graces, idle Joy,

Wanton Smiles, and airy Play,

Conspir'd to make the scene be gay;

Love pair'd the birds through all the grove,

And Nature bid them sing to Love,

Sitting, hopping, flutt'ring, sing,

And pay their tribute from the wing,

To fledge the shafts that idly ly,

And yet unfeather'd wait to fly.

'Tis thus, when Spring renews the blood,

They meet in ev'ry trembling wood,

And thrice they make the plumes agree,

And ev'ry dart they mount with three,

And ev'ry dart can boast a kind,

Which suits each proper turn of mind.

From the tow'ring Eagle's plume

The gen'rous Hearts accept their doom;

Shot by the Peacock's painted eye

The vain and airy lovers dye:

For careful dames and frugal men,

The shafts are speckled by the Hen.

The Pyes and Parrots deck the darts,

When Prattling wins the panting hearts:

When from the Voice the passions spring,

The warbling Finch affords a wing:

Together, by the Sparrow stung,

Down fall the wanton and the young:

And fledg'd by Geese the weapons fly,

When others love they know not why.

All this (as late I chanc'd to rove)

I learn'd in yonder waving grove.

And see, says Love, (who call'd me near)

How much I deal with Nature here,

How both support a proper part,

She gives the feather, I the dart:

Then cease for souls averse to sigh,

If Nature cross ye, so do I;

My weapon there unfeather'd flies,

And shakes and shuffles through the skies.

But if the mutual charms I find

By which she links you, mind to mind,

They wing my shafts, I poize the darts,

And strike from both, through both your hearts.

ANACREONTIC.

GAY Bacchus liking Estcourt's wine,

A noble meal bespoke us;

And for the guests that were to dine,

Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.

The God near Cupid drew his chair,

Near Comus, Jocus plac'd;

For Wine makes Love forget its care,

And Mirth exalts a feast.

The more to please the sprightly God,

Each sweet engaging Grace

Put on some cloaths to come abroad,

And took a waiter's place.

Then Cupid nam'd at every glass

A lady of the sky;

While Bacchus swore he'd drink the lass,

And had it bumper-high.

Fat Comus tost his brimmers o'er,

And always got the most;

Jocus took care to fill him more,

When-e'er he miss'd the toast.

They call'd, and drank at every touch;

He fill'd, and drank again;

And if the gods can take too much,

'Tis said, they did so then.

Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung,

By reck'ning his deceits.

And Cupid mock'd his stamm'ring tongue,

With all his stagg'ring gaits:

And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways,

And tales without a jest;

While Comus call'd his witty plays

But waggeries at best.

Such talk soon set 'em all at odds;

And, had I Homer's pen,

I'd sing ye, how they drunk like gods,

And how they fought, like men.

To part the fray, the Graces fly,

Who make 'em soon agree;

Nay, had the furies selves been nigh,

They still were three to three.

Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up,

And gave him back his bow;

But kept some darts to stir the cup,

Where sack and sugar flow.

Jocus took Comus' rosy crown,

And gayly wore the prize,

And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down,

As thrice he strove to rise.

Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove,

Where Venus did recline,

And Venus close embracing Love,

They join'd to rail at wine.

And Comus loudly cursing Wit,

Roll'd off to some retreat,

Where boon companions gravely sit

In fat unweildy state.

Bacchus and Jocus, still behind,

For one fresh glass prepare;

They kiss, and are exceeding kind,

And vow to be sincere.

But part in time, whoever hear

This our instructive song;

For tho' such friendships may be dear,

They can't continue long.

A FAIRY TALE IN THE ANTIENT ENGLISH STYLE.

IN Britain's isle and Arthur's days,

When midnight Faeries daunc'd the maze,

Liv'd Edwin of the green,

Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,

Endow'd with courage, sense and truth,

Tho' badly shap'd he been.

His mountain back mote well be said

To measure heigth against his head,

And lift itself above:

Yet spite of all that nature did

To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dar'd to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,

Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,

Cou'd ladies look within;

But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art,

And, if a shape cou'd win a heart,

He had a shape to win.

Edwin (if right I read my song)

With slighted passion pac'd along

All in the moony light:

'Twas near an old enchaunted court,

Where sportive Faeries made resort

To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd,

'Twas late, 'twas farr, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour-town;

With weary steps he quits the shades,

Resolv'd the darkling dome he treads,

And drops his limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the floor,

When hollow winds remove the door,

A trembling rocks the ground:

And (well I ween to count aright)

At once an hundred tapers light

On all the walls around.

Now sounding tongues assail his ear,

Now sounding feet approachen near,

And now the sounds encrease,

And from the corner where he lay

He sees a train profusely gay

Come pranckling o'er the place.

But (trust me Gentles!) never yet

Was dight a masquing half so neat,

Or half so rich before;

The country lent the sweet perfumes,

The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,

The town its silken store.

Now whilst he gaz'd, a Gallant drest

In flaunting robes above the rest,

With awfull accent cry'd;

What Mortall of a wretched mind,

Whose sighs infect the balmy wind,

Has here presum'd to hide?

At this the Swain, whose vent'rous soul

No fears of Magic art controul,

Advanc'd in open sight;

'Nor have I cause of dreed, he said,

'Who view (by no presumption led)

'Your revels of the night.

''Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love,

'Which made my steps unweeting rove

'Amid the nightly dew.'

'Tis well, the Gallant cries again,

We Faeries never injure men

Who dare to tell us true.

Exalt thy love-dejected heart,

Be mine the task, or ere we part,

To make thee grief resign;

Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce;

Whilst I with Mab my part'ner daunce,

Be little Mable thine.

He spoke, and all a sudden there

Light music floats in wanton air;

The Monarch leads the Queen:

The rest their Faerie partners found,

And Mable trimly tript the ground

With Edwin of the green.

The dauncing past, the board was laid,

And siker such a feast was made

As heart and lip desire;

Withouten hands the dishes fly,

The glasses with a wish come nigh,

And with a wish retire.

But now to please the Faerie King,

Full ev'ry deal they laugh and sing,

And antic feats devise;

Some wind and tumble like an ape,

And other-some transmute their shape

In Edwin's wond'ring eyes.

'Till one at last that Robin hight,

(Renown'd for pinching maids by night)

Has hent him up aloof;

And full against the beam he flung,

Where by the back the Youth he hung

To spraul unneath the roof.

From thence, "Reverse my charm, he crys,

"And let it fairly now suffice

"The gambol has been shown."

But Oberon answers with a smile,

Content thee Edwin for a while,

The vantage is thine own.

Here ended all the phantome play;

They smelt the fresh approach of day,

And heard a cock to crow;

The whirling wind that bore the crowd

Has clap'd the door, and whistled loud,

To warn them all to go.

Then screaming all at once they fly,

And all at once the tapers dy;

Poor Edwin falls to floor;

Forlorn his state, and dark the place,

Was never wight in sike a case

Through all the land before.

But soon as dan Apollo rose,

Full jolly creature home he goes,

He feels his back the less;

His honest tongue and steady mind

Han rid him of the lump behind

Which made him want success,

With lusty livelyhed he talks,

He seems a dauncing as he walks,

His story soon took wind;

And beauteous Edith sees the youth,

Endow'd with courage, sense and truth,

Without a bunch behind.

The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd,

(The youth of Edith erst approv'd)

To see the revel scene:

At close of eve he leaves his home,

And wends to find the ruin'd dome

All on the gloomy plain.

As there he bides, it so befell,

The wind came rustling down a dell,

A shaking seiz'd the wall:

Up spring the tapers as before,

The Faeries bragly foot the floor,

And music fills the hall.

But certes sorely sunk with woe

Sir Topaz sees the Elphin show,

His spirits in him dy:

When Oberon cries, 'a Man is near,

'A mortall passion, cleeped fear,

'Hangs flagging in the sky.'

With that Sir Topaz (hapless youth!)

In accents fault'ring ay for ruth

Intreats them pity graunt;

For als he been a mister wight

Betray'd by wand'ring in the night

To tread the circled haunt;

'Ah losell vile, at once they roar!

'And little skill'd of Faerie lore,

'Thy cause to come we know:

'Now has thy kestrell courage fell;

'And Faeries, since a ly you tell,

'Are free to work thee woe.'

Then Will, who bears the wispy fire

To trail the swains among the mire,

The caitive upward flung;

There like a tortoise in a shop

He dangled from the chamber-top,

Where whilome Edwin hung.

The revel now proceeds apace,

Deffly they frisk it o'er the place,

They sit, they drink, and eat;

The time with frolic mirth beguile,

And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while

'Till all the rout retreat.

By this the starrs began to wink,

They skriek, they fly, the tapers sink,

And down ydrops the knight.

For never spell by Faerie laid

With strong enchantment bound a glade

Beyond the length of night.

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay,

'Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er:

But wot ye well his harder lot?

His seely back the Bunch has got

Which Edwin lost afore.

This tale a Sybil-Nurse ared;

She softly strok'd my youngling head,

And when the tale was done,

'Thus some are born, my son (she cries)

'With base impediments to rise,

'And some are born with none.

'But virtue can itself advance

'To what the fav'rite fools of chance

'By fortune seem'd design'd;

'Virtue can gain the odds of fate,

'And from itself shake off the weight

'Upon th'unworthy Mind.

THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
WRITTEN IN THE TIME OF JULIUS CAESAR, AND BY SOME ASCRIBED TO CATULLUS.

"LET those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more,"

The Spring, the new, the warb'ling Spring appears,

The youthful season of reviving years;

In Spring the Loves enkindle mutual heats,

The feather'd nation chase their tuneful mates,

The trees grow fruitful with descending rain

And drest in diff'ring greens adorn the plain.

She comes; to-morrow Beauty's Empress roves

Thro' walks that winding run within the groves;

She twines the shooting myrtle into bow'rs,

And ties their meeting tops with wreaths of flow'rs,

Then rais'd sublimely on her easy throne

From Nature's pow'rful dictates draws her own.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

'Twas on that day which saw the teeming flood

Swell round, impregnate with celestial blood;

Wand'ring in circles stood the finny crew,

The midst was left a void expanse of blue,

There parent Ocean work'd with heaving throes,

And dropping wet the fair Dione rose.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

She paints the purple year with vary'd show,

Tips the green gem, and makes the blossom glow.

She makes the turgid buds receive the breeze,

Expand to leaves, and shade the naked trees.

When gath'ring damps the misty nights diffuse,

She sprinkles all the morn with balmy dews;

Bright trembling pearls depend at every spray,

And kept from falling, seem to fall away.

A glossy freshness hence the Rose receives,

And blushes sweet through all her silken leaves;

(The drops descending through the silent night,

While stars serenely roll their golden light,)

Close 'till the morn, her humid veil she holds;

Then deckt with virgin pomp the slow'r unfolds.

Soon will the morning blush: ye maids! prepare,

In rosy garlands bind your flowing hair;

'Tis Venus' plant: the blood fair Venus shed,

O'er the gay beauty pour'd immortal red;

From Love's soft kiss a sweet Ambrosial smell

Was taught for ever on the leaves to dwell;

From gemms, from flames, from orient rays of light

The richest lustre makes her purple bright;

And she to-morrow weds; the sporting gale

Unties her zone, she bursts the verdant veil;

Thro' all her sweets the rifling lover flies,

And as he breathes, her glowing fires arise.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

Now fair Dione to the myrtle grove

Sends the gay Nymphs, and sends her tender Love.

And shall they venture? is it safe to go?

While Nymphs have hearts, and Cupid wears a bow?

Yes, safely venture, 'tis his mother's will;

He walks unarm'd, and undesigning ill,

His torch extinct, his quiver useless hung,

His arrows idle, and his bow unstrung.

And yet, ye Nymphs, beware, his eyes have charms,

And Love that's naked, still is Love in arms.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

From Venus' bow'r to Delia's lodge repairs

A virgin train compleat with modest airs:

'Chaste Delia! grant our suit! or shun the wood,

'Nor stain this sacred lawn with savage blood.

'Venus, O Delia! if she cou'd persuade,

'Wou'd ask thy presence, might she ask a maid.'

Here chearful quires for three auspicious nights

With songs prolong the pleasurable rites:

Here crouds in measures lightly-decent rove;

Or seek by pairs the covert of the grove,

Where meeting greens for arbours arch above,

And mingling flowrets strow the scenes of love.

Here dancing Ceres shakes her golden sheaves:

Here Bacchus revels, deckt with viny leaves:

Here wit's enchanting God in lawrel crown'd

Wakes all the ravish'd Hours with silver sound.

Ye fields, ye forests, own Dione's reign,

And Delia, huntress Delia, shun the plain.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

Gay with the bloom of all her opening year,

The Queen at Hybla bids her throne appear;

And there presides; and there the fav'rite band

(Her smiling Graces) share the great command.

Now beauteous Hybla! dress thy flow'ry beds

With all the pride the lavish season sheds;

Now all thy colours, all thy fragrance yield,

And rival Enna's aromatic field.

To fill the presence of the gentle court

From ev'ry quarter rural Nymphs resort,

From woods, from mountains, from their humble vales,

From waters curling with the wanton gales.

Pleas'd with the joyful train, the laughing Queen

In circles seats them round the bank of green;

And •lovely girls, (she whispers) guard your hearts;

'My boy, tho' stript of arms, abounds in arts.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

Let tender grass in shaded alleys spread,

Let early flow'rs erect their painted head.

To-morrow's glory be to-morrow seen,

That day, old Ether wedded Earth in green.

The Vernal Father bid the Spring appear,

In clouds he coupled to produce the year,

The sap descending o'er her bosom ran,

And all the various sorts of soul began.

By wheels unknown to sight, by secret veins

Distilling life, the fruitful Goddess reigns,

Through all the lovely realms of native day,

Through all the circled land, and circling sea;

With fertil seed she fill'd the pervious earth,

And ever fix'd the mystic ways of birth.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

'Twas she the Parent, to the Latian shore

Through various dangers Troy's remainder bore.

She won Lavinia for her warlike son,

And winning her, the Latian empire won.

She gave to Mars the maid, whose honour'd womb

Swell'd with the Founder of immortal Rome.

Decoy'd by shows the Sabin dames she led,

And taught our vig'rous youth the means to wed.

Hence sprung the Romans, hence the race divine

Thro' which great Caesar draws his Julian line.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

In rural seats the soul of pleasure reigns;

The life of Beauty fills the rural scenes;

Ev'n Love (if Fame the truth of Love declare)

Drew first the breathings of a rural air.

Some pleasing meadow pregnant Beauty prest,

She laid her infant on its flow'ry breast,

From Nature's sweets he sipp'd the fragrant dew,

He smil'd, he kiss'd them, and by kissing grew.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

Now Bulls o'er stalks of broom extend their sides,

Secure of favours from their lowing brides.

Now stately Rams their fleecy consorts lead,

Who bleating follow thro' the wand'ring shade.

And now the Goddess bids the birds appear,

Raise all their music, and salute the year:

Then deep the Swan begins, and deep the song

Runs o'er the water where he sails along;

While Philomela tunes a treble strain,

And from the poplar charms the list'ning plain.

We fancy love exprest at ev'ry note,

It melts, it warbles, in her liquid throat.

Of barb'rous Tereus she complains no more,

But sings for pleasure, as for grief before.

And still her graces rise, her airs extend,

And all is silence 'till the Syren end.

How long in coming is my lovely Spring?

And when shall I, and when the Swallow sing?

Sweet Philomela cease—Or here I sit,

And silent lose my rapt'rous hour of wit:

'Tis gone, the sit retires, the flames decay,

My tuneful Phoebus flies averse away.

His own Amycle thus, as stories run,

But once was silent, and that once undone.

"Let those love now, who never lov'd before;

"Let those who always lov'd, now love the more."

PERVIGILIUM VENERIS.

"CRAS amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Ver novum, ver jam canorum: vere natus orbis est,

Vere concordant amores, vere nubent alites,

Et nemus comam resolvit de maritis imbribus.

Cras amorem copulatrix inter umbras arborum

Implicat gazas virentes de flagello myrteo.

Cras Dione jura dicit, sulta sublimi throno.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Tunc liquore de superno, spumeo ponti e globo,

Caerulas inter catervas, inter et bipedes equos,

Fecit undantem Dionen de maritis imbribus.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Ipsa gemmas purpurantem pingit annum floribus,

Ipsa surgentis papillas de Favonî spiritu,

Urguet in toros tepentes; ipsa roris lucidi,

Noctis aura quem relinquit, spargit humentis aquas,

Et micant lacrymae trementes decidivo pondere.

Gutta praeceps orbe parvo sustinet casus suos.

In pudorem florulentae prodiderunt purpurae.

Humor ille, quem serenis astra rorant noctibus,

Mane virgines papillas solvit humenti peplo.

Ipsa jussit mane ut udae virgines nubant rosae,

Fusae prius de cruore deque amoris osculis,

Deque gemmis, deque flammis, deque Solis purpuris.

Cras ruborem qui latebat veste tectus ignea,

Unica marito nodo non pudebit solvere.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Ipsa Nimfas Diva luco jussit ire myrteo,

It Puer comes puellis. Nec tamen credi potest

Esse Amorem feriatum, si sagittas vexerit.

Ite Nimfae: pofuit arma, feriatus est Amor.

Jussus est inermis ire, nudus ire jussus est:

Neu quid arcu, neu sagitta, neu quid igne laederet.

Sed tamen cavete Nimfae, quod Cupido pulcer est:

Totus est inermis idem, quando nudus est Amor.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Compari Venus pudore mittit ad te virgine.

Una res est quam rogamus, cede virgo Delia,

Ut nemus sit incruentum de ferinis stragibus.

Ipsa vellet ut venires, si deceret virginem:

Jam tribus choros videres feriatos noctibus:

Congreges inter catervas ire per saltus tuos,

Floreas inter coronas, myrteas inter casas.

Nec Ceres, nec Bacchus absunt, nec Poetarum Deus;

Decinent, et tota nox est pervigila cantibus.

Regnet in silvis Dione: to recede Delia.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Jussit Hiblaeis tribunal stare diva floribus.

Praesens ipsa jura dicit, adsederunt Gratiae.

Hibla totos funde flores quidquid annus adtulit.

Hibla florum rumpe vestem, quantus Aennae campus est.

Ruris hic erunt puellae, vel puellae montium,

Quaeque silvas, quaeque lucos, quaeque montes incolunt.

Jussit omnis adsidere pueri mater alitas,

Jussit et nudo puellas nil amori credere.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Et recentibus virentes ducat umbras floribus.

Cras erit qui primus aether copulavit nuptias,

Ut pater roris crearet vernis annum nubibus

In sinum maritus imber fluxit almae conjugis,

Ut foetus immixtus omnis aleret magno corpore.

Ipsa venas atque mentem permeante spiritu

Intus occultus gubernat procreatrix viribus,

Perque coelum, perque terras, perque pontum subditum,

Pervium sui tenorem seminali tramite

Imbuit, jussitque mundum nosse nascendi vias.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Ipsa Trojanos nepotes in Latino transtulit;

Ipsa Laurentem puellam conjugem nato dedit:

Moxque Marti de sacello dat pudicam virginem.

Romuleas ipsa fecit cum Sabinis nuptias,

Unde Rames et Quirites, proque prole posterûm

Romuli matrem crearet et nepotem Caesarem.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Rura foecundat voluptas: rura Venerem sentiunt.

Ipse Amor puer Dionae rure natus dicitur.

Hunc ager cum parturiret, ipsa suscepit sinu,

Ipsa florum delicatis educavit osculis.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

Ecce, jam super genestas explicant tauri latus.

Quisque tuus quo tenetur conjugali foedere.

Subter umbras cum maritis ecce balantum gregem.

Et canoras non tacere Diva jussit alites.

Jam loquaces ore rauco stagna cygni perstrepunt,

Adsonat Terei puella subter umbram populi,

Ut putas motus Amoris ore dici musico,

Et neges queri sororem de marito barbaro.

Illa cantat: nos tacemus: quando ver venit meum?

Quando faciam ut celidon, at tacere desinam?

Perdidi Musam tacendo, nec me Phoebus respicit.

Sic Amyclas, cum tacerent, perdidit silentium.

"Cras amet, qui numquam amavit; quique amavit, "cras amet."

HOMER'S BATRACHOMUOMACHIA: OR, THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.

NAMES OF THE MICE.

- PSYCARPAX, One who plunders granaries.

- Troxartas, A bread-eater.

- Lychomile, A licker of meal.

- Pternotroctas, A bacon-eater.

- Lychopinax, A licker of dishes.

- Embasichytros, A creeper into pots.

- Lychenor, A name for licking.

- Troglodytes, one who runs into holes.

- Artophagus, Who feeds on bread.

- Tyroglyphus, A cheese scooper.

- Pternoglyphus, A bacon scooper.

- Pternophagus, A bacon-eater.

- Cnissodioctes, One who follows the steam of kitchens.

- Sitophagus, An eater of wheat.

- Meridarpax, One who plunders his share.

NAMES OF THE FROGS.

- PHYSIGNATHUS, One who swells his cheeks.

- Pelus, A name from mud.

- Hydromeduse, A ruler in the waters.

- Hypsiboas, A loud bawler.

- Pelion, From mud.

- Seutlaeus, Call'd from the beets.

- Polyphonus, A great babbler.

- Lymnocharis, One who loves the lake.

- Crambophagus, Cabbage-eater.

- Lymnisius, Call'd from the lake.

- Calaminthius, From the herb.

- Hydrocharis, Who loves the water.

- Borborocates, Who lies in the mud.

- Prassophagus, An eater of garlick.

- Pelusius, From mud.

- Pelobates, Who walks in the dirt.

- Prassaens, Call'd from garlick.

- Craugasides, From croaking.

BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.
BOOK I.

TO fill my rising song with sacred fire,

Ye tuneful Nine, ye sweet celestial quire!

From Helicon's imbow'ring height repair,

Attend my labours, and reward my pray'r.

The dreadful toils of raging Mars I write,

The springs of contest, and the fields of fight;

How threat'ning Mice advanc'd with warlike grace,

And wag'd dire combats with the croaking race.

Not louder tumults shook Olympus' tow'rs,

When earth-born giants dar'd immortal pow'rs.

Those equal acts in equal glory claim,

And thus the Muse records the tale of fame.

Once on a time, fatigu'd and out of breath,

And just escap'd the stretching claws of death,

A gentle Mouse, whom Cats pursu'd in vain,

Fled swift-of-foot across the neighb'ring plain,

Hung o'er a brink, his eager thirst to cool,

And dipt his whiskers in the standing pool;

When near a courteous Frog advanc'd his head;

And from the waters, hoarse-resounding said:

What art thou, stranger? what the line you boast?

What chance has cast thee panting on our coast?

With strictest truth let all thy words agree,

Nor let me find a faithless Mouse in thee.

If worthy friendship, proffer'd friendship take,

And ent'ring view the pleasurable lake:

Range o'er my palace, in my bounty share,

And glad return from hospitable fare.

This silver realm extends beneath my sway,

And me, their monarch, all its Frogs obey.

Great Physignathus I, from Peleus' race,

Begot in fair Hydromede's embrace,

Where by the nuptial bank that paints his side,

The swift Eridanus delights to glide.

Thee too, thy form, thy strength, and port proclaim

A scepter'd king; a son of martial fame;

Then trace thy line, and aid my guessing eyes.

Thus ceas'd the Frog, and thus the Mouse replies.

Known to the Gods, the men, the birds that fly

Thro' wild expanses of the midway sky,

My name resounds; and if unknown to thee,

The soul of great Psycarpax lives in me.

Of brave Troxartas' line, whose sleeky down

In love compress'd Lychomile the brown.

My mother she, and princess of the plains

Where-e'er her father Pternotroctas reigns:

Born where a cabin lifts its airy shed,

With figs, with nuts, with vary'd dainties fed.

But since our natures nought in common know,

From what foundation can a friendship grow?

These curling waters o'er thy palace roll;

But man's high food supports my princely soul.

In vain the circled loaves attempt to lye

Conceal'd in flaskets from my curious eye,

In vain the tripe that boasts the whitest hue,

In vain the gilded bacon shuns my view,

In vain the cheeses, offspring of the paile,

Or honey'd cakes, which Gods themselves regale.

And as in arts I shine, in arms I fight,

Mix'd with the bravest, and unknown to flight.

Tho' large to mine the human form appear,

Not Man himself can smite my soul with fear.

Sly to the bed with silent steps I go,

Attempt his finger, or attack his toe,

And six indented wounds with dext'rous skill;

Sleeping he feels, and only seems to feel.

Yet have we foes which direful dangers cause,

Grim owls with talons arm'd, and Cats with claws,

And that false Trap, the den of silent fate,

Where Death his ambush plants around the bait:

All-dreaded these, and dreadful o'er the rest

The potent warriors of the tabby vest;

If to the dark we fly, the dark they trace,

And rend our heroes of the nibbling race.

But me, nor stalks, nor watrish herbs delight,

Nor can the crimson radish charm my sight,

The lake-resounding Frogs selected fare,

Which not a Mouse of any taste can bear.

As thus the downy prince his mind exprest,

His answer thus the croaking king addrest.

Thy words luxuriant on thy dainties rove,

And, stranger, we can boast of bounteous Jove:

We sport in water, or we dance on land,

And born amphibious, food from both command,

But trust thyself where wonders ask thy view,

And safely tempt those seas, I'll bear thee thro':

Ascend my shoulders, firmly keep thy seat,

And reach my marshy court, and feast in state.

He said, and bent his back; with nimble bound

Leaps the light Mouse, and clasps his arms around,

Then wond'ring floats, and sees with glad survey

The winding banks resembling ports at sea.

But when aloft the curling water rides,

And wets with azure wave his downy sides,

His thoughts grow conscious of approaching woe,

His idle tears with vain repentance flow,

His locks he rends, his trembling feet he rears,

Thick beats his heart with unaccustom'd fears;

His sighs, and chill'd with danger, longs for shore:

His tail extended forms a fruitless oar.

Half-drench'd in liquid death his pray'rs he spake,

And thus bemoan'd him from the dreadful lake.

So pass'd Europa thro' the rapid sea,

Trembling and fainting all the vent'rous way;

With oary feet the bull triumphant rode,

And safe in Crete depos'd his lovely load.

Ah safe at last! may thus the Frog support

My trembling limbs to reach his ample court.

As thus he sorrows, death ambiguous grows,

Lo! from the deep a water-Hydra rose;

He rolls his sanguin'd eyes, his bosom heaves,

And darts with active rage along the waves.

Confus'd, the monarch sees his hissing foe,

And dives, to shun the sable fates, below.

Forgetful Frog! the friend thy shoulders bore,

Unskill'd in swimming, floats remote from shore.

He grasps with fruitless hands to find relief,

Supinely falls, and grinds his teeth with grief,

Plunging he sinks, and struggling mounts again,

And sinks, and strives, but strives with fate in vain.

The weighty moisture clogs his hairy vest,

And thus the Prince his dying rage exprest.

Nor thou, that fling'st me flound'ring from thy back,

As from hard rocks rebounds the shatt'ring wrack,

Nor thou shalt 'scape thy due, perfidious king!

Pursu'd by vengeance on the swiftest wing:

At land thy strength could never equal mine,

At sea to conquer, and by craft, was thine;

But heav'n has Gods, and Gods have searching eyes:

Ye Mice, ye Mice, my great avengers rise!

This said, he sighing gasp'd, and gasping dy'd.

His death the young Lychopinax espy'd,

As on the flow'ry brink he pass'd the day,

Bask'd in the beams, and loiter'd life away.

Loud shrieks the Mouse, his shrieks the shores repeat;

The nibbling nation learn their heroe's fate:

Grief, dismal grief ensues; deep murmurs sound,

And shriller fury fills the deafen'd ground.

From lodge to lodge the sacred Heralds run,

To fix their council with the rising sun;

Where great Troxartas crown'd in glory reigns,

And winds his length'ning court beneath the plains;

Psycarpax' father, father now no more!

For poor Psycarpax lies remote from shore;

Supine he lies! the silent waters stand,

And no kind billow wafts the dead to land!

BOOK II.

WHEN rosy-singer'd morn had ting'd the clouds,

Around their Monarch-Mouse the nation crouds;

Slow rose the sov'reign, heav'd his anxious breast,

And thus, the council fill'd with rage, addrest.

For lost Psycarpax much my soul endures,

'Tis mine the private grief, the public, yours.

Three warlike sons adorn'd my nuptial bed,

Three sons, alas! before their father dead!

Our eldest perish'd by the rav'ning Cat,

As near my court the Prince unheedful sate.

Our next, an engine fraught with danger drew,

The portal gap'd, the bait was hung in view,

Dire Arts assist the Trap, the Fates decoy,

And men unpitying kill'd my gallant Boy!

The last, his Country's hope, his Parent's pride,

Plung'd in the lake by Physignathus, dy'd.

Rouse all the war, my friends! avenge the deed,

And bleed that Monarch, and his Nation bleed.

His words in ev'ry breast inspir'd alarms,

And careful Mars supply'd their host with arms.

In verdant hulls despoil'd of all their beans,

The buskin'd warriors stalk'd along the plains:

Quills aptly bound, their bracing corselet made,

Fac'd with the plunder of a Cat they flay'd:

The lamp's round boss affords their ample shield;

Large shells of nuts their cov'ring helmet yield;

And o'er the region, with reflected rays,

Tall groves of needles for their lances blaze.

Dreadful in arms the marching Mice appear;

The wond'ring Frogs perceive the tumult near,

Forsake the waters, thick'ning form a ring,

And ask, and hearken, whence the noises spring.

When near the croud, disclos'd to public view,

The valiant chief Embasichytros drew:

The sacred herald's scepter grac'd his hand,

And thus his words exprest his king's command.

Ye Frogs! the Mice, with vengeance fir'd, advance,

And deckt in armour shake the shining lance:

Their hapless Prince by Physignathus slain,

Extends incumbent on the watry plain.

Then arm your host, the doubtful battle try;

Lead forth those Frogs that have the soul to die.

The chief retires, the crowd the challenge hear,

And proudly-swelling yet perplex'd appear:

Much they resent, yet much their Monarch blame,

Who rising, spoke to clear his tainted fame.

O friends, I never forc'd the Mouse to death,

Nor saw the gaspings of his latest breath,

He, vain of youth, our art of swimming try'd,

And vent'rous; in the lake the wanton dy'd.

To vengeance now by false appearance led,

They point their anger at my guiltless head,

But wage the rising war by deep device,

And turn its fury on the crafty Mice.

Your King directs the way; my thoughts elate

With hopes of conquest, form designs of fate.

Where high the banks their verdant surface heave,

And the steep sides confine the sleeping wave,

There, near the margin, clad in armour bright,

Sustain the first impetuous shocks of fight:

Then, where the dancing feather joins the crest,

Let each brave Frog his obvious Mouse arrest;

Each strongly grasping, headlong plunge a foe,

'Till countless circles whirl the lake below;

Down sink the Mice in yielding waters drown'd;

Loud flash the waters; and the shores resound:

The Frogs triumphant tread the conquer'd plain,

And raise their glorious trophies of the slain.

He spake no more: his prudent scheme imparts

Redoubling ardour to the boldest hearts.

Green was the suit his arming heroes chose,

Around their legs the greaves of mallows close,

Green were the beets about their shoulders laid,

And green the colewort, which the target made.

Form'd of the vary'd shells the waters yield,

Their glossy helmets glist'ned o'er the field:

And tap'ring sea-reeds for the polish'd spear,

With upright order pierc'd the ambient air.

Thus dress'd for war, they take th'appointed height,

Poize the long arms, and urge the promis'd fight.

But now, where Jove's irradiate spires arise,

With stars surrounded in aetherial skies,

(A solemn council call'd) the brazen gates

Unbar; the Gods assume their golden seats:

The sire superior leans, and points to show

What wond'rous combats mortals wage below:

How strong, how large, the num'rous heroes stride!

What length of lance they shake with warlike pride!

What eager fire, their rapid march reveals!

So the fierce Centaurs ravag'd o'er the dales;

And so confirm'd, the daring Titans rose,

Heap'd hills on hills, and bid the Gods be foes.

This seen, the pow'r his sacred visage rears,

He casts a pitying smile on worldly cares,

And asks what heav'nly guardians take the list,

Or who the Mice, or who the Frogs assist?

Then thus to Pallas. If my daughter's mind

Have join'd the Mice, why stays she still behind?

Drawn forth by sav'ry steams they wind their way,

And sure attendance round thine altar pay,

Where while the victims gratify their taste,

They sport to please the Goddess of the feast.

Thus spake the Ruler of the spacious skies;

But thus, resolv'd, the blue-ey'd maid replies.

In vain, my Father! all their dangers plead,

To such, thy Pallas never grants her aid.

My flow'ry wreaths they petulantly spoil,

And rob my chrystal lamps of feeding oil.

(Ills following ills!) but what afflicts me more,

My veil, that idle race profanely tore.

The web was curious, wrought with art divine;

Relentless wretches! all the work was mine!

Along the loom the purple warp I spread,

Cast the light shoot, and crost the silver thread;

In this their teeth a thousand breaches tear,

The thousand breaches skilful hands repair,

For which vile earthly dunns thy daughter grieve,

(The Gods, that use no coin, have none to give,

And Learning's Goddess never less can owe,

Neglected learning gains no wealth below.)

Nor let the Frogs to win my succour sue.

Those clam'rous fools have lost my favour too.

For late, when all the conflict ceast at night,

When my stretch'd sinews work'd with eager fight;

When spent with glorious toil, I left the field,

And sunk for slumber on my swelling shield;

Lo from the deep, repelling sweet repose,

With noisy croakings half the nation rose:

Devoid of rest, with aking brows I lay,

'Till cocks proclaim'd the crimson dawn of day.

Let all, like me, from either host forbear,

Nor tempt the flying furies of the spear;

Lest heav'nly blood (or what for blood may flow)

Adorn the conquest of a meaner foe.

Some daring Mouse may meet the wond'rous odds,

Tho' Gods oppose, and brave the wounded Gods.

O'er gilded clouds reclin'd, the danger view,

And be the wars of mortals scenes for you.

So mov'd the blue-ey'd Queen; her words persuade,

Great Jove assented, and the rest obey'd.

BOOK III.

NOW front to front the marching armies shine,

Haltere they meet, and form the length'ning line:

The chiefs conspicuous seen and heard afar,

Give the loud signal to the rushing war;

Their dreadful trumpets deep-mouth'd hornets sound,

The sounded charge remurmurs o'er the ground,

Ev'n Jove proclaims a field of horror nigh,

And rolls low thunder thro' the troubled sky.

First to the fight the large Hypsiboas flew,

And brave Lychenor with a javelin slew.

The luckless warrior fill'd with gen'rous flame,

Stood foremost glitt'ring in the post of fame;

When in his liver struck, the jav'lin hung;

The Mouse fell thund'ring, and the target rung;

Prone to the ground he sinks his closing eye,

And soil'd in dust his lovely tresses lie.

A spear at Pelion Troglodytes cast,

The missive spear within the bosom past;

Death's sable shades the fainting Frog surround,

And life's red tide runs ebbing from the wound.

Embasichytros felt Seutlaeus' dart

Transfix, and quiver in his panting heart;

But great Artophagus aveng'd the slain,

And big Seutlaeus tumbling loads the plain,

And Polyphonus dies, a Frog renown'd,

For boastful speech and turbulence of sound;

Deep thro' the belly pierc'd, supine he lay,

And breath'd his soul against the face of day.

The strong Lymnocharis, who view'd with ire,

A victor triumph, and a friend expire;

And fiercely flung where Troglodytes fought;

With heaving arms a rocky fragment caught,

(A warrior vers'd in arts, of sure retreat,

But arts in vain elude impending fate;)

Full on his sinewy neck the fragment fell,

And o'er his eye-lids clouds eternal dwell.

Lychenor (second of the glorious name)

Striding advanc'd, and took no wand'ring aim;

Thro' all the Frog the shining jav'lin flies,

And near the vanquish'd Mouse the victor dies.

The dreadful stroke Crambophagus affrights,

Long bred to banquets, less inur'd to fights,

Heedless he runs, and stumbles o'er the steep,

And wildly flound'ring flashes up the deep;

Lycheror following with a downward blow,

Reach'd in the lake his unrecover'd foe;

Gasping he rolls, a purple stream of blood

Distains the surface of the silver flood;

Thro' the wide wound the rushing entrails throng,

And slow the breathless carcass floats along.

Lymnisius good Tyroglyphus assails,

Prince of the Mice that haunt the flow'ry vales,

Lost to the milky fares and rural seat,

He came to perish on the bank of fate.

The dread Pternoglyphus demands the fight,

Which tender Calaminthius shuns by slight,

Drops the green target, springing quits the foe,

Glides thro' the lake, and safely dives below.

But dire Pternophagus divides his way

Thro' breaking ranks, and leads the dreadful day.

No nibbling prince excell'd in fierceness more,

His parents fed him on the savage boar;

But where his lance the field with blood imbru'd,

Swift as he mov'd, Hydrocharis putsu'd,

'Till fall'n in death he lies, a shatt'ring stone

Sounds on the neck, and crushes all the bone.

His blood pollutes the verdure of the plain,

And from his nostrils bursts the gushing brain.

Lycopinax with Borbocaetes fights,

A blameless Frog, whom humbler life delights;

The fatal jav'lin unrelenting flies,

And darkness seals the gentle croaker's eyes.

Incens'd Prassophagus with spritely bound,

Bears Cnissodioctes off the rising ground,

Then drags him o'er the lake depriv'd of breath,

And downward plunging, sinks his soul to death.

But now the great Psycarpax shines afar,

(Scarce he so great whose loss provok'd the war)

Swift to revenge his fatal jav'lin fled,

And thro'the liver struck Pelusius dead;

His freckled corps before the victor fell,

His soul indignant sought the shades of hell.

This saw Pelobates, and from the flood

Heav'd with both hands a monstrous mass of mud,

The cloud obscene o'er all the hero flies,

Dishonours his brown face, and blots his eyes.

Enrag'd, and wildly sputt'ring, from the shore

A stone immense of size the warrior bore,

A load for lab'ring earth, (whose bulk to raise,

Asks ten degen'rate Mice of modern days.)

Full on the leg arrives the crushing wound;

The Frog supportless, writhes upon the ground.

Thus flush'd, the victor wars with matchless force,

'Till loud Craugasides arrests his course,

Hoarse-croaking threats precede! with fatal speed

Deep thro' the belly run the pointed reed,

Then strongly tugg'd, return'd imbru'd with gore,

And on the pile his reeking entrails bore.

The lame Sitophagus, oppress'd with pain,

Creeps from the desp'rate dangers of the plain;

And where the ditches rising weeds supply

To spread their lowly shades beneath the sky,

There lurks the silent Mouse reliev'd from heat,

And safe embour'd, avoids the chance of fate.

But here Troxartes, Physignathus there,

Whirl the dire furies of the pointed spear:

But where the foot around its ankle plies,

Troxartes wounds, and Physignathus flies,

Halts to the pool, a safe retreat to find,

And trails a dangling length of leg behind.

The Mouse still urges, still the Frog retires,

And half in anguish of the flight expires:

Then pious ardor young Pressaeus brings,

Betwixt the fortunes of contending kings:

Lank, harmless Frog! with forces hardly grown,

He darts the reed in combats not his own,

Which faintly tinkling on Troxartes' shield,

Hangs at the point, and drops upon the field.

Now nobly tow'ring o'er the rest appears

A gallant prince that far transcends his years,

Pride of his sire, and glory of his house,

And more a Mars in combat than a Mouse:

His action bold, robust his ample frame,

And Meridarpax his resounding name.

The warrior singled from the fighting crowd,

Boasts the dire honours of his arms aloud;

Then strutting near the lake, with looks elate,

To all its nations threats approaching fate.

And such his strength, the silver lakes around

Might roll their waters o'er unpeopled ground.

But pow'rful Jove, who shews no less his grace

To Frogs that perish, than to human race,

Felt soft compassion rising in his soul,

And shook his sacred head, that shook the pole.

Then thus to all the gazing pow'rs began

The sire of Gods, and Frogs, and Mice, and Man.

What seas of blood I view! what worlds of slain!

An Iliad rising from a day's campaign!

How fierce his jav'lin o'er the trembling lakes

The black-furr'd hero Meridarpax shakes!

Unless some fav'ring deity descend,

Soon will the Frogs loquacious empire end.

Let dreadful Pallas wing'd with pity fly,

And make her Aegis blaze before his eye:

While Mars refulgent on his rattling car,

Arrests his raging rival of the war.

He ceas'd reclining with attentive head,

When thus the glorious God of combats said.

Nor Pallas, Jove! tho' Pallas take the field,

With all the terrors of her hissing shield,

Nor Mars himself, tho' Mars in armour bright

Ascend his car, and wheel amidst the fight;

Not these can drive the desp'rate Mouse afar,

Or change the fortunes of the bleeding war.

Let all go forth, all heav'n in arms arise,

Or launch thy own red thunder from the skies.

Such ardent bolts as flew that wond'rous day,

When heaps of Titans mix'd with mountains lay,

When all the giant-race enormous fell,

And huge Enceladus was hurl'd to hell.

'Twas thus th' Armipotent advis'd the Gods,

When from his throne the cloud-compeller nods,

Deep lengthning thunders run from pole to pole,

Olympus trembles as the thunders roll.

Then swift he whirls the brandish'd bolt around,

And headlong darts it at the distant ground;

The bolt discharg'd inwrap'd with light'ning flies,

And rends its flaming passage thro' the skies,

Then Earth's inhabitants, the nibblers, shake:

And Frogs, the dwellers in the waters, quake.

Yet still the Mice advance their dread design,

And the last danger threats the croaking line,

'Till Jove, that inly mourn'd the loss they bore,

With strange assistants fill'd the frighted shore.

Pour'd from the neighb'ring strand, deform'd to view,

They march, a sudden unexpected crew!

Strong sutes of armour round their bodies close,

Which, like thick anvils, blunt the force of blows;

In wheeling marches turn'd oblique they go;

With harpy claws their limbs divide below;

Fell sheers the passage to their mouth command;

From out the flesh their bones by nature stand;

Broad spread their backs, their shining shoulders rise;

Unnumber'd joints distort their lengthen'd thighs;

With nervous cords their hands are firmly brac'd;

Their round black eye-balls in their bosom plac'd;

On eight long feet the wond'rous warriors tread;

And either end alike supplies a head.

These, mortal wits to call the Crabs, agree;

The Gods have other names for things than we.

Now where the jointures from their loins depend,

The heroes tails with sev'ring grasps they rend.

Here, short of feet, depriv'd the pow'r to fly,

There, without hands, upon the field they lie.

Wrench'd from their holds, and scatter'd all around,

The bended lances heap the cumber'd ground.

Helpless amazement, fear pursuing fear,

And mad confusion thro' their host appear:

O'er the wild waste with headlong flight they go,

Or creep conceal'd in vaulted holes below.

But down Olympus to the western seas

Far-shooting Phoebus drove with fainter rays;

And a whole war (so Jove ordain'd) begun,

Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving sun.

TO MR. POPE.

TO praise, yet still with due respect to praise,

A Bard triumphant in immortal bays,

The learn'd to show, the sensible commend,

Yet still preserve the province of the friend,

What life, what vigour, must the lines require?

What music tune them? what affection fire?

O might thy genius in my bosom shine!

Thou shouldst not fail of numbers worthy thine,

The brightest ancients might at once agree

To sing within my lays, and sing of thee.

Horace himself wou'd own thou dost excell

In candid arts to play the critic well.

Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame

Whom Windsor Forest sees a gliding stream,

On silver feet, with annual osier crown'd,

She runs for ever thro' poetic ground.

How flame the glories of Belinda's hair,

Made by thy Muse the envy of the fair;

Less shone the tresses Egypt's princess wore,

Which sweet Callimachus so sung before.

Here courtly trifles set the world at odds,

Belles war with Beaux, and Whims descend for Gods.

The new Machines in names of ridicule,

Mock the grave phrenzy of the Chymic fool:

But know, ye fair, a point conceal'd with art,

The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart:

The Graces stand in sight; a Satyr train

Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene.

In Fame's fair Temple, o'er the boldest wits

Inshrin'd on high the sacred Virgil sits,

And sits in measures, such as Virgil's muse

To place thee near him might be fond to chuse.

How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee,

Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he,

While some old Damon o'er the vulgar wise

Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the prize.

Rapt with the thought my Fancy seeks the plains,

And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains.

Indulgent nurse of ev'ry tender gale,

Parent of slowrets, old Arcadia hail!

Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread,

Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head,

Still slide thy waters soft among the trees,

Thy aspins quiver in a breathing breeze,

Smile all thy vallies in eternal Spring,

Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil sing.

In English lays, and all sublimely great,

Thy Homer warms with all his antient heat,

He shines in council, thunders in the fight,

And flames with ev'ry sense of great delight.

Long has that Poet reign'd, and long unknown,

Like monarchs sparkling on a distant throne;

In all the majesty of Greek retir'd,

Himself unknown, his mighty name admir'd,

His language failing, wrap'd him round with night,

Thine rais'd by thee, recals the work to light.

So wealthy mines, that ages long before

Fed the large realms around with golden oar,

When choak'd by sinking banks, no more appear,

And shepherds only say, The mines were here:

Shou'd some rich youth (if Nature warm his heart,

And all his projects stand inform'd with art)

Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein;

The mines detected flame with gold again.

How vast, how copious are thy new designs!

How ev'ry music varies in thy lines!

Still as I read, I feel my bosom beat,

And rise in raptures by another's heat.

Thus in the wood, when Summer dress'd the days,

When Windsor lent us tuneful hours of ease,

Our ears the Lark, the Thrush, the Turtle blest,

And Philomela sweetest o'er the rest:

The shades resound with song—O softly tread!

While a whole season warbles round my head.

This to my friend—and when a friend inspires

My silent harp its master's hand requires,

Shakes off the dust, and makes these rocks resound,

For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground;

Far from the joys that with my soul agree,

From wit, from learning,—far, oh far from thee!

Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf,

Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf,

Here hills with naked heads the tempest meet,

Rocks at their side, and torrents at their feet,

Or lazy lakes unconscious of a flood,

Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud.

Yet here content can dwell, and learned ease,

A friend delight me, and an author please,

Ev'n here I sing, while Pope supplies the theme,

Show my own love, tho' not increase his fame.

PART OF THE FIRST CANTO OF THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. WITH A TRANSLATION IN LEONINE VERSE, AFTER THE MANNER OF THE ANCIENT MONKS.

AND now unveil'd, the Toilet stands display'd,

Each silver vase in mystic order laid.

First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores,

With head uncover'd, the Cosmetic pow'rs.

A heav'nly image in the glass appears,

To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears:

Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side,

Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride.

Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here

The various off'rings of the world appear;

From each she nicely culls with curious toil,

And decks the Goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.

This casket India's glowing gems unlocks,

And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.

The Tortoise here and Elephant unite,

Transform'd to combs, the speckled, and the white.

Here files of pins extend their shining rows,

Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.

Now awful beauty puts on all its arms,

The fair each moment rifes in her charms,

Repairs her smiles, awakens ev'ry grace,

And calls forth all the wonders of her face;

Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,

And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.

The busy Sylphs surround their darling care;

These set the head, and those divide the hair,

Some fold the sleeve, while others plait the gown,

And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own.

ET nunc dilectum speculum, pro more retectum,

Emicat in mensâ, quae splendet pyxide densâ:

Tum primum lymphâ, se purgat candida Nympha;

Jamque sine mendâ, coelestis imago videnda,

Nuda caput, bellos retinet, regit, implet, ocellos.

Hâc stupet explorans, seu cultus numen adorans:

Inferior claram Pythonissa apparet ad aram,

Fertque tibi cautè, dicatque Superbia! lautè,

Dona venusta; oris, quae cunctis, plena laboris,

Excerpta explorat, dominamque deamque decorat.

Pyxide devotâ, se pandit hic India tota,

Et tota ex istâ transpirat Arabia cistâ;

Testudo hic flectit, dum se mea Lesbia pectit;

Atque elephas lentè, te pectit Lesbia dente;

Hunc maculis nôris, nivei jacet ille coloris.

Hic jacet et mundè, mundus muliebris abundè;

Spinulà resplendens aeris longo ordine pendens,

Pulvis suavis odore, et epistola suavis amore.

Induit arma ergo, Veneris pulcherrima virgo;

Pulchrior in praesens tempus de tempore crescens;

Jam reparat risus, jam surgit gratia visūs,

Jam promit cultu, mirac'la latentia vultu.

Pigmina jam miscet, quo plus sua Purpura gliscet,

Et geminans bellis splendet magè fulgor ocellis.

Stant Lemures muti, Nymphae intentique saluti,

Hic figit Zonam, capiti locat ille Coronam,

Haec manicis formam, plicis dat et altera normam;

Et tibi vel Betty, tibi vel nitidissima Letty!

Gloria factorum temerè conceditur horum.

HEALTH; AN ECLOGUE.

NOW early shepherds o'er the meadow pass,

And print long foot-steps in the glittering grass;

The cows neglectful of their pasture stand,

By turns obsequious to the milker's hand.

When Damon softly trod the shaven lawn,

Damon, a youth from city cares withdrawn;

Long was the pleasing walk he wander'd thro',

A cover'd arbour clos'd the distant view;

There rests the Youth, and while the feather'd throng

Raise their wild music, thus contrives a song.

Here wasted o'er by mild Etesian air,

Thou country Goddess, beauteous Health! repair;

Here let my breast thro' quiv'ring trees inhale

Thy rosy blessings with the morning gale.

What are the fields, or flow'rs, or all I see?

Ah! tasteless all, if not enjoy'd with thee.

Joy to my soul! I feel the Goddess nigh,

The face of Nature cheers as well as I;

O'er the flat green refreshing breezes run,

The smiling dazies blow beneath the sun,

The brooks run purling down with silver waves,

The planted lanes rejoice with dancing leaves,

The chirping birds from all the compass rove

To tempt the tuneful echoes of the grove:

High funny summits, deeply shaded dales,

Thick mossy banks, and flow'ry winding vales,

With various prospect gratify the sight,

And scatter fix'd attention in delight.

Come, country Goddess, come; nor thou suffice,

But bring thy mountain-sister, Exercise.

Call'd by thy lively voice, she turns her pace,

Her winding horn proclaims the finish'd chace;

She mounts the rocks, she skims the level plain,

Dogs, hawks, and horses, crowd her early train;

Her hardy face repels the tanning wind,

And lines and meshes loosely float behind.

All these as means of toil the feeble see,

But these are helps to pleasure join'd with thee.

Let Sloth lye softning 'till high noon in down,

Or lolling fan her in the sult'ry town,

Unnerv'd with rest; and turn her own disease,

Or foster others in luxurious ease:

I mount the courser, call the deep-mouth'd hounds,

The fox unkennell'd flies to covert grounds;

I lead where stags thro' tangled thickets tread,

And shake the saplings with their branching head;

I make the faulecons wing their airy way,

And soar to seize, or stooping strike their prey;

To suare the fish I fix the luring bait;

To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate.

'Tis thus thro' change of exercise I range,

And strength and pleasure rise from ev'ry change.

Here beauteous Health for all the year remain,

When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus-again.

Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural song,

And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along,

Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye,

From whose bright presence clouds of sorrow fly:

For her I mow my walks, I plait my bow'rs,

Clip my low hedges, and support my flow'rs;

To welcome her, this Summer seat I drest,

And here I court her when she comes to rest;

When she from exercise to learned ease

Shall change again, and teach the change to please.

Now friends conversing my sost hours refine,

And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine:

Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat,

And such as make me rather good than great.

Or o'er the works of easy fancy rove,

Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove:

The native bard that on Sicilian plains

First sung the lowly manners of the swains;

Or Maro's muse that in the fairest light

Paints rural prospects and the charms of sight:

These soft amusements bring content along,

And fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song.

Here beauteous Health for all the year remain,

When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.

THE FLIES; AN ECLOGUE.

WHEN in the river cows for coolness stand,

And sheep for breezes seek the lofty land,

A youth, whom Aesop taught that ev'ry tree,

Each bird and insect spoke as well as he:

Walk'd calmly musing in a shaded way,

Where flow'ring hawthorn broke the sunny ray,

And thus instructs his moral pen to draw

A scene that obvious in the field he saw.

Near a low ditch, where shallow waters meet,

Which never learnt to glide with liquid feet,

Whose Naiads never prattle as they play,

But screen'd with hedges slumber out the day,

There stands a slender fern's aspiring shade,

Whose answ'ring branches regularly lay'd

Put forth their answ'ring boughs, and proudly rise

Three stories upward, in the nether skies.

For shelter here, to shun the noon-day heat,

An airy nation of the Flies retreat;

Some in soft air their silken pinions ply,

And some from bough to bough delighted sly,

Some rise, and circling light to perch again;

A pleasing murmur hums along the plain.

So, when a stage invites to pageant shows,

(If great and small are like) appear the Beaux;

In boxes some with spruce pretension sit,

Some change from seat to seat within the pit,

Some roam the scenes, or turning cease to roam;

Preluding music fills the lofty dome.

When thus a fly (if what a fly can say

Deserves attention) rais'd the rural lay.

Where late Amintor made a nymph a bride,

Joyful I flew by young Favonia's side,

Who, mindless of the feasting, went to sip

The balmy pleasure of the shepherd's lip.

I saw the wanton, where I stoop'd to sup,

And half resolv'd to drown me in the cup;

'Till brush'd by careless hands, she soar'd above:

Cease, beauty, cease to vex a tender love.

Thus ends the youth, the buzzing meadow rung,

And thus the rival of his music sung.

When suns by thousands shone in orbs of dew,

I wafted soft with Zephyretta flew;

Saw the clean pail, and sought the milky chear,

While little Daphne seiz'd my roving dear.

Wretch that I was! I might have warn'd the dame,

Yet sat indulging as the danger came,

But the kind huntress left her free to soar:

Ah! guard, ye Lovers, guard a mistress more.

Thus from the fern, whose high-projecting arms,

The sleeting nation bent with dusky swarms,

The Swains their love in easy music breathe,

When tongues and tumult stun the field beneath.

Black Ants in teams come darkning all the road,

Some call to march, and some to lift the load;

They strain, they labour with incessant pains,

Press'd by the cumbrous weight of single grains.

The Flies struck silent gaze with wonder down:

The busy Burghers reach their earthy town;

Where lay the burthens of a wint'ry store,

And thence unwearied part in search of more.

Yet one grave Sage a moment's space attends,

And the small city's loftiest point ascends,

Wipes the salt dew that trickles down his face,

And thus harangues them with the gravest grace.

Ye foolish Nurslings of the Summer air,

These gentle tunes and whining songs forbear;

Your trees and whisp'ring breeze, your Grove and Love,

Your Cupid's quiver, and his mother's dove:

Let bards to business bend their vig'rous wing,

And sing but seldom, if they love to sing:

Else, when the flourets of the season fail,

And thus your fenny shade forsakes the vale,

Tho' one would save ye, not one grain of wheat

Shou'd pay such songsters idling at my gate.

He ceas'd: the Flies, incorrigibly vain,

Heard the May'r's Speech, and fell to sing again.

AN ELEGY, TO AN OLD BEAUTY.

IN vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful fight

You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night,

Your face with patches soil, with paint repair,

Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair.

If truth in spight of manners must be told,

Why really Fifty-five is something old.

Once you were young; or one, whose life's so long

She might have born my mother, tells me wrong.

And once (since Envy's dead before you dye,)

The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye,

Taught the light foot a modish little trip,

And pouted with the prettiest purple lip—

To some new charmer are the roses fled,

Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red;

Youth calls the Graces there to fix their reign,

And Airs by thousands fill their easy train.

So parting Summer bids her flow'ry prime

Attend the sun to dress some foreign clime,

While with'ring seasons in succession, here,

Strip the gay gardens, and deform the year.

But thou (since Nature bids) the world resign,

'Tis now thy daughter's daughter's time to shine.

With more address, (or such as pleases more)

She runs her female exercises o'er,

Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the fan,

And smiles, or blushes at the creature Man.

With quicker life, as gilded coaches pass,

In sideling courtesy the drops the glass.

With better strength, on visit-days, she bears

To mount her fifty flights of ample stairs.

Her mien, her shape, her temper, eyes and tongue

Are sure to conquer,—for the rogue is young;

And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay,

We call it only pretty Fanny's way.

Let time, that makes you homely, make you sage;

The sphere of wisdom is the sphere of age.

'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire,

And hears the flatt'ring tongues of soft desire,

If not from virtue, from its gravest ways

The soul with pleasing avocation strays.

But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise;

As harpers better, by the loss of eyes.

Henceforth retire, reduce your roving airs,

Haunt less the plays, and more the public pray'rs,

Reject the Mechlin head, and gold brocade,

Go pray, in sober Norwich crape array'd.

Thy pendent diamonds let thy Fanny take,

(Their trembling lustre shows how much you shake;)

Or bid her wear thy necklace row'd with pearl,

You'll find your Fanny an obedient girl.

So for the rest, with less incumbrance hung,

You walk thro life, unmingled with the young;

And view the shade and Substance as you pass

With joint endeavour trifling at the glass,

Or Folly drest, and rambling all her days,

To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise:

Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain,

You neither fret, nor envy at the vain.

'Twas thus (if man with woman we compare)

The wise Athenian crost a glittering fair,

Unmov'd by tongues and sights, he walk'd the place,

Thro' tape, toys, tinsel, gimp, perfume, and lace;

Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes,

And What a world I never want? he cries;

But cries unheard: for Folly will be free.

So parts the buzzing gaudy crowd, and he:

As careless he for them, as they for him;

He wrapt in Wisdom, and they whirl'd by Whim.

THE BOOK-WORM.

COME hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day

The Book-Worm, ravening beast of prey,

Produc'd by parent Earth, at odds

(As fame reports it) with the Gods.

Him frantic hunger wildly drives

Against a thousand authors lives:

Thro' all the fields of wit he flies;

Dreadful his head with clust'ring eyes,

With horns without, and tusks within,

And scales to serve him for a skin.

Observe him nearly, lest he climb

To wound the bards of antient time,

Or down the vale of fancy go

To tear some modern wretch below:

On ev'ry corner fix thine eye,

Or ten to one he slips thee by.

See where his teeth a passage eat:

We'll rouse him from the deep retreat.

But who the shelter's forc'd to give?

'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live!

From leaf to leaf, from song to song,

He draws the tadpole form along,

He mounts the gilded edge before,

He's up, he scuds the cover o'er,

He turns, he doubles, there he past,

And here we have him, caught at last.

Insatiate Brute, whose teeth abuse

The sweetest servants of the Muse.

(Nay never offer to deny,

I took thee in the fact to fly.)

His Roses nipt in ev'ry page,

My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage.

By thee my Ovid wounded lies;

By thee my Lesbia's Sparrow dies:

Thy rabid teeth have half destroy'd

The work of love in Biddy Floyd,

They rent Belinda's locks away,

And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay.

For all, for ev'ry single deed,

Relentless Justice bids thee bleed.

Then fall a Victim to the Nine,

Myself the Priest, my desk the Shrine.

Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near,

To pile a sacred altar here;

Hold, boy, thy band out-run thy wit,

You reach'd the plays that D—s writ;

You reach'd me Ph—s rustic strain;

Pray take your mortal bards again.

Come bind the victim,—there he lies,

And here between his num'rous eyes

This venerable dust I lay,

From Manuscripts just swept away.

The goblet in my hand I take,

(For the libation's yet to make)

A health to poets! all their days

May they have bread, as well as praise;

Sense may they seek, and less engage

In papers fill'd with party-rage.

But if their riches spoil their vein,

Ye Muses, make them poor again.

Now bring the weapon, yonder blade,

With which my tuneful pens are made.

I strike the scales that arm thee round,

And twice and thrice I print the wound;

The sacred altar floats with red,

And now he dies, and now he's dead.

How like the son of Jove I stand,

This Hydra stretch'd beneath my hand!

Lay bare the monster's entrails here,

To see what dangers threat the year:

Ye Gods! what sonnets on a wench?

What lean translations out of French?

'Tis plain, this lobe is so unfound,

S—prints, before the months go round.

But hold, before I close the scene,

The sacred altar shou'd be clean.

Oh had I Sh—ll's second bays,

Or T—! thy pert and humble lays!

(Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow

I never miss'd your works 'till now)

I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine,

(That only way you please the Nine)

But since I chance to want these two,

I'll make the songs of D—y do.

Rent from the corps, on yonder pin,

I hang the scales that brac'd it in;

I hang my studious morning gown,

And write my own Inscription down.

'This Trophy from the Python won,

'This Robe, in which the deed was done,

'These, Parnell, glorying in the feat,

'Hung on these shelves, the Muses seat.

'Here Ignorance and Hunger, found

'Large realms of wit to ravage round;

'Here Ignorance and Hunger fell;

'Two foes in one I sent to hell.

'Ye Poets, who my labours see,

'Come share the triumph all with me!

'Ye Critics! born to vex the Muse,

'Go mourn the grand Ally you lose.'

AN ALLEGORY ON MAN

A Thoughtful being, long and spare,

Our race of mortals call him Care:

(Were Homer living, well he knew

What name the Gods have call'd him too)

With fine mechanic genius wrought,

And lov'd to work, tho' no one bought.

This being, by a model bred,

In Jove's eternal sable head,

Contriv'd a shape impower'd to breathe,

And be the Worldling here beneath.

The Man rose staring, like a stake;

Wond'ring to see himself awake!

Then look'd so wise, before he knew

The bus'ness he was made to do;

That pleas'd to see with what a grace

He gravely shew'd his forward face,

Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,

An Under-something of the sky.

But ere he gave the mighty Nod,

Which ever binds a Poet's God:

(For which his curls ambrosial shake,

And mother Earth's oblig'd to quake:)

He saw old mother Earth arise,

She stood confess'd before his eyes;

But not with what we read she wore,

A castle for a crown before,

Nor with long streets and longer roads

Dangling behind her, like commodes:

As yet with wreaths alone she drest,

And trail'd a landskip-painted vest.

Then thrice she rais'd (as Ovid said)

And thrice she bow'd her weighty head.

Her honours made, great Jove; she cry'd,

This Thing was fashion'd from my side;

His hands, his heart, his head are mine;

Then what hast thou to call him thine?

Nay rather ask, the monarch said,

What boots his hand, his heart, his head,

Were what I gave remov'd away?

Thy part's an idle shape of clay.

Halves, more than halves! cry'd honest Care,

Your pleas wou'd make your titles fair,

You claim the body, you the foul,

But I who join'd them, claim the whole.

Thus with the Gods debate began,

On such a trivial cause, as Man.

And can celestial tempers rage?

(Quoth Virgil in a later age.)

As thus they wrangled, Time came by;

(There's none that paint him such as I,

For what the fabling Ancients sung

Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.)

As yet his Winters had not shed

Their silver honours on his head;

He just had got his pinions free

From his old sire Eternity.

A Serpent girdled round he wore,

The tail within the mouth before;

By which our Almanacks are clear

That learned Egypt meant the year.

A staff he carry'd, where on high

A glass was fix'd to measure by,

As amber boxes made a show

For heads of canes an age ago.

His vest, for day, and night, was py'd;

A bending sickle arm'd his side;

And Spring's new months his train adorn;

The other seasons were unborn.

Known by the Gods, as near he draws,

They make him Umpire of the cause.

O'er a low trunk his arm he laid,

(Where since his Hours a Dial made;)

Then leaning heard the nice debate,

And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate.

Since Body from the parent Earth,

And Soul from Jove receiv'd a birth,

Return they where they first began;

But since their Union makes the Man,

'Till Jove and Earth shall part these two,

To Care, who join'd them, Man is due.

He said, and sprung with swift career

To trace a circle for the year;

Where ever since the Seasons wheel,

And tread on one another's heel.

'Tis well, said Jove; and for consent

Thund'ring he shook the firmament.

Our umpire Time shall have his way,

With Care I let the creature stay:

Let Bus'ness vex him, Av'rice blind,

Let Doubt and Knowledge rack his mind,

Let Error act, Opinion speak,

And Want afflict, and Sickness break,

And Anger burn, Dejection chill,

And Joy distract, and Sorrow kill.

'Till arm'd by Care, and taught to mow,

Time draws the long destructive blow;

And wasted Man, whose quick decay

Comes hurrying on before his day,

Shall only find, by this decree,

The Soul flies sooner back to me.

AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES.

RELENTLESS Time! destroying power

Whom stone and brass obey,

Who giv'st to ev'ry flying hour

To work some new decay;

Unheard, unheeded, and unseen,

Thy secret saps prevail,

And ruin Man, a nice machine

By Nature form'd to fail.

My change arrives; the change I meet,

Before I thought it nigh.

My Spring, my years of pleasure fleet,

And all their beauties dye.

In Age I search, and only find

A poor unfruitful gain,

Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind,

Oppress'd with loads of pain.

My ignorance cou'd once beguile,

And fancy'd joys inspire;

My errors cherish'd Hope to smile

On newly-born Desire.

But now experience shews, the bliss

For which I fondly fought,

Not worth the long impatient wish,

And ardour of the thought.

My youth met Fortune fair array'd,

(In all her pomp she shone)

And might, perhaps, have well essay'd

To make her gifts my own:

But when I saw the blessings show'r

On some unworthy mind,

I left the chace, and own'd the Pow'r

Was justly painted blind.

I pass'd the glories which adorn

The splendid courts of kings,

And while the persons mov'd my scorn,

I rose to scorn the things.

My manhood felt a vig'rous fire,

By love encreas'd the more;

But years with coming years conspire

To break the chains I wore.

In weakness safe, the Sex I see

With idle lustre shine;

For what are all their joys to me,

Which cannot now be mine?

But hold—I feel my Gout decrease,

My troubles laid to rest;

And truths, which wou'd disturb my peace,

Are painful truths at best.

Vainly the time I have to roll

In sad reflection flies;

Ye fondling passions of my soul!

Ye sweet deceits! arise.

I wisely change the scene within,

To things that us'd to please;

In Pain, Philosophy is Spleen,

In Health, 'tis only Ease.

A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH.

BY the blue taper's trembling light,

No more I waste the wakeful night,

Intent with endless view to pore

The schoolmen and the sages o'er:

Their books from Wisdom widely stray,

Or point at best the longest way.

I'll seek a readier path, and go

Where Wisdom's surely taught below.

How deep yon azure dyes the sky!

Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lye,

While thro' their ranks in silver pride

The nether crescent seems to glide.

The slumb'ring breeze forgets to breathe,

The lake is smooth and clear beneath,

Where once again the spangled show

Descends to meet our eyes below.

The grounds which on the right aspire,

In dimness from the view retire:

The left presents a place of graves,

Whose wall the silent water laves.

That steeple guides thy doubtful sight

Among the livid gleams of night.

There pass with melancholy state,

By all the solemn heaps of fate,

And think, as softly-sad you tread

Above the venerable dead,

"Time was, like thee they life possest,

"And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.

Those graves with bending osier bound,

That nameless heave the crumbled ground,

Quick to the glancing thought disclose

Where Toil and Poverty repose.

The flat smooth stones that bear a name,

The chissel's slender help to fame,

(Which ere our sett of friends decay

Their frequent steps may wear away;)

A Middle Race of Mortals own,

Men, half ambitious, all unknown.

The marble tombs that rise on high,

Whose dead in vaulted arches lye,

Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones,

Arms, angels, epitaphs and bones,

These (all the poor remains of state)

Adorn the Rich, or praise the Great;

Who while on earth in fame they live,

Are senseless of the fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,

The bursting earth unveils the shades!

All slow, and wan, and wrap'd with shrouds,

They rise in visionary crouds,

And all with sober accent cry,

"Think, Mortal, what it is to die."

Now from yon black and fun'ral yew,

That bathes the charnel-house with dew,

Methinks I hear a Voice begin;

(Ye Ravens, cease your croaking din,

Ye tolling clocks, no time resound

O'er the long lake and midnight ground)

It sends a peal of hollow groans,

Thus speaking from among the bones.

When men my scythe and darts supply,

How great a King of Fears am I!

They view me like the last of things:

They make, and then they dread, my stings,

Fools! if you less provok'd your fears,

No more my spectre-form appears.

Death's but a path that must be trod,

If Man wou'd ever pass to God:

A port of calms, a state of ease

From the rough rage of swelling seas.

Why then thy flowing sable stoles,

Deep pendent cypress, mourning poles,

Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,

Long palls, drawn herses, cover'd steeds,

And plumes of black, that as they tread,

Nod o'er the 'scutcheons of the dead?

Nor can the parted body know,

Nor wants the soul, these forms of woe:

As men who long in prison dwell,

With lamps that glimmer round the cell,

When-e'er their suffering years are run,

Spring forth to greet the glitt'ring sun:

Such joy, tho' far transcending sense,

Have pious souls at parting hence.

On earth, and in the body plac'd,

A few, and evil years they waste:

But when their chains are cast aside,

See the glad scene unfolding wide,

Clap the glad wing, and tow'r away,

And mingle with the blaze of day,

A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

LOVELY, lasting peace of mind!

Sweet delight of human-kind!

Heav'nly born, and bred on high,

To crown the fav'rites of the sky

With more of happiness below,

Than victors in a triumph know!

Whither, O whither art thou fled,

To lay thy meek, contented head!

What happy region dost thou please

To make the seat of calms and ease?

Ambition searches all its sphere

Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.

Encreasing Avarice would find

Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd.

The bold advent'rer ploughs his way,

Thro' rocks amidst the foaming sea,

To gain thy love; and then perceives

Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.

The silent heart which grief assails,

Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,

Sees daisies open, rivers run,

And seeks (as I have vainly done)

Amusing thought; but learns to know

That solitude's the nurse of woe.

No real happiness is found

In trailing purple o'er the ground:

Or in a soul exalted high,

To range the circuit of the sky,

Converse with stars above, and know

All nature in its forms below;

The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,

And doubts at last for knowledge rise.

Lovely, lasting peace, appear!

This world itself, if thou art here,

Is once again with Eden bless'd,

And man contains it in his breast.

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,

I sung my wishes to the wood,

And lost in thought, no more perceiv'd

The branches whisper as they wav'd:

It seem'd, as all the quiet place

Confess'd the presence of the grace,

When thus she spoke—go rule thy will,

Bid thy wild passions all be still,

Know God—and bring thy heart to know,

The joys which from religion flow:

Then ev'ry grace shall prove its guest,

And I'll be there to crown the rest.

Oh! by yonder mossy seat,

In my hours of sweet retreat;

Might I thus my soul employ,

With sense of gratitude and joy:

Rais'd as ancient prophets were,

In heav'nly vision, praise, and pray'r;

Pleasing all men, hurting none,

Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone:

Then while the gardens take my sight,

With all the colours of delight;

While silver waters glide along,

To please my ear, and court my song:

I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,

And Thee, great source of Nature, sing.

The fun that walks his airy way,

To light the world, and give the day;

The moon that shines with borrow'd light;

The stars that gild the gloomy night;

The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;

The wood that spreads its shady leaves;

The field whose ears conceal the grain,

The yellow treasure of the plain;

All of these, and all I see,

Shou'd be sung, and sung by me:

They speak their Maker as they can,

But want and ask the tongue of man.

Go search among your idle dreams,

Your busy or your vain extreams;

And find a life of equal bliss,

Or own the next begun in this.

THE HERMIT.

FAR in a wild, unknown to public view,

From youth to age a rev'rend Hermit grew;

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,

His food the fruits, his drink the chrystal well:

Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days,

Pray'r all his bus'ness, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such serene repose,

Seem'd heav'n itself, 'till one suggestion rose;

That Vice shou'd triumph, Virtue Vice obey,

This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway:

His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,

And all the tenour of his soul is lost:

So when a smooth expanse receives imprest

Calm Nature's image on its wat'ry breast,

Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,

And skies beneath with answ'ring colours glow:

But if a stone the gentle sea divide,

Swift ruffling circles curl on ev'ry side,

And glimmering fragments of a broken sun,

Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.

To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight,

To find if books, or swains, report it right;

(For yet by swains alone the world he knew,

Whose feet came wand'ring o'er the nightly dew)

He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore,

And fix'd the scallop in his hat before;

Then with the sun a rising journey went,

Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass,

And long and lonesome was the wild to pass;

But when the Southern sun had warm'd the day,

A youth came posting o'er a crossing way;

His rayment decent, his complexion fair,

And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair.

Then near approaching, Father, Hail! he cry'd;

And Hail, my Son, the reverend Sire reply'd;

Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd,

And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road;

'Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part,

While in their age they differ, join in heart:

Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,

Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day

Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray;

Nature in silence bid the world repose:

When near the road a stately palace rose:

There by the moon thro' ranks of trees they pass,

Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass.

It chanc'd the noble master of the dome

Still made his house the wand'ring stranger's home:

Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise,

Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease.

The pair arrive: the liv'ry'd servants wait;

Their lord receives them at the pompous gate.

The table groans with costly piles of food,

And all is more than hospitably good.

Then led to ress, the day's long toil they drown,

Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down.

At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day

Along the wide canals the Zephyrs play;

Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep,

And shake the neighb'ring wood to banish sleep.

Up rise the guests, obedient to the call:

An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall;

Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd,

Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste.

Then pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go;

And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe;

His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise

The younger guest purloin'd the glitt'ring prize.

As one who spies a serpent in his way,

Glistning and basking in the Summer ray,

Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near,

Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear:

So seem'd the fire; when far upon the road,

The shining spoil his wiley partner show'd.

He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart,

And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part:

Murm'ring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard,

That generous actions meet a base reward.

While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds,

The changing skies hang out their sable clouds;

A sound in air presag'd approaching rain,

And beasts to covert scud a-cross the plain.

Warn'd by the signs, the wand'ring pair retreat,

To seek for shelter at a neighb'ring seat.

'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground,

And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around;

Its owner's temper, tim'rous and severe,

Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there.

As near the Miser's heavy doors they drew,

Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew;

The nimble light'ning mix'd with show'rs began,

And o'er their heads loud-rolling thunder ran.

Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain,

Driv'n by the wind, and batter'd by the rain.

At length some pity warm'd the master's breast,

('Twas then, his threshold first receiv'd a guest)

Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care,

And half he welcomes in the shivering pair;

One frugal faggot lights the naked walls,

And Nature's fervor thro' their limbs recals:

Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine,

(Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine;

And when the tempest first appear'd to cease,

A ready warning bid them part in peace.

With still remark the pond'ring Hermit view'd

In one so rich, a life so poor and rude;

And why shou'd such, (within himself he cry'd)

Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside?

But what new marks of wonder soon took place,

In ev'ry settling feature of his face!

When from his vest the young companion bore

That Cup, the gen'rous landlord own'd before,

And paid profusely with the precious bowl

The stinted kindness of this churlish soul.

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly,

The sun emerging opes an azure sky;

A fresher green the smelling leaves display,

And glitt'ring as they tremble, cheer the day:

The weather courts them from the poor retreat,

And the glad master bolts the wary gate.

While hence they walk, the Pilgrim's bosom wrought

With all the travel of uncertain thought;

His partner's acts without their cause appear,

'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here:

Detesting that, and pitying this he goes,

Lost and confounded with the various shows.

Now night's dim shades again involve the sky;

Again the wand'rers want a place to lye,

Again they search, and find a lodging nigh.

The soil improv'd around, the mansion neat,

And neither poorly low, nor idly great:

It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind,

Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind.

Hither the walkers turn with weary feet,

Then bless the mansion, and the master greet:

Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise,

The courteous master hears, and thus replies:

Without a vain, without a grudging heart,

To him who gives us all, I yield a part;

From him you come, for him accept it here,

A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.

He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread,

Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed,

When the grave houshold round his hall repair,

Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with pray'r.

At length the world renew'd by calm repose

Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose;

Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept,

Near the clos'd cradle where an infant slept,

And writh'd his neck: the landlord's little pride,

O strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and dy'd.

Horror of horrors! what I his only son!

How look'd our Hermit when the fact was done?

Not hell, tho' hell's black jaws in sunder part,

And breathe blue fire, cou'd more assault his heart.

Confus'd, and struck with silence at the deed,

He flies, but trembling fails to fly with speed.

His steps the youth pursues; the country lay

Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way:

A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er

Was nice to find; the servant trod before;

Long arms of oaks an open bridge supply'd,

And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.

The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin,

Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in;

Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head,

Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead.

Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes,

He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,

Detested wretch—but scarce his speech began,

When the strange partner seem'd no longer man:

His youthful face grew more serenely sweet;

His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet;

Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;

Celestial odours breathe thro' purpled air;

And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day,

Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.

The form etherial bursts upon his sight,

And moves in all the majesty of light.

Tho' loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew,

Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do;

Surprize in secret chains his word suspends,

And in a calm his settling temper ends.

But silence here the beauteous angel broke,

(The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke.)

Thy pray'r, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown,

In sweet memorial rise before the throne:

These charms, success in our bright region find,

And force an angel down, to calm thy mind;

For this commission'd, I forsook the sky:

Nay, cease to kneel—thy fellow-servant I.

Then know the truth of government divine,

And let these scruples be no longer thine.

The Maker justly claims that world he made,

In this the right of providence is laid;

Its sacred majesty thro' all depends

On using second means to work his ends:

'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye;

The Pow'r exerts his attributes on high,

Your actions uses, nor controuls your will,

And bids the doubting sons of men be still.

What strange events can strike with more surprize,

Than those which lately strook thy wond'ring eyes?

Yet taught by these, confess th'Almighty just,

And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust!

The Great, Vain Man, who far'd on costly food,

Whose life was too luxurious to be good;

Who made his iv'ry stands with goblets shine,

And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of Wine,

Has, with the Cup, the graceless custom lost,

And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.

The mean, suspicious Wretch, whose bolted door,

Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wand'ring poor;

With him I left the cup, to teach his mind

That Heav'n can bless, if mortals will be kind.

Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl,

And feels compassion touch his grateful soul.

Thus artists melt the sullen oar of lead,

With heaping coals of fire upon its head;

In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow,

And loose from dross, the silver runs below.

Long had our pious Friend in virtue trod,

But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God;

(Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain,

And measur'd back his steps to earth again.

To what excesses had his dotage run?

But God, to save the father, took the son.

To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,

(And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow.)

The poor fond parent humbled in the dust,

Now owns in tears the punishment was just.

But how had all his fortune felt a wrack,

Had that false servant sped in safety back?

This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal,

And what a fund of charity wou'd fail!

Thus Heav'n instructs thy mind: this trial o'er,

Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more.

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew,

The sage stood wond'ring as the Seraph flew.

Thus look'd Elisha, when to mount on high

His master took the chariot of the sky;

The fiery pomp ascending left the view;

The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too.

The bending Hermit here a pray'r begun,

"Lord! as in heav'n, on earth thy will be done."

Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place,

And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

VISIONS, PUBLISH'D IN THE SPECTATORS, &c. BY THE SAME HAND.

VISION I. SPECTATOR. No 460.

Decipimur Specie Recti—
HOR.

OUR defects and follies are too often unknown to us; nay, they are so far from being known to us, that they pass for demonstrations of our worth. This makes us easy in the midst of them, fond to shew them, fond to improve in them, and to be esteemed for them. Then it is that a thousand unaccountable conceits, gay inventions, and extravagant actions must afford us pleasures, and display as to others in the colours which we ourselves take a fancy to glory in: and indeed there is something so amusing for the time in this state of vanity and ill-grounded satisfaction, that even the wiser world has chosen an exalted word to describe its enchantments, and called it THE PARADISE OF FOOLS. Perhaps the latter part of this reflection may seem a false thought to some, and bear another turn than what I have given; but it is at present none of my business to look after it, who am going to confess that I have been lately amongst them in a vision.

Methought I was transported to a hill, green, flowery, and of an easy ascent. Upon the broad top of it resided squint-eyed ERROR, and popular OPINION with many heads; two that dealt in sorcery, and were famous for bewitching people with the love of themselves. To these repaired a multitude from every side, by two different paths which lead towards each of them. Some who had the most assuming air went directly of themselves to ERROR, without expecting a conductor; others of a softer nature went first to popular OPINION, from whence as she influenced and engaged them with their own praises, she delivered them over to his government.

When we had ascended to an open part of the summit where OPINION abode, we found her entertaining several who had arrived before us. Her voice was pleasing; she breathed odours as she spoke: she seemed to have a tongue for every one; every one thought he heard of something that was valuable in himself, and expected a paradise which she promised as the reward of his merit. Thus we were drawn to follow her, 'till she should bring us where it was to be bestowed: and it was observable, that all the way we went, the company was either praising themselves in their qualifications, or one another for those qualifications which they took to be conspicuous in their own characters, or dispraising others for wanting theirs, or vying in the degrees of them.

At last we approached a bower, at the entrance of which ERROR was seated. The trees were thick woven, and the place where he sat artfully contrived to darken him a little. He was disguised in a whitish robe, which he had put on, that he might appear to us with a nearer resemblance to TRUTH: and as she has a light whereby she manifests the beauties of nature to the eyes of her adorers, so he had provided himself with a magical wand, that he might do something in imitation of it, and please with delusions. This he listed solemnly, and muttering to himself, bid the glories which he kept under enchantment to appear before us. Immediately we cast our eyes on that part of the sky to which he pointed, and observed a thin blue prospect, which cleared as mountains in a Summer morning when the mists go off, and the palace of VANITY appeared to sight.

The foundation hardly seemed a foundation, but a set of curling clouds, which it stood upon by magical contrivance. The way by which we ascended was painted like a rainbow; and as we went the breeze that played about us bewitched the senses. The walls were gilded all for show; the lowest set of pillars were of the slight fine Corinthian order, and the top of the building being rounded, bore so far the resemblance of a bubble.

At the gate the travellers neither met with a porter, nor waited 'till one should appear; every one thought his merits a sufficient passport, and pressed forward. In the hall we met with several phantoms, that rov'd amongst us, and rang'd the company according to their sentiments. There was decreasing HONOUR, that had nothing to shew in but an old coat of his ancestor's atchievements: there was OSTENTATION, that made himself his own constant subject, and GALLANTRY strutting upon his tip-toes. At the upper end of the hall stood a throne, whose canopy glitter'd with all the riches that gayety could contrive to lavish on it; and between the gilded arms sat VANITY deck'd in the Peacock's feathers, and acknowledged for another Venus by her votaries. The boy who stood beside her for a Cupid, and who made the world to bow before her, was called SELF-CONCEIT. His eyes had every now and then a cast inwards, to the neglect of all objects about him; and the arms which he made use of for conquest, were borrowed from those against whom he had a design. The arrow which he shot at the soldier, was fledg'd from his own plume of feathers; the dart he directed against the man of wit, was winged from the quills he writ with; and that which he sent against those who presumed upon their riches, was headed with gold out of their treasuries: he made nets for statesmen from their own contrivances; he took fire from the eyes of ladies, with which he melted their hearts; and lightning from the tongues of the eloquent, to enflame them with their own glories. At the foot of the throne sat three false Graces. FLATTERY with a shell of paint, AFFECTATION with a mirrour to practise at, and FASHION ever changing the posture of her cloaths. These applied themselves to secure the conquests which SELF-CONCEIT had gotten, and had each of them their particular polities. FLATTERY gave new colours and complexions to all things; AFFECTATION new airs and appearances, which, as she said, were not vulgar; and FASHION both concealed some home defects, and added some foreign external beauties.

As I was reflecting upon what I saw, I heard a voice in the crowd, bemoaning the condition of mankind, which is thus managed by the breath of OPINION, deluded by ERROR, •ir'd by SELF-CONCEIT, and given up to be trained in all the courses of VANITY, 'till SCORN or POVERTY come upon us. These expressions were no sooner handed about, but I immediately saw a general disorder, till at last there was a parting in one place, and a grave old man, decent and resolute, was led forward to be punished for the words he had uttered. He appeared inclined to have spoken in his own defence, but I could not observe that any one was willing to hear him. VANITY cast a scornful smile athim; SELF-CONCEIT was angry; FLATTERY, who knew him for PLAIN-DEALING, put on a vizard, and turned away; AFFECTATION tossed her fan, made mouths, and called him ENVY or SLANDER; and FASHION would have it, that at least he must be ILL-MANNERS. Thus slighted and despised by all, he was driven out for abusing people of merit and figure; and I heard it firmly resolved, that he should be used no better where-ever they met with him hereafter.

I had already seen the meaning of most part of that warning which he had given, and was considering how the latter words should be fulfilled, when a mighty noise was heard without, and the door was blackned by a numerous train of harpies crowding in upon us. FOLLY and BROKEN CREDIT were seen in the house before they entered. TROUBLE, SHAME, INFAMY, SCORN and POVERTY brought up the rear. VANITY, with her Cupid and Graces, disappeared; her subjects ran into holes and corners; but many of them were found and carried off (as I was told by one who stood near me) either to prisons or cellars, solitude, or little company, the mean arts or the viler crafts of life. But these, added he with a disdainful air, are such who would fondly live here, when their merits neither matched the lustre of the place, nor their riches its expences. We have seen such scenes as these before now; the glory you saw will all return when the hurry is over. I thank'd him for his information, and believing him so incorrigible as that he would stay till it was his turn to be taken, I made off to the door, and overtook some few, who, though they would not hearken to PLAIN-DEALING, were now terrified to good purpose by the example of others: but when they had touched the threshold, it was a strange shock to them to find that the delusion of ERROR was gone, and they plainly discerned the building to hang a little up in the air without any real foundation. At first we saw nothing but a desperate leap remained for us, and I a thousand times blamed my unmeaning curiosity that had brought me into so much danger. But as they began to sink lower in their own minds, methought the palace sunk along with us; till they were arrived at the due point of ESTEEM which they ought to have for themselves; then the part of the building in which they stood touched the earth, and we departing out, it retired from our eyes. Now, whether they who stayed in the palace were sensible of this descent, I cannot tell; it was then my opinion that they were not. However it be, my dream broke up at it, and has given me occasion all my life to reflect upon the fatal consequences of following the suggestions of VANITY.

VISION II. SPECTATOR. No 501.

HOW are we tortured with the absence of what we covet to possess, when it appears to be lost to us! what excursions does the soul make in imagination after it! and how does it turn into itself again, more foolishly fond and dejected, at the disappointment! our grief, instead of having recourse to reason, which might restrain it, searches to find a further nourishment. It calls upon memory to relate the several passages and circumstances of satisfactions which we formerly enjoyed; the pleasures we purchased by those riches that are taken from us; or the power and splendour of our departed honours; or the voice, the words, the looks, the temper, and affections of our friends that are deceased. It needs must happen from hence, that the passion should often swell to such a size as to burst the heart which contains it, if time did not make these circumstances less strong and lively, so that reason should become a more equal match for the passion, or if another desire which becomes more present did not overpower them with a livelier representation. These are thoughts which I had, when I fell into a kind of vision upon this subject, and may therefore stand for a proper introduction to a relation of it.

I found myself upon a naked shore, with company whose afflicted countenances witnessed their conditions. Before us flowed a water deep, silent, and called the river of TEARS, which issuing from two fountains on an upper ground, encompassed an island that lay before us. The boat which plied in it was old and shatter'd, having been sometimes overset by the impatience and haste of single passengers to arrive at the other side. This immediately was brought to us by MISFORTUNE who steers it, and we were all preparing to take our places, when there appeared a woman of a mild and composed behaviour, who began to deter us from it, by representing the dangers which would attend our voyage. Hereupon some who knew her for PATIENCE, and some of those too who 'till then cry'd the loudest, were persuaded by her, and return'd back. The rest of us went in, and she (whose good-nature would not suffer her to forsake persons in trouble) desired leave to accompany us, that she might at least administer some small comfort or advice while we sailed. We were no sooner embarked but the boat was pushed off, the sheet was spread; and being filled with sighs, which are the winds of that country, we made a passage to the farther bank thro' several difficulties of which t of us seem'd utterly regardless.

When we landed, we perceived the island to be strangely over-cast with fogs, which no brightness could pierce, so that a kind of gloomy horror sat always brooding over it. This had something in it very shocking to easy tempers, insomuch that some others, whom PATIENCE had by this time gain'd over, left us here, and privily convey'd themselves round the verge of the island to find a ford by which she told them they might escape.

For my part, I still went along with those who were for piercing into the centre of the place; and joining ourselves to others whom we found upon the same journey, we marched solemnly as at a funeral, thro' bordering hedges of rosemary, and thro' a grove of yew-trees, which love to over-shadow tombs and flourish in church-yards. Here we heard on every side the wailings and complaints of several of the inhabitants, who had cast themselves disconsolately at the feet of trees; and as we chanc'd to approach any of these, we might perceive them wringing their hands, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, or after some other manner visibly agitated with vexation. Our sorrows were heightened by the influence of what we heard and saw, and one of our number was wrought up to such a pitch of wildness, as to talk of hanging himself upon a bough which shot temptingly a-cross the path we travelled in; but he was restrain'd from it by the kind endeavours of our above-mentioned companion.

We had now gotten into the most dusky silent part of the island, and by the redoubled sounds of sighs, which made a doleful whistling in the branches, the thickness of air which occasioned faintish respiration, and the violent throbbings of heart which more and more affected us, we found that we approach'd the GROTTO OF GRIEF. It was a wide, hollow, and melancholy cave, sunk deep in a dale, and watered by rivulets that had a colour between red and black. These crept slow, and half congealed amongst its windings, and mixed their heavy murmur with the echo of groans that rolled thro' all the passages. In the most retired part of it sat the DOLEFUL BEING herself; the path to her was strewed with goads, stings, and thorns; and the throne on which she sat was broken into a rock with ragged pieces pointing upwards for her to lean upon. A heavy mist hung above her, her head oppressed with it reclined upon her arm: thus did she reign over her disconsolate subjects, full of herself to stupidity, in eternal pensiveness, and the profoundest silence. On one side of her stood DEJECTION just dropping into a swoon, and PALENESS wasting to a skeleton; on the other side were CARE inwardly tormented with imaginations, and ANGUISH suffering outward TROUBLES to suck the blood from her heart in the shape of VULTURES. The whole vault had a genuine dismalness in it, which a few scattered lamps, whose blueish flames arose and sunk in their urns, discovered to our eyes with encrease. Some of us fell down, overcome and spent with what they suffer'd in the way, and were given over to those tormenters that stood on either hand of the presence; others, galled and mortified with pain, recover'd the entrance, where PATIENCE, whom we had left behind, was still waiting to receive us.

With her (whose company was now become more grateful to us by the want we had found of her) we winded round the grotto, and ascended at the back of it, out of the mournful dale in whose bottom it lay. On this eminence we halted, by her advice, to pant for breath; and listing our eyes, which till then were fixed downwards, felt a sullen sort of satisfaction, in observing thro' the shades what numbers had entered the island. This satisfaction, which appears to have ill-nature in it, was excusable, because it happened at a time when we were too much taken up with our own concern, to have respect to that of others; and therefore we did not consider them as suffering, but ourselves as not suffering in the most forlorn estate. It had also the groundwork of humanity and compassion in it, though the mind was then too deeply engaged to perceive it; but as we proceeded onwards it began to discover itself, and from observing that others were unhappy, we came to question one another, when it was that we met, and what were the sad occasions that brought us together. Then we heard our stories, we compared them, we mutually gave and received pity, and so by degrees became tolerable company.

A considerable part of the troublesome road was thus deceived; at length the openings among the trees grew larger, the air seemed thinner, it lay with less oppression upon us, and we could now and then discern tracts in it of a lighter greyness, like the breakings of day, short in duration, much enlivening, and called in that country GLEAMS OF AMUSEMENT. Within a short while these gleams began to appear more frequent, and then brighter and of a longer continuance; the SIGHS that hitherto filled the air with so much dolefulness, altered to the sound of common breezes, and in general the horrors of the island were abated.

When we had arrived at last at the ford by which we were to pass out, we met with those fashionable mourners who had been ferried over along with us, and who being unwilling to go as far as we, had coasted by the shore, to find the place, where they waited our coming; that by shewing themselves to the world only at that time when we did, they might seem also to have been among the troubles of the grotto. Here the waters, that rolled on the other side so deep and silent, were much dried up, and it was an easter matter for us to wade over.

The river being crossed, we were received upon the further bank by our friends and acquaintance, whom COMFORT had brought out to congratulate our appearance in the world again. Some of these blamed us for staying so long away from them, others advised us against all temptations of going back again; every one was cautious not to renew our trouble, by asking any particulars of the journey; and all concluded, that in a case of so much affliction, we could not have made choice of a fitter companion than PATIENCE. Here PATIENCE, appearing serene at her praises, delivered us over to COMFORT. COMFORT smiled at his receiving the charge; immediately the sky purpledon that side to which he turned, and double day at once broke in upon me.

VISION III. GUARDIAN. No 56.

Quid mentem traxisse polo, quid profuit altum

Erexisse caput? pecudum si more pererrant.

CLAUD.

I Was considering last night, when I could not sleep, how noble a part of the creation Man was design'd to be, and how distinguished in all his actions above other earthly creatures. From whence I fell to take a view of the change and corruption which he has introduced into his own condition, the groveling appetites, the mean characters of sense, and wild courses of passions, that cast him from the degree in which Providence had placed him, the debasing himself with qualifications not his own, and his degenerating into a lower sphere of action. This inspired me with a mixture of contempt and anger; which, however, was not so violent as to hinder the return of sleep, but grew confused as that came upon me, and made me end my reflections with giving mankind the opprobrious names of inconsiderate, mad and foolish.

Here methought, where my waking reason left the subject, my fancy pursued it in a dream; and I imagined myself in a loud soliloquy of passion, railing at my species, and walking hard to get rid of the company I despised; when two men who had over-heard me made up on either hand. These I observed had many features in common, which might occasion the mistake of the one for the other in those to whom they appear single, but I, who saw them together, could easily perceive, that tho' there was an air of severity in each, it was tempered with a natural sweetness in the one, and by turns constrained or tussled by the designs of malice in the other.

I was at a loss to know the reason of their joining me so briskly, when he whose appearance displeased me most, thus addressed his companion. Pray, brother, let him alone, and we shall immediately see him transformed into a Tyger. This struck me with horror, which the other perceived, and pitying my disorder, bid me be of good courage, for tho' I had been savage in my treatment of mankind, (whom I should rather reform than rail against) he would, however, endeavour to rescue me from my danger. At this I looked a little more chearful, and while I testified my resignation to him, ve saw the angry brother sling away from us in a passion for his disappointment. Being now left to my friend, I went back with him at his desire, that might know the meaning of those words which so affrightted me.

As we went along, to inform you, says he, with whom you have this adventure, my name is REPROOF and his REPROACH, both born of the same mother, but of different fathers. TRUTH is our common parent. FRIENDSHIP. who saw her, fell in love with her, and she being pleased with him, he begat me upon her; but a while after ENMITY lying in ambush for her, became the father of him whom you saw along with me. The temper of our mother enclines us to the fame sort of business, the informing mankind of their faults; but the differing complexions of our fathers make us differ in our designs and company. I have a natural benevolence in my mind which engages me with friends, and he a natural impetuosity in his, which casts him among enemies.

As he thus discoursed he came to a place where there were three entrances into as many several walks, which lay beside one another. We passed into the middlemost, a plain, strait, regular walk, set with trees, which added to the beauty of the place, but did not so close their boughs over head as to exclude the light from it. Here as we walked I was made to observe, how the road on one hand was full of rocks and precipices, over which REPROACH (who had already gotten thither) was furiously driving unhappy wretches; the other side was all laid out in gardens of gaudy tulips, amongst whose leaves the serpents wreath'd, and at the end of every grassy walk the enchantress FLATTERY was weaving bowers to lull souls asleep in. We continued still walking on the middle way, 'till we arrived in a building in which it terminated. This was formerly erected by TRUTH for a watch tower, from whence she took a view of the earth, and, as she saw occasion, sent out REPROOF, or even REPROACH, for our reformation. Over the door I took notice that a face was carved with a heart upon the lips of it, and presently call'd to mind that this was the ancients emblem of SINCERITY. In the entrance I met with FREEDOM OF SPEECH and COMPLAISANCE, who had for a long time looked upon one another as enemies; but REPROOF has so happily brought them together, that they now act as friends and fellow-agents in the same family. Before I ascended up the stairs, I had my eyes purified by a water which made me see extremely clear, and I think they said it sprung in a pit, from whence (as Democritus had reported) they formerly brought up TRUTH, who had hid herself in it. I was then admitted to the upper chamber of prospect, which was called THE KNOWLEDGE OF MANKIND; here the window was no sooner opened but I perceived the clouds to roll off and part before me, and a scene of all the variety of the world presented itself.

But how different was mankind in this view, from what it used to appear! methought the very shape of most of them was lost; some had the heads of Dogs, others of Apes or Parrots, and in short, where-ever any one took upon him the inferior and unworthy qualities of other creatures, the change of his soul became visible in his countenance. The strutting pride of him who is endued with brutality instead of courage, made his face shoot out in the form of a Horse's; his eyes became prominent, his nostrils widened, and his wig untying flowed down on one side of his neck in a waving mane. The talkativeness of those who love the ill-nature of conversation made them turn into assemblies of Geese, their lips hardened into bills by eternal using, they gabbled for diversion, they hiss'd in scandal, and their ruffles falling back on their arms, a succession of little feathers appeared, which formed wings for them to flutter with from one visit to another. The envious and malicious lay on the ground with the heads of different sorts of Serpents, and not endeavouring to erect themselves, but meditating mischief to others, they suck'd the poison of the earth, sharpened their tongues to stings upon the stones, and rolled their trains unperceivably beneath their habits. The hypocritical oppressors wore the faces of Crocodiles, their mouths were instruments of cruelty, their eyes of deceit; they committed wickedness, and bemoaned that there should be so much of it in the world; they devoured the unwary, and wept over the remains of them. The covetous had so hook'd and worn their fingers by counting interest upon interest, that they converted to the claws of Harpies, and these they still were stretching out for more, yet seem'd unsatisfied with their acquisitions. The sharpers had the looks of Camelions; they every minute changed their appearance, and fed on swarms of Flies which fell as so many Collies amongst them. The bully seemed a dunghil Cock, he crested well, and bore his comb aloft; he was beaten by almost every one, yet still sung for triumph; and only the mean coward prick'd up the ears of a Hare to fly before him. Critics were turned into Cats, whose pleasure and grumbling go together. Fopes were Apes in embroidered jackets. Flatterers were curled Spaniels, sawning and crouching. The crafty had the face of a Fox, the slothful of an Ass, the cruel of a Wolf, the ill-bred of a bear, the leachers were Goats, and the gluttons Swine. Drunkenness was the only vice that did not change the face of its professors into that of another creature; but this I took to be far from a privilege, for these two reasons; because it sufficiently deforms them of itself, and because none of the lower ranks of beings is guilty of so foolish an intemperance.

As I was taking a view of these representations of things, without any more order than is usual in a dream, or in the confusion of the world itself, I perceived a concern within me for what I saw; my eyes began to moisten, and as if the virtue of that water with which they were purified was lost for a time, by their being touched with that which arose from a passion, the clouds immediately began to gather again, and close from either hand upon the prospect I then turned towards my guide, who addressed himself to me after this manner. You have seen the condition of mankind when it descends from its dignity; now therefore guard yourself from that degeneracy by a modest greatness of spirit on one side, and a conscious shame on the other. Endeavour also with a generosity of goodness to make your friends aware of it; let them know what defects you perceive are growing upon them; handle the matter as you see reason, either with the airs of severe or humourous affection; sometimes plainly describing the degeneracy in its full proper colours, or at other times letting them know that if they proceed as they have begun, you give them to such a day or so many months to turn Bears, Wolves, or Foxes, &c. Neither neglect your more remote acquaintance, where you see any worthy and susceptible of admonition; expose the beasts whose qualities you see them putting on, where you have no mind to engage with their persons. The possibility of their applying this is very obvious: the Egyptians saw it so clearly, that they made the pictures of animals explain their minds to one another instead of writing; and indeed it is hardly to be missed, since Aesop took them out of their mute condition, and taught them to speak for themselves with relation to the actions of mankind.

VISION IV. GUARDIAN. No 66.

THERE is a sett of mankind, who are wholly employed in the ill-natured office of gathering up a collection of stories that lessen the reputation of others, and spreading them abroad with a certain air of satisfaction. Perhaps, indeed, an innocent and unmeaning curiosity, a desire of being informed concerning those we live with, or a willingness to prosit by reflection upon the actions of others, may sometimes afford an excuse, or sometimes a defence, for inquisitiveness; but certainly it is beyond all excuse, a transgression against humanity, to carry the matter further, to tear off the dressings, as I may say, from the wounds of a friend, and expose them to the air in cruel fits of diversion; and yet we have something more to bemoan, an outrage of an higher nature, which mankind is guilty of when they are not content to spread the stories of folly, frailty and vice, but even enlarge them, or invent new ones, and blacken characters that we may appear ridiculous, or hateful to one another. From such practices as these it happens, that some feel a sorrow, and others are agitated with a spirit of revenge; that scandals or lies are told, because another has told such before; that resentments and quarrels arise, and injuries are given, received, and multiplied, in a scene of vengeance.

All this I have often observed with abundance of concern; and having a perfect desire to further the happiness of mankind, I lately set myself to consider the causes from whence such evils arise, and the remedies which may be applied. Whereupon I shut my eyes to prevent distraction from outward objects, and a while after shot away, upon an impulse of thought, into the WORLD OF IDEAS, where abstracted qualities became visible in such appearances as wer agreeable to each of their natures.

That part of the country, where I happened to light, was the most noisy that I had ever known. The winds whistled, the leaves rustled, the brooks rumbled, the birds chatter'd, the tongues of men were heard, and the echo mingled something of every sound in its repetition, so that there was a strange confusion and uproar of sounds about me. At length, as the noise still encreased, I could discern a man habited like a herald (and as I afterwards understood) called NOVELTY, that came forward proclaiming a solemn day to be kept at the house of COMMON FAME. Immediately behind him advanced three nymphs, who had mostrous appearances. The first of these was CURIOSITY, habited like a virgin, and having an hundred ears upon her head to serve in her inquiries. The second of these was TALKATIVENESS, a little better grown, she seemed to be like a young wife, and had an hundred tongues to spread her stories. The third was CENSORIOUSNESS, habited like a widow, and surrounded with an hundred squinting eyes of a malignant influence, which so obliquely darted on all around, that it was impossible to say which of them had brought in the informations she boasted of. These, as I was informed, had been very instrumental in preserving and rearing COMMON FAME, when upon her birth-day she was shuffled into a crowd, to escape the search which TRUTH might have made after her and her parents. CURIOSITY found here there, TALKATIVENESS convey'd her away, and CENSORIOUSNESS so nursed her up, that in a short time she grew to a prodigious size, and obtained an empire over the universe; wherefore the POWER, in gratitude for these services, has since advanced them to her highest employments. The next who came forward in this procession was a light damsel, called CREDULITY, who carried behind them the lamp, the silver vessel with a spout, and other instruments proper for this solemn occasion. She had formerly seen these three together, and conjecturing from the number of their ears, tongues and eyes, that they might be the proper Genii of ATTENTION, FAMILIAR CONVERSE, and OCULAR DEMONSTRATION, she from that time gave herself up to attend them. The last who followed were some who had closely muffled themselves in upper garments, so that I could not discern who they were; but just as the soremost of them was come up, I am glad, says she, calling me by my name, to meet you at this time, stay close by me, and take a strict observation of all that passes. Her voice was sweet and commanding, I thought I had somewhere heard it; and from her, as I went along, I learned the meaning of every thing which offered.

We now marched forward thro' the ROOKERY OF RUMOURS, which flew thick and with a terrible din all around us. At length we arrived at the house of COMMON FAME, where a hecatomb of REPUTATIONS was that day to fall for her pleasure. The house stood upon an eminence, having a thousand passages to it, and a thousand whispering holes for the conveyance of found. The hall we entered was formed with the art of a music chamber for the improvement of noises. REST and SILENCE are banished the place. STORIES of different natures wander in light flocks all about, sometimes truths and lies, or sometimes lies themselves clashing against one another. In the middle stood a table painted after the manner of the remotest Asiatic countries, upon which the lamp, the silver vessel, and cups of a white earth, were planted in order. Then dried herbs were brought, collected for the solemnity in moon-shine, and water being put to them, there was a greenish liquor made, to which they added the flower of milk, and an extraction from the canes of America, for performing a libation to the infernal POWERS OF MISCHIEF. After this, CURIOSITY, retiring to a withdrawing-room, brought forth the VICTIMS, being to appearance a sett of small waxen images, which she laid upon the table one after another. Immediately TALKATIVENESS gave each of them the name of some one, whom for the time they were to represent; and CENSORIOUSNESS stuck them all about with black pins, still pronouncing at every one she stuck, something to the prejudice of the persons represented. No sooner were these rites performed, and incantations uttered, but the sound of a speaking trumpet was heard in the air, by which they knew the Deity of the place was propitiated and assisting. Upon this the sky grew darker, a storm arose, and murmurs, sighs, groans, cries, and the words of grief or resentment were heard within it. Thus the three Sorceresses discovered, that they, whose names they had given to the images, were already affected with what was done to them in essigy. The knowledge of this was received with the loudest laughter, and in many congratulatory words they applauded one another's wit and power.

As matters were at this high point of disorder, the muffled lady, whom I attended on, being no longer able to endure such barbarous proceedings, threw off her upper garment of RESERVE, and appeared to be TRUTH. As soon as she had confessed herself present, the speaking trumpet ceas'd to sound, the sky cleared up, the storm abated, the noises which were heard in it ended, the laughter of the company was over, and a serene light, till then unknown to the place, was diffused around it. At this the detected Sorceresses endeavoured to escape in a cloud which I saw began to thicken about them, but it was soon dispersed, their charms being controuled and prevailed over by the superior Divinity. For my part I was exceedingly glad to see it so, and began to consider what punishments she would inflict upon them. I fancied it would be proper to cut off CURIOSITY'S ears, and six them to the eaves of the houses, to nail the tongue of TALKATIVENESS to Indian tables, and to put out the eyes of CENSORIOUSNESS with a flash of her light. In respect of CREDULITY I had indeed some little pity, and had I been judge, she might, perhaps, have escaped with a hearty reproof.

But I soon found that the discerning Judge had other designs, she knew, them for such as will not be destroyed entirely while mankind is in being, and yet ought to have a brand and punishment affixed to them that they may be avoided. Wherefore she took a seat for judgment, and had the Criminals brought forward by SHAME ever blushing, and TROUBLE with a whip of many lashes, two phantoms who had dogged the Procession in disguise, and waited till they had an authority from TRUTH to lay hands upon them. Immediately then she ordered CURIOSITY and TALKATIVENEES to be fettered together, that the one should never suffer the other to rest, nor the other ever let her remain undiscovered. Light CREDULITY she linkt to SHAME at the tormenter's own request, who was pleased to be thus secure that her prisoner should not escape; and this was done partly for her punishment, and partly for her amendment. CENSORIOUSNESS was also in like manner begged by TROUBLE, and had her assign'd for an eternal companion. After they were thus chain'd with one another, by the judge's order, she drove them from the presence to wander for ever thro' the world, with NOVELTY stalking before them.

The cause being now over, she retreated from sight within the splendor of her own glory, which leaving the house it had brightned, the sounds that were proper to the place began to be as loud and consused as when we entered, and there being no longer a clear distinguished appearance of any objects represented to me, I returned from the excursion I had made in fancy.

VISION V.

WHATEVER industry and eagerness the modern discoverers have shewn for the knowledge of new countries, there yet remains an ample field in the creation to which they are utter strangers, and which all the methods of travelling hitherto invented, will never bring them acquainted with. Of this I can give a very particular instance in an accident which lately happened to me.

As I was on the 6th of this instant, being February 1715, walking with my eyes cast upward, I fell into a reflection on the vast tracts of air which appear'd before me as uninhabited. And wherefore, said I to myself, shou'd all this space be created? can it only be for an odd bird to fly through, as now and then a man may pass a desart? Or are there also kingdoms with their particular polities and people of a species which we know nothing of, ordain'd to live in it?

It was in this manner I continued my thought, when my feet forsook the level, and I was insensibly mounted in the air, till I arriv'd at a footing as firm and level as what I had left. But with what surprize did I find myself among creatures distinct from us in shape and customs?

The inhabitants are of a small stature, below those which history describes for Pigmies. The tallest of them exceed not fourteen or fifteen inches, and the least are hardly three. This difference proceeds only from their growth before they are brought to light; for after we never observe them to grow, unless it please their parents, who have this uncommon method of enabling them: they recall them to the womb, where having been for some time, they receive an addition to their bulk, then go back to their houses, and continue at a stand as they did before. The experiment has been often try'd with success, but some have suffered extremely by undergoing it.

Their skins are like the ancient Britain, all drawn over with a variety of figures. The colour made use of for this end, is generally black. I have indeed observed in some of the religious, and lawyers of the country, red here and there intermingled, tho' not so commonly of late. They tell me too, they often us'd to paint with all colours; and I visited two or three of the old inhabitants, who were adorn'd in that fashion: but this is now disused, since the new inventions, by which the use of a black fountain that belongs to that country, is render'd more useful and serviceable.

The Cloaths in which they go clad, are the skins of beasts; worn by some plain, by others with figure: wrought upon them. Gold is also made use of by some, to beautify their apparel; but very seldom silver, unless, as buckles are by us, for fastening the garment before. I have seen some of them go like seamen in thin blue shirts, others like Indians in a party-colour'd loose kind of apparel, and others who they told me were the Politicians of the country, go about stark naked.

The manner of dressing them is this: at first when they come into the world, they have a suit given them, which if it do not fit exactly, is not, as with us, fitted up again, but the children are in a cruel manner cut and squeez'd to bring them to its proportion. Yet this they seem not much to regard, provided their principal parts are not affected. When the dress is thus settled on them, they are clad for life, it being seldom their custom to alter it, or put it off: in short, they live in it night and day, and wear it to rags rather than part with it, being sure of the same torture, and a greater danger if they should be dress'd a second time. I have further taken notice, that they delight to go open breasted, most of them shewing their bosoms speckled. Some Lawyers indeed wear them quite white, perhaps for distinction sake, or to be known at a distance. But the finest shew is among the beaux and ladies, who mightily affect something of gold, both before and behind them.

Food I never saw them eat; they being a people, who, as I observed, live in air: their houses are all single and high, having no back rooms, but frequently seven or eight stories, which are all separate houses above one another. They have one gate to their city, and generally no doors to their houses; tho' I have sometimes seen them have particular doors, and even made of glass, where the inhabitants have been observ'd to stand many days, that their fine apparel may be seen thro' them. If at any time they lie down, which they do when they come from their habitations (as if coming abroad were their greatest fatigue) they will lie together in heaps without receiving hurt: though the soundest sleep they get, is when they can have dust enough to cover them over.

The females amongst them are but few, nothing being there produced by a marriage of sexes. The males are of a different strength or endowment of parts, some having knowledge in an extream degree, and others none at all; yet at the same time, they are mighty pretenders to instruct others. Their Names, (for as many as wou'd discover them to me) I observ'd to be the very same as ours are upon earth; I met a few who made theirs a mystery, but why, I am yet to learn. They are so communicative, that they will tell all the knowledge they boast, if a stranger apply himself to their conversation: and this may be worth his while, if he considers that all languages, arts, and sciences, are profest amongst them. I think I may say it without vanity, that I knew a certain Talisman, with proper figures and characters inscrib'd, whereby their greatest people may be charm'd, brought to reside with a man, and serve him like a familiar in the conduct of life.

There is no such thing as fighting amongst them, but their controversies are determin'd by words, wherein they seldom own themselves conquer'd, yet proceed no further than two or three replies: perhaps indeed two others take up their neighbour's quarrel, but then they desist too after the same manner; sometimes however, blows have ensu'd upon their account, though not amongst them: in such a case they have descended to inspire mankind with their sentiments, and chosen champions from among us, in order to decide it.

The time of their life is very different, some die as soon as born, and others in their youth; some get a new lease of life by their entring into the womb again, and if any weather it out to a hundred years, they generally live on to an extreme age. After which it is remarkable, that instead of growing weaker as we do, by time, they increase in strength, and become at last so confirm'd in health, that it is the opinion of their country, they never can perish while the world remains.

The sicknesses which may take them of, besides what happens from their natural weakness of body, are of different sorts. One is over-moisture, which affecting their mansions; makes them lose their complexions, become deform'd, and rot away insensibly: this is often obviated by their not keeping too much within doors. Another is the Worms, which prey upon their bowels: if they be maimed by accidents, they become like us, so far useless; and that maim will some time or other be the occasion of their ruin. However, they perish by these means only in appearance, and like spirits, who vanish in one place, to be seen in another. But as men die of passions, so Disesteem is what the most nearly touches them; then they withdraw into holes and corners, and consume away in darkness. Or if they are kept alive a few days by the force of Spices, it is but a short reprieve from their perishing to eternity; without any honour, but that instead of a burial, a small pyre of Past should be erected over them, while they, like the antient Romans, are reduc'd to ashes.[1]

THE LIFE OF ZOILUS: AND HIS REMARKS ON HOMER'S BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.

‘VIDE QUAM INIQUI SUNT DIVINORUM MUNERUM AESTIMATORES, ETIAM QUIDAM PROFESSI SAPIENTIAM.’ SENECA.

PREFACE.

HAVING some time ago heard, that the Translation of HOMER'S ILIAD would be attempted, I resolv'd to confer with the gentleman who undertook it. I found him of a tall presence, and thoughtful countenance, with his hands folded, his eyes fix'd, and his beard untrimm'd. This I took to be a good omen, because he thus resembled the Constantinopolitan statue of Homer which Cedrenus describes; and surely nothing cou'd have been liker, had he but arriv'd at the character of age and blindness. As my business was to be my introduction, I told him how much I was acquainted with the secret history of Homer; that no one better knows his own horse, than I do the camel of Bactria, in which his soul resided at the time of the Trojan wars; that my acquaintance continued with him, as he appear'd in the person of the Grecian poet; that I knew him in his next transmigration into a peacock; was pleas'd with his return to manhood, under the name of Ennius at Rome; and more pleas'd to hear he wou'd soon revive under another name, with all his full lustre, in England. This particular knowledge, added I, which sprung from the love I bear him, has made me fond of a conversation with you, in order to the success of your translation.

The civil manner in which he received my proposal encouraging me to proceed, I told him, there were arts of success, as well as merits to obtain it; and that he, who now dealt in Greek, should not only satisfy himself with being a good Grecian, but also contrive to hasten into the repute of it. He might therefore write in the title-page, TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL GREEK, and select a motto for his purpose out of the same language. He might obtain a copy of verses written in it to prefix to the work; and not call the titles of each book, the first, and second, but ILIAD ALPHA, and BETA. He might retain some names which the world is least acquainted with, as his old translator Chapman uses Ephaistus instead of Vulcan, Baratrum for Hell; and if the notes were filled with Greek verses, it wou'd more increase the wonder of many readers. Thus I went on; when he told me smiling, I had shewn him indeed a set of arts very different from merit, for which reason, he thought, he ought not to depend upon them. A success, says he, founded on the ignorance of others, may bring a temporary advantage, but nei¦ther a conscious satisfaction, nor future fame to the author. Men of sense despise the affectation which they easily see through, and even they who were dazzled with it at first, are no sooner inform'd of its being an affectation, but they imagine it also a veil to cover imperfection.

The next point I ventur'd to speak on, was the sort of poetry he intended to use; how some may fancy, a poet of the greatest fire would be imitated better in the freedom of blank verse, and the description of war sounds more pompous out of rhime. But, will the translation, said he, be thus remov'd enough from prose, without greater inconveniences? what transpositions is Milton forc'd to, as an equivalent for want of rhime, in the poetry of a language which depends upon a natural order of words? And even this would not have done his business, had he not given the fullest scope to his genius, by chusing a subject upon which there could be no hyperboles. We see (however he be deservedly successful) that the ridicule of his manner succeeds better than the imitation of it; because transpositions, which are unnatural to a language, are to be fairly derided, if they ruin it by being frequently introduced; and because hyperboles, which outrage every lesser subject where they are seriously us'd, are often beautiful in ridicule. Let the French, whose language is not copious, translate in prose; but ours, which exceeds it in copiousness of words, may have a more frequent likeness of sounds, to make the unison or rhime easier; a grace of music, that atones for the harshness our consonants and monosyllables occasion.

After this, I demanded what air he would appear with? whether antiquated, like Chapman's Version, or modern, like La Motte's Contraction. To which he answer'd, by desiring me to observe what a painter does who would always have his pieces in fashion. He neither chuses to draw a beauty in a ruff, or a French-head; but with its neck uncover'd, and in its natural ornament of hair curl'd up, or spread becomingly so may a writer chuse a natural manner of expressing himself which will always be in fashion, without affecting to borrow an odd solemnity and unintelligible pomp from the past times, or humouring the present by falling into its affectations, and those phrases which are born to die with it.

I ask'd him, lastly, whether he would be strictly literal, or expatiate with further licences? I would not be literal, replies he, or ty'd up to line for line in such a manner wherein it is impossible to express in one language what has been deliver'd in another. Neither wou'd I so expatiate, as to alter my Author's sentiments, or add others of my own. These errors are to be avoided on either hand, by adhering not only to the word, but the spirit and genius of an author; by considering what he means, with what beautiful manner he has express'd his meaning in his own tongue, and how he wou'd have express'd himself, had it been in ours. Thus we ought to seek for Homer in a version of Homer: other attempts are but transformations of him; such as Ovid tells us, where the name is retain'd, and the thing alter'd: this will be really what you mention'd in the compliment you began with, a transmigration of the Poet from one country into another.

Here ended the serious part of our conference. All I remember further was, that having ask'd him, what he design'd with all those editions and comments I observ'd in his room he made answer, that if any one, who had a mind to find fault with his performance, wou'd but stay 'till it was entirely finish'd, he shou'd have a very cheap bargain of them.

Since this discourse, I have often resolv'd to try what it was to translate in the spirit of a writer, and at last, chose THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE, which is ascrib'd to Homer; and bears a nearer resemblance, to his Iliad, than the Culex does to the Acneid of Virgil. Statius and others think it a work of youth, written as a prelude to his greater poems. Chapman thinks it the work of his age, after he found men ungrateful; to shew he cou'd give strength, lineage and fame as he pleas'd, and praise a Mouse as well as a Man. Thus, says he, the Poet professedly flung up the world, and apply'd himself at last to hymns. Now, tho' this reason of his may be nothing more than a scheme form'd out of the order in which Homer's works are printed, yet does the conjecture that this poem was written after the Iliad, appear probable, because of its frequent allusions to that poem; and particularly that there is not a Frog or a Mouse kill'd, which has not its parallel instance there, in the death of some warrior or other.

The poem itself is of the Epic kind; the time of its action the duration of two days; the subject (however its nature frivolous, or ridiculous) rais'd, by having the most shining words and deeds of Gods and Heroes accommodated to it: and while other poems often compare the illustrious exploits of great men to those of brutes, this always heightens the subject by comparisons drawn from things above it. We have a great character given it with respect to the fable in Gaddius de Script non Eccles. It appears, says he, nearer perfection than the Iliad, or Odysses, and excels both in judgment, wit, and exquisite texture, since it is a poem perfect in its own kind. Nor does Crusius speak less to its honour, with respect to the moral, when he cries out in an apostrophe to the reader; ‘Whoever you are, mind not the names of these little animals, but look into the things they mean; call them men, call them kings, or counsellors, or human polity itself, you have here doctrines of every sort.’ And indeed, when I hear the Frog talk concerning the Mouse's family, I learn, equality shou'd be observ'd in making friendships; when I hear the Mouse answer the Frog, I remember, that a similitude of manners shou'd be regarded in them; when I see their councils assembling, I think of the bustles of human prudence: and when I see the battle grow warm and glorious, our struggles for honour and empire appear before me.

This piece had many imitations of it in antiquity, as the sight of the Cats, the Cranes, the Starlings, the Spiders, &c. That of the Cats is in the Bodleian library, but I was not so lucky as to find it. I have taken the liberty to divide my translation into books (tho' it be otherwise in the original) according as the fable allow'd proper resting-places, by varying its scene, or nature of action: this I did, after the example of Aristarchus and Zenodotus in the Iliad. I then thought of carrying the grammarians example further, and placing arguments at the head of each, which I fram'd as follows, in imitation of the short ancient Greek inscriptions to the Iliad,

- BOOK I. In ALPHA, the ground Of the quarrel is found.

- BOOK II. In BETA, we The council see.

- BOOK III. Dire GAMMA relates The work of the fates.

But as I am averse from all information which lessens our surprize, I only mention these for a handle to quarrel with the custom of long arguments before a poem. It may be necessary in books of controversy or abstruse learning, to write an epitome before each part; but it is not kind to forestal us in the work of fancy, and make our attention remiss, by a previous account of the end of it.

The next thing which employ'd my thoughts was the heroes names. It might perhaps take off somewhat from the majesty of the poem, had I cast away such noble sounds as, Physignathus, Lycopinax, and Crambophagus, to substitute Bluffcheek, Lickdish and Cabbage-eater in their places. It is for this reason I have retain'd them untranslated: however, I place them in English before the poem, and sometimes give a sfort character extracted out of their names; as in Polyphonus, Pternophagus, &c. that the reader may not want some light of their humour in the original.

But what gave me a greater difficulty was, to know how I shou'd follow the poet, when he inserted pieces of lines from his Iliad, and struck out a sprightliness by their new application. To supply this in my translation, I have added one or two of Homer's particularities; and us'd two or three allusions to some of our English poets who most resemble him, to keep up some image of this spirit of the original with an equivalent beauty. To use more, might make my performance seem a cento rather than a translation, to those who know not the necessity I lay under.

I am not ignorant, after all my care, how the world receives the best compositions of this nature. A man need only go to a painter's, and apply what he hears said of a picture to a translation, to find how he shall be us'd upon his own, or his author's account. There one spectator tells you, a piece is extremely fine, but he sets no value on what is not like the face it was drawn for; while a second informs you, such another is extremely like, but he cares not for a piece of deformity, tho' its likeness be never so exact.

Yet notwithstanding all which happens to the best, when I translate, I have a desire to be reckon'd amongst them; and I shall obtain this, if the world will be so good-natur'd as to believe writers that give their own characters: upon which presumption, I answer to all objections beforehand, as follows:

When I am literal, I regard my author's words; when I am not, I translate in his spirit. If I am low, I chuse the narrative style; if high, the subject requir'd it. When I am enervate, I give an instance of ancient simplicity; when affected, I show a point of modern delicacy. As for beauties, there never can be one found in me which was not really intended; and for any faults, they proceeded from too unbounded fancy, or too nice judgment, but by no means from any defect in either of those faculties.

THE LIFE OF ZOILUS.

‘Pendentem volo Zoilum videre.’ MARTIAL.

THEY who have discours'd concerning the nature and extent of criticism, take notice, that editions of authors, the interpretations of them, and the judgment which is pass'd upon each, are the three branches into which the art divides itself. But the last of these, that directs in the choice of books, and takes care to prepare us for reading them, is by the learned Bacon call'd the Chair of the Critics. In this chair (to carry on the figure) have sate Aristotle, Demetrius Phaleraeus, Dionysius Halicarnassensis, Cicero, Horace, Quintilian, and Longinus; all great names of antiquity, the censors of those ages which went before, and the directors of those that come after them, with respect to the natural and perspicuous manners of thought and a expression, by which a correct and judicious genius may be able to write for the pleasure and profit of mankind.

But whatever has been advanc'd by men really great in themselves, has been also attempted by others of capacities either unequal to the undertaking, or which have been corrupted by their passions, and drawn away into partial violences: so that we have sometimes seen the province of Criticism usurp'd, by such who judge with an obscure diligence, and a certain dryness of understanding, incapable of comprehending a figurative stile, or being mov'd by the beauties of imagination; and at other times by such, whose natural moroseness in general, or particular designs of envy, has render'd them indefatigable against the reputation of others.

In this last manner is ZOILUS represented to us by antiquity, and with a character so abandon'd, that his name has been since made use of to brand all succeeding critics of his complexion. He has a load of infamy thrown upon him, great, in proportion to the fame of HOMER, against whom he oppos'd himself: if the one was esteem'd as the very residence of wit, the other is describ'd as a profligate, who wou'd destroy the temple of Apollo and the Muses, in order to have his memory preserv'd by the envious action. I imagine it maybe no ungrateful undertaking to write some account of this celebrated person, from whom so many derive their character; and I think the life of a Critic is not unseasonably put before the works of his Poet, especially when his censures accompany him. If what he advances be just, he stands here as a censor; if otherwise, he appears as an addition to the poet's fame, and is placed before him with the justice of antiquity in its sacrifices, when, because such a beast had offended such a deity, he was brought annually to his altar to be slain upon it.

ZOILUS us was born at Amphipolis a city of Thrace, during the time in which the Macedonian empire flourish'd. Who his parents were, is not certainly known; but if the appellation of Thracian Slave, which the world apply'd to him, be not merely an expression of contempt, it proves him of mean extraction. He was a disciple of one Polycrates a sophist, who had distinguish'd himself by writing against the great names of the ages before him; and who, when he is mention'd as his master, is said to be particularly famous for a bitter accusation or invective against the memory of Socrates. In this manner is ZOILUS set out to posterity, like a plant naturally baneful, and having its poison render'd more acute and subtle by a preparation.

In his person he was tall and meagre, his complexion was pale, and all the motions of his face were sharp. He is represented by Aelian, with a beard nourish'd to a prodigious length, and his head kept close shav'd, to give him a magisterial appearance: his coat hung over his knees in a slovenly fashion; his manners were form'd upon an aversion to the customs of the world. He was fond of speaking ill, diligent to sow dissension, and from the constant bent of his thought, had obtain'd that sort of readiness for slander or reproach, which is esteem'd wit by the light opinion of some, who take the remarks of ill-nature, for an understanding of mankind, and the abrupt lashes of rudeness for the spirit of expression. This, at last, grew to such a height in him, that he became careless of concealing it; he threw off all reserves and managements in respect of others, and the passion so far took the turn of a frenzy, that being one day ask'd, why he spoke ill of every one? ‘It is (says he) because I am not able to do them ill, tho' I have so great a mind to it.’ Such extravagant declarations of his general enmity made men deal with him as with the creature he affected to be; they no more spoke of him as belonging to the species he hated; and from henceforth his learned speeches or fine remarks cou'd obtain no other title for him, but that of THE RHETORICAL DOG.

While he was in Macedon he employ'd his time in writing, and reciting what he had written in the schools of sophists. His oratory (says Dionysius Halicarnassensis) was always of the demonstrative kind, which concerns itself about praise or dispraise. His subjects were the most approv'd authors, whom he chose to abuse upon the account of their reputation; and to whom, without going round the matter in faint praises or artificial insinuations, he us'd to deny their own characteristics. With this gallantry of opposition did he censure Xenophon for affectation, Plato for vulgar notions, and Isocrates for incorrectness. Demosthenes, in his opinion, wanted fire, Aristotle subtilty, and Aristophanes humour. But, as to have reputation was with him a sufficient cause of enmity, so to have that reputation universal, was what wrought his frenzy to its wildest degree; for which reason it was HOMER with whom he was most implacably angry. And certainly, if envy choose its object for the power to give torment, it shou'd here (if ever) have the glory of fully answering its intentions; for the Poet was so worship'd by the whole age, that his Critic had not the common alleviation of the opinion of one other man, to concur in his condemnation.

ZOILUS however went on with indefatigable industry in a voluminous work, which he intitled, THE 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, or CENSURE OF HOMER: 'till having at last finish'd it, he prepares to send it into the world with a pompous title at the head, invented for himself by way of excellency, and thus inserted after the manner of the ancients.

ZOILUS, the scourge of HOMER, writ this against that lover of fables.

Thus did he value himself upon a work, which the world has not thought worth transmitting to us, and but just left a specimen in five or six quotations, which happen to be preserv'd by the commentators of that Poet against whom he writ it. If any one be fond to form a judgment upon him from these instances, they are as follows:

- IL. 1. He says, HOMER is very ridiculous (a word he was noted to apply to him) when he makes such a God as APOLLO employ himself in killing dogs and mules.

- IL. 5. HOMER is very ridiculous in describing DIOMEDES' helmet and armour, as sparkling, and in a blaze of fire about him; for then why was he not burn'd by it?

- IL. 5. When IDAEUS quitted his fine chariot, which was entangl'd in the fight, and for which he might have been slain, the Poet was a fool for making him leave his chariot, he had better have run away in it.

- IL. 24. When ACHILLES makes PRIAM lie out of his tent, lest the Greeks shou'd hear of his being there, the Poet had no breeding, to turn a king out in that manner.

- OD. 9. The Poet says, ULYSSES lost an equal number out of each ship. The Critic says, that's impossible.

- OD. 10. He derides the men who were turn'd into swine, and calls them HOMER'S poor little blubbering pigs. The first five of these remarks are found in DIDYMUS, the last in LONGINUS.

Such as these are the cold jests and trifling quarrels, which have been registred from a composition, that (according to the representation handed down to us) was born in envy, liv'd a short life in contempt, and lies for ever bury'd with infamy.

But, as his design was judg'd by himself wonderfully well accomplish'd, Macedon began to be esteem'd a stage too narrow for his glory; and Egypt, which had then taken learning into its patronage, the proper place where it ought to diffuse its beams, to the surprize of all whom he wou'd persuade to reckon themselves hitherto in the dark, and under the prejudices of a false admiration. However, as he had prepar'd himself for the journey, he was suddenly diverted for a while by the rumour of the Olympic games, which were at that time to be celebrated. Thither he steer'd his course, full of the memory of Herodotus, and others who had successfully recited in that large assembly; and pleas'd to imagine he shou'd alter all Greece in their notions of wit before he left it.

Upon his arrival, he found the field in its preparation for diversion. The chariots stood for the race, carv'd and gilded, the horses were led in costly trappings, some practis'd to wrestle, some to dart the spear, (or whatever they design'd to engage at) in a kind of flourish beforehand: others were looking on, to amuse themselves; and all gaily dress'd, according to the custom of those places. Through these did ZOITUS move forward, bald-headed, bearded to the middle, its a long sad-colour'd vestment, and inflexibly stretching forth his hands fill'd with volumes roll'd up to a vast thickness: a figure most venerably slovenly! able to demand attention upon account of its oddness. And indeed, he had no sooner fix'd himself upon an eminence, but a crowd flock'd about him to know what he intended. Then the Critic casting his eyes on the ring, open'd his volume slowly, as considering with what part be might most properly entertain his audience. It happen'd, that the games at Patroclus' obsequies came first into his thought; whether it was that he judg'd it suitable to the place, or knew that he had fall'n as well upon the games themselves, as upon HOMER for celebrating them, and cou'd not resist his natural disposition to give mankind offence. Every one was now intently fasten'd upon him, while he undertook to prove, that those games signify'd nothing to the taking of Troy, and therefore only furnish'd an impertinent Episode: that the fall of the lesser Ajax in cow-dung, the squabble of the chariot-race, and other accidents which attend such sports, are mean or trifling: and a world of other remarks, for which he still affirm'd HOMER to be a fool, and which they that heard him took for study'd invectives against those exercises they were then employ'd in. Men who frequent sports, as they are of a chearful dispostion, so are they lovers of poetry: this, together with the opinion they were affronted, wrought them up to impatience and further licences: there was particularly a young Athenian gentleman, who was to run three chariots in those games, who being an admirer of HOMER, could no longer contain himself, but cry'd out, ‘What in the name of CASTOR have we here, ZOILUS from Thrace?’ and as he said it, struck him with a chariot-whip. Immediately then a hundred whips were seen curling round his head; so that his face, naturally deform'd, and heighten'd by pain to its utmost Caricatura, appear'd in the midst of them, as we may fancy the visage of Envy, if at any time her snakes rise in rebellion to lash their mistress. Nor was this all the punishment they decreed him, when once they imagin'd he was ZOILUS: the Scyronian rocks were near 'em, and thither they hurried him with a general cry, to that speedy justice which is practis'd at places of diversion.

It is here, that, according to SUIDAS, the critic expir'd. But we following the more numerous testimonies of other authors, conclude he escap'd either by the lowness of those rocks whence he was thrust, or by bushes which might break his fall; and soon after following the courses of his first intention, he set sail for Egypt.

Egypt was at this time govern'd by Ptolemy Philadelphus, a prince passionately fond of learning, and learned men; particularly an admirer of HOMER, to adoration. He had built the finest library in the world, and made the choicest, as well as most numerous collection of books. No encouragements were wanting from him to allure men of the brightest genius to his court, and no time thought too much which he spent in their company. From hence it is that we hear of ERATOSTHENES and ARISTOPHANES, those universal scholars, and candid judges of other mens performances: CALLIMACHUS, a poet of the most easy, courteous delicacy, famous for a poem on the cutting of Berenice's hair, and whom OVID so much admired as to say, ‘It was reason enough for him to love a woman, if she would but tell him he exceeded CALLIMACHUS;’ THEOCRITUS, the most famous in the pastoral way of writing; and among the young men, ARISTARCHUS and APOLLONIUS RHODIUS, the one of whom prov'd a most judicious critic, the other a poet of no mean character.

These and many more fill'd the court of that munificent prince, whose liberal dispensations of wealth and favour became encouragements to every one to exert their parts to the utmost; like streams which flow through different sorts of soils, and improve each in that for which it was adapted by nature.

Such was the court when ZOILUS arriv'd; but before he enter'd Alexandria, he spent a night in the temple of Isis, to enquire of the success of his undertaking; not that he doubted the worth of his works, but his late misfortune had instructed him, that others might be ignorant of it. Having therefore perform'd the accustom'd sacrifice, and compos'd himself to rest upon the hide, he had a vision which foretold of his future fame.

He found himself sitting under the shade of a dark yew, which was cover'd with hellebore and hemlock, and near the mouth of a cave, where sat a monster, pale, wasted, surrounded with snakes, fost'ring a cockatrice in her bosom; and cursing the sun, for making the work of the deities appear in its beauty. The sight of this bred fear in him; when she subddenly turning her sunk eyes, put on a hideous kind of a loving grin, in which he discover'd a resemblance to some of his own features. Then turning up her snakes, and interlacing them in the form of a turbant, to give him less disgust, thus she address'd herself: ‘Go on, my son, in whom I am renew'd, and prosper in thy brave undertakings on mankind: assert their wit to be dulness; prove their sense to be folly; know truth only when it is on thy own side; and acknowledge learning at no other time to be useful. Spare not an author of any rank or size; let not thy tongue or pen know pity; make the living feel thy accusations; make the ghosts of the dead groan in their tombs for their violated fame. But why do I spend time in needless advice, which may be better used in encouragement? Let thy eyes delight themselves with the future recompence which I have reserv'd for thy merit.’ Thus spoke the monster, and shriek'd the name of ZOILUS: the shades, who were to bear the same name after him, became obedient; and the mouth of the cave was fill'd with strange supercilious countenances, which all crowded to make their appearance. These began to march before him with an imitation of his mien and manners: some crowned with wild sorrel, others having leaves of dead bays mingled amongst it; whilst the monster still describ'd them as he pass'd, and touch'd each with a livid track of malignant light, that shot from her eye, to point where she meant the description. ‘They (says she) in the chaplets of wild sorrel, are my writers of prose, who erect scandal into criticism: they who wear the wither'd bay with it, are such who write poems, which are professedly to answer all rules, and be left for patterns to men of genius. These that follow shall attack others, because they are excell'd by them. The next rank shall make an author's being read, a sufficient ground of opposition. Here march my grammarians, skill'd to torture words; there my sons of sophistry, ever ready to wrest a meaning. Observe how faint the foremost of the procession appear; and how they are now lost in yonder mists, which roll about the cave of oblivion! this shews, it is not for themselves that they are to be known; the world will consider them only as managing a part of thy endowments, and so know them by thy name while they live, that their own shall be lost for ever. But see how my cave still swarms! how every age produces men, upon whom the preservation of thy memory devolves. My darling, the fates have decreed it! thou art ZOILUS, and ZOILUS shall be eternal. Come, my serpents, applaud him with your hisses, that is all which now can be done; in modern times, my sons shall invent louder instruments, and artificial imitations; noises which drown the voice of merit, shall furnish a concert to delight them.’ Here she arose to clasp him in her arms, a strange noise was heard, the critic started at it, and his vision forsook him.

It was with some confusion, that he lay musing a while upon what he had seen; but reflecting, that the Goddess had given him no answer concerning his success in Egypt, he strengthen'd his heart in his ancient self-love and enmity to others, and took all for an idle dream born of the fumes of indigestion, or produc'd by the dizzy motion of his voyage. In this opinion, he told it at his departure to the priest, who admiring the extraordinary relation, registred it in hieroglyphics at Canopus.

The day when he came to Alexandria was one on which the king had appointed games to APOLLO and the MUSES, and honours and rewards for such writers as shou'd appear in them. This he took for a happy omen at his entrance, and, not to lose an opportunity of shewing himself, repair'd immediately to the public theatre; where, as if every thing was to favour him, the very first accident gave his spleen a diversion, which we find at large in the proem of the seventh book of VITRUVIUS. It happen'd that when the poets had recited, six of the judges decreed the prizes with a full approbation of all the audience. From this, Aristophanes alone dissented, and demanded the first prize for a person whose bashful and interrupted manner of speaking made him appear the most disgustful: for he (says the judge) is alone a poet, and all the rest reciters; and they who are judges, shou'd not approve thefts, but writings. To maintain his assertion, those volumes were produc'd from whence they had been stoll'n: upon which, the king order'd them to be formally try'd for theft, and dismiss'd with infamy; but placed Aristophanes over his library, as one, who had given a proof of his knowledge in books. This passage ZOILUS often afterwards repeated with pleasure, for the number of disgraces which happen'd in it to the pretenders in poetry; tho' his envy made him still careful not to name Aristophanes, but a judge in general.

However, criticism had only a short triumph over poetry, when he made the next turn his own, by stepping forward into the place of reciting. Here he immediately rais'd the curiosity, and drew the attention of both king and people: but, as it happen'd, neither the one nor the other lasted; for the first sentence where he had registred his own name, satisfied their curiosity; and the next, where he offer'd to prove to a court so devoted to HOMER, that he was ridiculous in every thing; went near to finish his audience. He was nevertheless heard quietly for some time, till the king seeing no end of his abusing the prince of philological learning, (as Vitruvius words it) departed in disdain. The judges follow'd, deriding his attempt as an extravagance which cou'd not demand their gravity; and the people taking a licence from the precedent, hooted him away with obloquy and indignation. Thus ZOILUS fail'd at his first appearance, and was forc'd to retire, stung with a most impatient sense of public contempt.

Yet notwithstanding all this, he did not omit his attendance at court on the day following, with a petition that he might be put upon the establishment of learning, and allow'd a pension. This the king read, but return'd no answer: so great was the scorn he conceiv'd against him. But ZOILUS still undauntedly renew'd his petitions, 'till PTOLEMY, being weary of his persecution, gave him a flat denial. HOMER, (says the prince) who has been dead these thousand years, has maintain'd thousands of people; and ZOILUS, who boasts he has more wit than he, ought not only to maintain himself, but many others also.

His petitions being thrown carelesly about, were fall'n into the hands of men of wit, whom, according to his custom, he had provok'd, and whom it is unsafe to provoke if you wou'd live unexpos'd. I can compare them to nothing more properly, than to the Bee, a creature wing'd and lively, fond to rove through the choicest flowers of nature, and blest at home among the sweets of its own composition: not ill-natur'd, yet quick to revenge an injury; not wearing its sting out of the sheath; yet able to wound more sorely than its appearance would threaten. Now these being made personal enemies by his malicious expressions, the court rung with petitions of ZOILUS transvers'd; new petitions drawn up for him; catalogues of his merits, suppos'd to be collected by himself; his complaints of man's injustice set to a harp out of tune, and a hundred other sports of fancy, with which their epigrams play'd upon him. These were the ways of writing which ZOILUS hated, because they were not only read, but retain'd easily, by reason of their spirit, humour, and brevity; and because they not only make the man a jest upon whom they are written, but a farther jest, if he attempt to answer them gravely. However, he did what he cou'd in revenge, he endeavour'd to set those whom he envy'd at variance among themselves, and invented lyes to promote his design. He told Eratosthenes, that Callimachus said, his extent of learning consisted but in a superficial knowledge of the sciences; and whisper'd Callimachus, that Eratosthenes only allow'd him to have an artful habitual knack of versifying. He would have made Aristophanes believe, that Theocritus rally'd his knowledge in editions, as a curious kind of trifling; and Theocritus, that Aristophanes derided the rustical simplicity of his shepherds. Tho' of all his stories, that which be most valu'd himself for, was his constant report, that every one whom he hated was a friend to ANTIOCHUS king of Syria, the enemy of PTOLEMY.

But malice is unsuccessful when the character of its agent is known: they grew more friends to one another, by imagining, that even what had been said, as well as what had not, was all of ZOILUS'S invention; and as he grew more and more the common jest, their derision of him became a kind of life and cement to their conversation.

Contempt, poverty, and other misfortunes had now so assaulted him, that even they who abhorr'd his temper, contributed something to his support, in common humanity. Yet still his envy, like a vitiated stomach, converted every kindness to the nourishment of his disease; and 'twas the whole business of his life to revile HOMER, and those by whom he himself subsisted. In this humour he had days, which were so given up to impatient ill-nature, that he could neither write any thing, nor converse with anyone. These he sometimes employ'd in throwing stones at children; which was once so unhappily return'd upon him, that he was taken up for dead: and this occasion'd the report in some authors, of his being stoned to death in Egypt. Or, sometimes he convey'd himself into the library, where he blotted the name of HOMER wherever he could meet it, and tore the best editions of several volumes; for which the librarians debarr'd him the privilege of that place. These and other mischiefs made him universally shunn'd; nay, to such an extravagance was his character of envy carry'd, that the more superstitious Egyptians imagin'd they were fascinated by him, if the day were darker, or themselves a little heavier than ordinary; some wore sprigs of rue, by way of prevention; and others, rings made of the hoof of a wild ass for amulets, lest they should suffer, by his fixing an eye upon them.

It was now near the time, when that splendid temple which PTOLEMY built in honour of HOMER, was to be open'd with a solemn magnificence: for this the men of genius were employ'd in finding a proper pageant. At last, they agreed by one consent, to have ZOILUS, the utter enemy of HOMER, hang'd in effigy; and the day being come, it was on this manner they form'd the procession. Twelve beautiful boys, lightly habited in white, with purple wings representing the HOURS, went on the foremost: after these, came a chariot exceeding high and stately, where sat one representing APOLLO; with another at his feet, who in thig pomp sustain'd the person of HOMER: Apollo's laurel had little gilded points, like the appearance of rays between its leaves; HOMER's was bound with a blue sillet, like that which is worn by the priests of the Deity: Apollo was distinguish'd by the golden harp he bore; Homer, by a volume, richly beautify'd with horns of inlaid ivory, and tassels of silver depending from them. Behind these came three chariots, in which rode nine damsels, each of them with that instrument which is proper to each of the Muses; among whom, CALLIOPE, to give her the honour of the day, sate in the middle of the second chariot, known by her richer vestments. After these march'd a solemn train aptly habited, like those sciences which acknowledge their rise or improvement from this Poet. Then the men of learning who attended the court, with wreaths, and rods or scepters of laurel, as taking upon themselves the representation of Rhapsodists, to do honour, for the time, to HOMER. In the rear of all was slowly drawn along an odd carriage, rather than a chariot, which had its sides artfully turn'd, and carv'd so as to bear a resemblance to the heads of snarling mastiffs. In this was borne, as led in triumph, a tall image of deformity, whose head was bald, and wound about with nettles for a chaplet. The tongue lay lolling out, to shew a contempt of mankind, and was fork'd at the end, to confess its love to detraction. The hands were manacled behind, and the fingers arm'd with long nails, to cut deep through the margins of authors. Its vesture was of the paper of Nilus, bearing inscrib'd upon its breast in capital letters, ZOILUS THE HOMERO-MASTIX; and all the rest of it was scrawl'd with various monsters of that river, as emblems of those productions with which that critic us'd to fill his papers. When they had reach'd the temple, where the king and his court were already plac'd to behold them from its galleries, the image of ZOILUS was hung upon a gibbet, there erected for it, with such loud acclamations as witness'd the people's satisfaction. This being finish'd, the HOURS knock'd at the gates; which flew open, and discover'd the statue of HOMER magnificently seated, with the pictures of those cities which contended for his birth, rang'd in order around him. Then they who represented the Deities in the procession, laying aside their ensigns of divinity, usher'd in the men of learning with a sound of voices, and their various instruments, to assist at a sacrifice in honour of APOLLO and his favourite HOMER.

It may be easily believ'd, that ZOILUS concluded his affairs were at the utmost point of desperation in Egypt; wherefore, fill'd with pride, scorn, anger, vexation, envy, (and whatever cou'd torment him) except the knowledge of his unworthiness) he flung himself aboard the first ship which left that country. As it happen'd, the vessel he sail'd in was bound for Asia Minor, and this landing him at a port the nearest to Smyrna, he was à little pleas'd amidst his misery to think of decrying HOMER in another place where he was ador'd, and which chiefly pretended to his birth. So incorrigible was his disposition; that no experience taught him anything which might contribute to his ease and safety.

And as his experience wrought nothing on him, so neither did the accidents, which the opinion of those times took for ominous warnings: for, he is reported to have seen, the night he came to Smyrna, a venerable person, such as HOMER is described by antiquity, threatning him in a dream; and in the morning he found a part of his works gnaw'd by Mice, which, says Aelian, are of all beasts the most prophetic; insomuch. that they know when to leave a house, even before its fall is suspected. Envy, which has no relaxation, still hurry'd him forward; for it is certainly true that a man has not firmer resolution from reason, to stand by a good principle, than obstinacy from perverted nature, to adhere to a bad one.

In the morning as he walk'd the street, he observ'd in some plates inscriptions concerning HOMER, which inform'd him where he liv'd, where he had taught school, and several other particularities which the Smyrneans glory to have recorded of him; all which awaken'd and irritated the passions of ZOILUS. But hit temper was quite overthrown, by the venerable appearance which he saw, upon entring the Homereum: which is a building compos'd of a library, porch, and temple erected to HOMER. Here a phrenzy seited him which knew no bounds; he rav'd violently against the Poet, and all his admirers; he trampled on his works, he spurn'd about his commentators, he tore down his busts from the niches, threw the medals that were cast of him out of the windows, and passing from one place to another, beat the aged priests, and broke down the altar. The cries which were occasioned by this means brought in many upon him; who observ'd with horror how the most sacred honours of their city were prophan'd by the frantic impiety of a stranger; and immediately dragg'd him to punishment before their magistrates, who were then sitting. He was no sooner there, but known for ZOILUS by some in court, a name a long time most hateful to Smyrna; which, as it valu'd itself upon the birth of HOMER, so bore more impatiently than other places, the abuses offer'd him. This made them eager to propitiate his shade, and claim to themselves a second merit by the death of ZOILUS; wherefore they sentenc'd him to suller by fire, as the due reward of his desecrations; and order'd, that their city shou'd be purify'd by a lustration, for having entertain'd so impious a guest. In pursuance to this sentence, he was led away with his compositions born before him by the public executioner: then was he fasten'd to the stake, prophesying all the while how many shou'd arise to revenge his quarrel; particularly, that when Greek shou'd be no more a language, there shall be a Nation which will both translate HOMER into Prose, and contract him in Verse. At last, his compositions were lighted to set the pile on fire, and he expir'd sighing for the loss of them, more than for the pain he suffer'd: and perhaps too, because he might foresee in his prophetic rapture, that there shou'd arise a poet in another nation, able to do HOMER justice, and make him known amongst his people to future ages.

Thus dy'd this noted critic, of whom we may observe from the course of the history, that as several cities contended for the honour of the birth of HOMER, so several have contended for the honour of the death of ZOILUS. With him likewise perish'd his great work on the ILIAD, and the ODYSSE; concerning which we observe also, that as the known worth of HOMER'S poetry makes him survive himself with glory; so the bare memory of ZOILUS'S criticism makes him survive himself with infamy. These are deservedly the consequences of that Ill-nature which made him fond of detraction; that Envy, which made him choose so excellent a character for its object; and those partial Methods of Injustice, with which he treated the object he had chosen.

Yet how many commence critics after him, upon the same unhappy principles? How many labour to destroy the monuments of the dead, and summon up the great from their graves to answer for trifles before them? how many, by misrepresentations, both hinder the world from favouring men of genius, and discourage them in themselves; like boughs of a baneful and barren nature, that shoot a-cross a fruit-tree; at once to screen the sun from it, and hinder it by their droppings from producing any thing of value? but if these who thus follow ZOILUS, meet not the same severities of fate, because they come short of his indefatigableness, or their object is not so universally the concern of mankind; they shall nevertheless meet a proportion of it in the inward trouble they give themselves, and the outward contempt others fling upon them: a punishment which every one has hitherto felt, who has really deserv'd to be call'd a ZOILUS; and which will always be the natural reward of such mens actions, as long as ZOILUS is the proper name of Envy.

ZOILUS's REMARKS.

Ingenium magni livor detrectat amici,

Quisquis et ex illo, Zoile, nomen habes.

I MUST do my Reader the justice, before I enter upon these NOTES of ZOILUS, to inform him, that I have not in any author met this work ascrib'd to him by its title, which has made me not mention it in the LIFE. But thus much in general appears, that he wrote several things besides his censure on the ILIAD, which, as it gives ground for this opinion, encourages me to offer an account of the Treatise.

Being acquainted with a grave gentleman who searches after Editions, purchases Manuscripts, and collects Copies, I apply'd to him for some Editions of this Poem, which he readily oblig'd me with. But, added he, taking down a paper, I doubt I shall discourage you from your translation, when I show this work, which is written upon the original, by ZOILUS, the famous adversary of HOMER. ZOILUS! said I with surprize; I thought his works had long since perish'd. They have so, answer'd he, all, except this little Piece, which has a PREFACE annex'd to it accounting for its preservation. It seems, when he parted from Macedon, he left this behind him where he lodg'd, and where no one enter'd for a long time, in detestation of the odiousness of his character, 'till Maevius arriving there in his travels, and being desirous to lie in the same room, luckily found it, and brought it away with him. This the author of the PREFACE imagines the reason of Horace's wishing Maevius, in the 10th EPODE, such a shipwreck as HOMER describes; as it were with an eye to his having done something disadvantageous to that Poet. From Maevius, the piece came into the hand of Carbilius Pictor, (who, when he wrote against Virgil, call'd his book, with a respectful imitation of ZOILUS, the AENEIDOMASTIX) and from him into the hands of others who are unknown, because the world apply'd to them no other name than that of ZOILUS, in order to sink their own in oblivion. Thus it ever found some learned philologist or critic, to keep it secret from the rage of HOMER's admirers; yet not so secret, but that it has still been communicated among the LITERATI. I am of opinion, that our great SCALIGER borrow'd it, to work him up when he writ so sharply against Cardan; and perhaps Le Clerc too, when he prov'd Q. Curtius ignorant of every particular branch of learning.

This formal account made me give attention to what the book contain'd; and I must acknowledge, that whether it be his, or the work of some grammarian, it appears to be writ in his spirit. The open profession of enmity to great genius's, and the fear of nothing so much as that he may not be able to find faults enough, are such resemblances of his strongest features, that any one might take it for his own production. To give the world a notion of this, I have made a collection of some REMARKS, which most struck me, during that short time in which I was allow'd to peruse the Manuscript.

THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS UPON HOMER'S BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE.

Pag. 43. Ver, 1.

TO FILL MY RISING SONG.] ‘As Protagoras the sophist found fault with the beginning of the ILIAD, for its speaking to the Muse rather with an abrupt command, than a solemn invocation; so I, says ZOILUs, doon the other hand find fault with him for using any invocation at all before this poem, or any such trifles as he is the author of If he must use one, Protagoras is in the right; if not, I am: this I hold for true criticism, notwithstanding the opinion of Aristotle against us. Nor let any one lay a stress on Aristotle in this point; he alas ! knows nothing of Poetry but what he has read in HOMER; his rules are all extracted from him, or founded in him. In short, HOMER'S works are the examples of Aristotle's precepts; and Aristotle's precepts the methods HOMER wrought by.’ From hence it is to be concluded as the opinion of this Critic, that whoever wou'd entirely destroy the reputation of HOMER, must renounce the authority of Aristotle before-hand. The rules of building may be of service to us, if we design to judge of an edifice, and discover what may be amiss in it for the advantage of future artificers; but they are of no use to those who only intend to overthrow it utterly.

After the word [SONG,] in the first line the original adds, [WHAT I HAVE WRITTEN IN MY TABLETS.] These words, which are dropp'd in the translation as of no consequence, the great ZOILUS has thought fit to expunge; asserting for a reason, without backing it with farther proof, ‘That tablets were it not of fo early invention.’ Now, it must be granted, this manner of proving by affirmation is of an extraordinary nature; but however it has its end with a set of readers for whom it is adapted. One part of the world knows not with what assurance another part can express itself. They imagine a reasonable creature will not have the face to say any thing which has not some shadow of reason to support it; and run implicitly into the snare which is laid for good-nature, by these daring authors of definitive sentences upon bare assertion.

Pag. 43. Ver. 15. WHOM CATS PURSU'D.] The Greek word here expresly signifies a Cat: ZOILUS, whom Perizonius follows, affirms, ‘It was Weezels which the Mouse fled from;’ and then objects against its probability. But it is common with one sort of Critics, to shew an author means differently from what he really did; and then to prove, that the meaning which they find out for him is good for nothing.

Pag. 44. Ver. 7. IF WORTHY FRIENDSHIP.] In this proposal begins the moral of the whole piece, which is, that hasty, ill-founded, or unnatural friendships and leagues, will naturally end in war and discord. But ZOILUS, who is here mightily concern'd to take off from HOMER all the honour of having design'd a moral, asserts on the other hand, ‘That the Poet's whole intent was to make a Fable; that a Fable he has made, and one very idle and trifling; that many things are ascrib'd to HOMER, which poor HOMER never dream'd of; and he who finds them out, rather shews his own parts than discovers his author's beauties.’ In this opinion has he been follow'd by several of those Critics, who only dip into authors when they have occasion to write against them: and yet even these shall speak differently concerning the writers, if the question be of their own performances; for to their own works they write Prefaces, to display the grandness of the moral, regularity of the scheme, number and brightness of the figures, and a thousand other excellencies, which if they did not tell, no one wou'd ever imagine. For others, they write Remarks, which tend to contract their excellencies within the narrow compass of their partial apprehesion. It were well if they cou'd allow such to be as wise as themselves, whom the world allows to be much wiser; but their being naturally friends to themselves, and professedly adversaries to some greater genius, easily accounts for these different manners of speaking. I will not leave this note, without giving you an instance of its practice in the great JULIUS SCALIGER: he has been free enough with HOMER in the Remarks he makes upon him; but when he speaks of himself, I desire my reader wou'd take notice of his modesty; I give his own words, Lib. 3. Poet. Cap. 112. ‘In Deum Patrem Hymnum cum scriberemus, tanquam rerum omnium conditorem, ab orbis ipsius creatione ad nos nostraque usque duximus. —In quo abduximus animum nostrum a corporis carcere ad liberos campos contemplationis, quae me in illum transformaret. Tum autem sanctissimi Spiritus ineffabilis vigor ille canto ardore celebratus est, ut cum lenissimis numeris esset inchoatus Hymnus, repentino divini Ignis impetu conslagravit.’

Pag. 45. Ver. 7. THE CIRCLED LOAVES.] ‘ZOILUS here finds fault with the mention of loaves, tripes, bacon and cheese, as words below the dignity of the EPIC, as much (says he) as it wou'd be to have opprobrious names given in it.’ By which expression we easily see, he hints at the first book of the ILIAD. Now, we must consider in answer, that it is a Mouse which is spoken of, that eating is the most appearing chatacteristic of that creature, that these foods are such as please it most; and to have describ'd particular pleasures for it in any other way, wou'd have been as incongruous, as to have describ'd a haughty loud anger without those names which it throws out in its fierceness, and which raise it to its pitch of phrenzy. In the one instance you still see a Mouse before you, however the Poet raises it to a man; in the other, you shall see a man before you; however, the Poet raises him to a Demi-God. But some call that LOW, which others call NATURAL. Every thing has two handles, and the critic who sets himself to censure all he meets, is under an obligation still to lay hold on the worst of them.

Pag. 46. Ver. 1. BUT ME, NOR STALKS.] In this place ZOILUS ‘laughs at the ridiculousness of the Poet, who (according to his representation) makes a prince refuse an invitation in heroics, because he did not like the meat he was invited to.’ And, that the ridicule may appear in as strong a light to others as to himself, he puts as much of the speech as concerns it into burlesque airs, and expressions. This is indeed a common trick with Remarkers, which they either practise by precedent from their master ZOILUS, or are beholden for it to the same turn of temper. We acknowledge it a fine piece of satire, when there is folly in a passage, to lay it open in the way by which it naturally requires to be expos'd: do this handsomely, and the author is deservedly a jest 〈◊〉, on the contrary, you dress a passage which was not originally foolish, in the highest humour of ridicule, you only frame something which the author himself might laugh at, without being more nearly concerned than another render.

Pag. 47. Ver. 1. SO PASS'D EUROPA] This simile makes ZOILUS, who sets up for a profess'd enemy of Fables, to exclaim violently. ‘We had, says he, a Frog and a Mouse hitherto, and now we get a Bull and a Princess to illustrate their actions: when will there be an end of this Fabling-folly and Poetry, which I value myself for being unacquainted with? O great POLYCRATES, how happily hast thou observ?d in thy accusation against SOCRATES, That whatever he was before, he deserv'd his poison when he began to make verses!’ Now, if the question be concerning HOMER'S good or bad Poetry, this is an unqualifying speech, which affords his friends just grounds of exception against the Critic. Wherefore be it known to all present and future Cenfors, who haver, or shall presume to glory, in an ignorance of Poetry, and at the same time take upon them to judge of Poets, that they are in all their degrees for evere excluded the post they would usurp. In the first place, they who know neither the use, nor practice of the art; in the second, they who know, it but by halves, Who have hearts insensible of the beauties of Poetry, and are however able to find fault by rules; and thirdly, they who, when they are capable of perceiving beauties and pointing out defects, are still so ignorant in the nature of their business, as to imagine the province of Criticism extends itself only on the side of dispraise and reprehension. How cou'd any one at this rate be seen with his proper balance of perfection and error? or what were the best performances in this indulgence of ill-nature, but as apartments hung with the deformities of humanity, done by some great hand, which are the more to be abhorr'd, because the praise and honour they receive, results from the degree of uneasiness, to which they put every temper of common goodness?

Pag. 47. Ver. 28. YE MICE, YE MICE.] The ancients believ'd that heroes were turn'd into Demi-Gods at their death; and in general, that departing fouls have something of a sight into futurity. It is either this notion, or a care which the Gods may take to abate the pride of insulting adversaries, which a Poet goes upon, when he makes his leaders die foretelling the end of those by whom they are slain. ZOILUS however is against this passage. He says, ‘That every character ought to be strictly kept; that a general ought not to invade the character of a prophet, nor a prophet of a general.’ He is positive, ‘that nothing shou'd be done by any one, without having been hinted at in some previous account of him.’ And this he asserts, without any allowance made either for a change of states, or the design of the Gods. To confirm this observation, he strengthens it with a quotation out of his larger work on the ILIAD, where he has these words upon the death of HECTOR: ‘How foolish is it in HOMER to make HECTOR (who thro' the whole course of the ILIAD had made use of HELENUS, to learn the will of the Gods) becomes prophet just at his death? Let every one be what he ought, without falling into those parts which others are to sustain in a poem.’ This he has said, not distinguishing rightly between our natural dispostions and accidental offices. And this he has said again, not minding, that tho' it be taken from another book, it is still from the same author. However, vanity loves to gratify itself by the repetition of what it esteems, to be written with spirit, and even when we repeat it ourselves, provided another hears us. Hence has he been follow'd by a magisterial set of men who quote themselves, and swell their new perfomances with what they admire in their former Treatises. This is a most extraordinary knack of arguing, whereby a man can never want a proof, if he be allow'd to become an authority for his own opinion.

Pag. 48. Ver. 16. AND NO KIND BILLOW.] ‘How impertinent is this case of pity, says ZOILUS, to bemoan, that the prince was not toss'd towards land: It is enough he lost his life, and there is an end of his suffering where there is an end of his feeling. To carry the matter farther, is just the same foolish management as HOMER has shewn in his ILIADS, which he spins out into forty trifles beyond the death of HECTOR.’ But the Critic must allow me to put the renders in mind, that death was not the last distress the Ancients believ'd was to be met upon earth. The last was the remaining unbury'd, which had this misery annex'd, that while the body was without its funeral-rites in this world, the soul was suppos'd to be without rest in the next. which was the case of the Mouse before us. And accordingly the AJAX of SOPHOCLES continues after the death of its hero more than an act, upon the contest concerning his burial. All this ZOILUS knew very well: but ZOILUS is not the only one, who disputes for victory rather than truth. These foolish, to shew how much they can write against an author. They act unfairly, that they may be sure to be sharp enough; and trifle with the reader, in order to be voluminous. It is needless to wish them the return they deserve: their disregard to candour is no sooner discover'd, but they are for ever banish'd from the eyes of men of sense, and condemn'd to wander from stall to stall, for a temporary refuge from that oblivion which they can't escape.

Pag. 49. Ver. 1. OUR ELDEST PERISH'D.] ZOILUS had here taken ‘the recapitulation of those misfortunes which happen'd to the Royal Family, as an impertinence that expatiates from the subject;’ tho' indeed there seems nothing more proper to raise that sort of compassion, which was to inslame his audience to war. But what appears extremely pleasant is, that at the same time he condemns the passage, he shou'd make use of it as an opportunity, to fall into ‘an ample digression on the various kinds of Mousetraps,’ and display that minute learning which every Critic of his sort is fond to shew himself master of. This they imagine is tracing of knowledge thro' its hidden veins, and bringing discoveries to daylight, which time had cover'd over. Indefatigable and useless mortals! who value themselves for knowledge of no consequence, and think of gaining applause by what the reader is careful to pass over unread. What did the disquisition signify formerly, whether Ulysses's Son, or his Dog, was the elder? or how can the account of a Vesture, or a Player's Masque, deserve that any shou'd write the bulk of a treatise, or others read it when it is written? A vanity, thus poorly supported, which neither affords pleasure nor profit, is the unsubstantial amusement of a dream to ourselves, and a provoking occasion of our derision to others.

Pag. 49. Ver. 15, 16. QUILLS APTLY BOUND—FAC'D WITH THE PLUNDER OF A CAT THEY FLAY'D.] This passage is something difficult in the original, which gave ZOILUS the opportunity of inventing an expression, which his followers conceitedly use when any thing appears dark to them. ‘This, say they, let Phoebus explain;’ as if what exceeds their capacity must of necessity demand oracular interpretations, and an interposal of the God of Wit and Learning. The basis of such arrogance is the opinion they have of that knowledge they ascribe to themselves. They take Criticism to be beyond every other part of learning, because it gives judgment upon books written in every other part. They think in consequence, that every Critic must be a greater Genius than any Author whom he censures; and therefore if they esteem themselves Critics, they set enthron'd Infancy at the head of Literature. Criticism indeed deserves a noble Elogy, when it is enlarg'd by such a comprehensive learning as Aristotle and Cicero were masters of; when it adorns its precepts with the consummate exactness of Quintilian, or is exalted into the sublime sentiments of Longinus. But let not such men tell us they participate in the glory of these great men, and place themselves next to PHOEBUS, who, like ZOILUS, entangle an author in the wrangles of grammarians, or try him with a positive air and barren imagination, by the set of rules they have collected out of others.

Pag. 50. Ver. 1. YE FROGS! THE MICE.] At this speech of the Herald's, which recites the cause of the war, ZOILUS is angry with the Author, ‘for not finding out a cause entirely just; for, says he, it appears not from his own Fable, that Physignathus invited the prince with any malicious intention to make him away.’ To this we answer, 1st, That it is not necessary in relating facts to make every war have a just beginning. 2dly, This doubtful cause agrees better with the moral, by shewing that ill-founded leagues have accidents to destroy them, even without the intention of parties. 3dly, There was all appearance imaginable against the frogs; and if we may be allow'd to retort on our adversary the practice of his posterity, there is more humanity in an hostility proclaim'd upon the appearance of injustice done us, than in their custom of attacking the works of others as soon as they come out, purely because they are esteem'd to be good. Their performances, which cou'd derive no merit from their own names, are then sold upon the merit of their antagonist: and if they are so sensible of fame, or even of envy, they have the mortification to remember, how much by this means they become indebted to those they injure.

Pag. 50. Ver. 21. WHERE HIGH THE BANKS.] This project is not put in practice during the following battle, by reason of the fury of the combatants: yet the mention of it is not impertinent in this place, forasmuch as the probable face of success which it carties with it tended to animate the Frogs. ZOILUS however cannot be so satisfied; ‘It were better, says he, to cut it intirely out; nor won'd HOMER be the worse if half of him were serv'd in the same manner; so, continues he, they will find it, whoever in any country, shall hereafter undertake so odd a task, as that of translating him.’ Thus Envy finds words to put in the mouth of Ignorance; and the time will come, when Ignorance shall repeat what Envy has pronounced so rashly.

Pag. 51. Ver. 13. AND TAP'RING SEA-REEDS.] If we here take the reed for that of our own growth, it is no spear to match the long sort of needles with which the Mice had arm'd themselves; but the cane, which is rather intended, has its splinters stiff and sharp, to answer all the uses of a spear in battle. Nor is it here to be lightly past over, since ZOILUS moves a question upon it, that the Poet cou'd not choose a more proper weapon for the Frogs, than that which they choose for themselves in a defensive war they maintain with the serpents of Nile. ‘They have this stratagem, says Aelian, to protect themselves; they swim with pieces of cane across their mouths, of too great a length for the breadth of the serpents throats; by which means they are preserv'd from being swallow'd by them.’ This is a quotation so much to the point, that I ought to have usher'd in my Author with more pomp to dazzle the reader. ZOILUS and his followers, who seldom praise any man, are however careful to do it for their own sakes, if at any time they get an author of their opinion: tho' indeed it must be allow'd, they still have a draw-back in their manner of praise, and rather choose to drop the name of their man, or darkly hint him in a periphrasis, than to have it appear that they have directly assisted the perpetuating of any one's memory. Thus, if a Dutch Critic were to introduce for example MARTIAL, he would, instead of naming him, say, INGENIOSUS ILLE EPIGRAMMATICUS BILBILICUS. Or, if one of our own were to quote from among ourselves, he wou'd tell us how it has been remark'd ‘in the works of a learned Writer, to whom the world is obliged for many excellent productions,’ etc. All which proceeding is like boasting of our great friends, when it is to do ourselves an honour, or the shift of dressing up one who might otherwise be disregarded, to make him pass upon the world for a responsible voucher to our own assertions.

Pag. 51. Ver. 17. BUT NOW WHERE JOVE'S.] At this fine Episode, in which the Gods are introduced, ZOILUS has no patience left him to remark; but runs some lines with a long string of such expressions, as "Trifler, Fabler, Lyar, foolish, impious," all which he lavishly heaps upon the Poet. From this knack of calling names, join'd with the several arts of finding fault, it is to be suspected, that our ZOILUS'S might make very able libellers, and dangerous men to the government, if they did not rather turn themselves to be ridiculous censors: for which reason I cannot but reckon the state oblig'd to men of wit; and under a kind of debt in gratitude, when they take off so much spleen, turbulency, and ill-nature, as might otherwise spend itself to the detriment of the public.

Pag. 52. Ver. 5. IF MY DAUGHTER'S MIND.] This speech, which Jupiter speaks to Pallas with a pleasant kind of air, ZOILUS takes gravely to pieces; and affirms, ‘It is below Jupiter's wisdom, and only agreeable with HOMER'S folly, that he shou'd borrow a reason for her assisting the Mice from their attendance in the temple, when they waited to prey upon those things which were sacred to her.’ But the air of the speech rendering a grave answer unnecessary; I shall only offer ZOILUS an observation in return for his. There are upon the stone which is carv'd for the apotheosis of HOMER, figures of Mice by his footstool, which, according to Cuperus, its interpreter, some have taken to signify this Poem; and others those Critics, who tear or vilify the works of great men. Now if such can be compar'd to Mice, let the words of ZOILUS be brought home to himself and his followers for their mortification. ‘That no one ought to think of meriting in the state of learning only by debasing the best performances, and as it were preying upon those things which shou'd be sacred in it.’

Pag. 52. Ver. 13. IN VAIN MY FATHER.] The speech of Pallas is dislik'd by ZOILUS, ‘because it makes the Goddess carry a resentment against such inconsiderable creatures;’ tho' he ought to esteem them otherwise when they represent the persons and actions of men, and teach us how the Gods, disregard those in their adversities who provoke them in prosperity. But, if we consider Pallas as the patroness of learning, we may by an allegorical application of the Mice and Frogs, find in this speech two sorts of enemies to learning; they who are maliciously mischievous, as the Mice; and they who are turbulent through ostentation, as the Frogs. The first are enemies to excellency upon principle; the second accidentally by the error of self-love, which does not quarrel with the excellence itself, but only with those people who get more praise than themselves by it. Thus, tho' they have not the same perverseness with the others, they are however drawn into the same practices, while they ruin reputations, lest they shou'd not seem to be learn'd; as some women turn prostitutes, lest they shou'd not be thought handsome enough to have admirers.

Pag. 54. Ver. 5. THEIR DREADFUL TRUMPETS.] Upon the reading of this, ZOILUS becomes full of discoveries. He recollects, ‘that Homer makes his Greeks come to battle with silence, and his Trojans with shouts;’ from whence he discovers, ‘that he knew nothing of trumpets.’ Again, he sees, ‘that the hornet is made a trumpeter to the battle;’ and hence he discovers, ‘that the line must not be HOMER'S.’ Now had he drawn his consequences fairly, he cou'd only have found by the one, that trumpets were not in use at the taking of Troy; and by the other, that the battle of Frogs and Mice was laid by the Poet for a later scene of action than that of the ILIAD. But the boast of discoveries accompanies the affectation of knowledge; and the affectation of knowledge is taken up with a design to gain a command over the opinions of others. It is too heavy a task for some Critics to sway our rational judgments by rational inferences; a pompous pretence must occasion admiration, the eyes of mankind must be obscur'd by a glare of pedantry, that they may consent to be led blindfold, and permit that an opinion shou'd be dictated to them without demanding that they may be reason'd into it.

Pag. 54. Ver. 24. BIG SEUTLAEUS TUMBLING.] ZOILUS has happen'd to brush the dust of some old manuscript, in which the line that kills SEUTLAEUS is wanting. And for this cause he fixes a general conclusion, ‘that there is no dependance upon any thing which is handed down for HOMER'S, so as to allow it praise; since the different copies vary amongst themselves.’ But is it fair in ZOILUS, or any of his followers, to oppose one copy to a thousand? and are they impartial who wou'd pass this upon us for an honest balance of evidence? When there is such an inequality on each side, is it not more than probable that the number carry the author's sense in them, and the single one its transcriber's errors? It is folly or madness of passion to be thus given over to partiality and prejudices. Men may flourish as much as they please concerning the value of a new-found edition, in order to byass the world to particular parts of it; but in a matter easily decided by common sense, it will still continue of its own opinion.

Pag. 56. Ver. 17. WITH BORBOCAETES FIGHTS] Through the grammatical part of ZOILUS'S work he frequently rails at HOMER for his dialects. "These," says he in one place, ‘the Poet made use of because he could not write pure Greek;’ and in another, ‘they strangely contributed to his fame, by making several cities who observ'd something of their own in his mix'd language, contend for his being one of their natives.’ Now since I have here practis'd a licence in imitation of his, by shortning the word BORBOCAETES a whole syllable, it seems a good opportunity to speak for him where I defend myself. Remember then, that any great genius, who introduces Poetry into a language, has a power to polish it, and of all the manners of speaking then in use, to settle that for Poetical which he judges most adapted to the art. Take notice too, that HOMER has not only done this for necessity, but for ornament, since he uses various dialects to humour his sense with sounds which are expressive of it. Thus much in behalf of my Author to answer ZOILUS: as for myself, who deal with his followers, I must argue from necessity, that the word was stubborn and wou'd not ply to the quantities of an English Verse, and therefore I alter'd it by the Dialect we call Poetical, which makes my line so much smoother, that I am ready to cry with their brother LIPSIUS, when he turn'd an O into an I, ‘Vel ego me amo, vel me amavit Phoebus quando hoc correxi.’ To this let me add a recrimination upon some of them: As 1st, such as choose words written after the manner of those who preceded the purest age of a language, without the necessity I have pleaded, as ‘regundi for regendi, perduit for perdidit,’ which restoration of obsolete words deserves to be call'd a Critical Licence or Dialect. 2dly, Those who pretending to verse without an ear, use the Poetical Dialect of Abbreviation, so that the lines shall run the rougher for it. And 3dly, those who presume by their Critical Licences to alter the spellings of words; an affectation which destroys the etymology of a language, and being carry'd on by private hands for fancy or fashion, wou'd be a thing we shou'd never have an end.

Pag. 59. Ver. 13. NOR PALLAS, JOVE!] ‘I cannot, says ZOILUS, reflect upon this speech of Mars, is where a Mouse is oppos'd to the God of War, the Goddess of Valour, the thunder of Jupiter, and all the Gods at once, but I rejoice to think that PYTHAGORAS saw HOMER'S soul in hell, hanging on a tree, and surrounded with serpents, for what he said of the Gods.’ Thus he who hates Fables answers one with another, and can rejoice in them when they flatter his envy. He appears at the head of his squadron of Critics, in the full spirit of one utterly devoted to a party; with whom truth is a lye, or as bad as a lye, when it makes against him; and false quotations, pass for truth, or as good as truth, when they are necessary to a cause.

Pag. 61. Ver. 11. AND A WHOLE WAR.] ‘Here, says ZOILUS, is an end of a very foolish Poem, of which by this time I have effectually convinc'd the world, and silenc'd all such for the future, who, like HOMER, write Fables to which others find Morals, characters whose justness is question'd, unnecessary digressions, and impious episodes.’ But what assurance can such a ZOILUS have, that the world will ever be convinc'd against an establish'd reputation, by such people whose faults in writing are so very notorious? who judge against rules, affirm without reasons, and censure without manners? who quote themselves for a support of their opinions, found their pride upon a learning in trifles, and their superiority upon the claims they magisterially make? who write of beauties in a harsh style, judge of excellency with a lowness of spirit, and pursue their desire to decry it with every artifice of envy? There is no disgrace in being censur'd, where there is no credit to be favour'd. But, on the contrary, Envy gives a testimony of some perfection in another; and one who is attack'd by many, is like a hero whom his enemies acknowledge for such, when they point all the spears of a battle against him. In short, an author who writes for every age, may even erect himself a monument of those stones which Envy throws at him: while the Critic who writes against him can have no fame because he had no success; or if he fancies he may succeed, he shou'd remember, that by the nature of his undertaking he wou'd but undermine his own foundation; for he is to sink of course, when the book which he writes against, and for which alone he is read, is lost in disrepute or oblivion.

THE END OF MR. PARNELL'S WORKS, AS PUBLISHED BY MR. POPE.

Notes

1
N. B. This Vision is to be understood of a Library of Books.
↵

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following VARIATIONS are taken from a MS. communicated by a Gentleman of Taste in Ireland; and are published as a Specimen of Mr. POPE'S Alterations of the Verses of his Friend, such as he has himself given of his own Verses, in the latest Editions of his Works.

ALTERATIONS IN HESIOD.

- P. [POPE'S EDITION.

- M. [MANUSCRIPT.

Pag. 2. Ver. 26.

P. Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red.

M. Where lovely whiteness glow'd with mingling red.

Pag. 4. After Ver. 14. the MS. reads thus:

Whatever shining gemms the Nymphs by land,

What orient pearl the Nymphs by sea command.

—After Ver. 20. reads thus:

Fine links in golden chains for bracelets hung,

Gay buckles sparkling round about the tongue,

And brazen pins, a num'rous aid on earth,

From whence new turns of fashion find a birth;

But chief the mirrour—

Pag. 5. After Ver. 2. the MS. reads thus:

On which dissembl'd Nature seem'd to yield

Her painted gardens in a silken field,)

—Ver. 24.

P. Women have time to sacrifice to pride.

M. Not born to labour Women live to pride.

In the manuscript, at the end of every six lines thro' the whole Song of the Fates, the two first lines of it come in as a burthen.

Pag. 7. After Ver. 10. the MS. reads thus:

For Women pain'd to conquer when they yield,

But keep from empire while they keep the field:

—Ver. 16.

P. The fatal gift, her tempting self unknown!

M. The faithless gift, her faithless self unknown!

—After Ver. 22. reads thus:

What rocks, what shelves within her bosom hide,

Ah! where the wrecks are frequent leave to ride.

Pag. 8. Ver. 13.

P. The days of whining, and of wild intrigues,

M. The days of whining court, the wild intrigues,

—After Ver. 18. reads thus:

Expence on fashions tho' the wealth decay,

Tho' still we see the danger, fret, and pay;

The curse of jealousy; the curse of strife;

—After Ver. 2•. reads thus:

As men who sailing touch on Libyan land,

See brinded Panthers scour the desart sand,

Fierce Wolves and Tigers wand'ring swains engage,

And scaly Dragons fill the realm with rage;

If still the distant breaks are heard to roar,

Much what they view they dread, and fear for more.

Pag. 10. Ver. 8.

P. And thus inscribes the moral on the sand.

M. And thus the point reversing graves the sand.

SONG.

Pag. 12. The MS. reads thus:

THYRSIS, a young and am'rous swain,

Saw two, the beauties of the plain,

And both their charms prepar'd a chain,

And both his heart subdue;

Gay Caelia's eyes appear'd so fair,

They dazzl'd, while she pull'd the snare;

Sabina's easy shape and air

With softer magic drew.

He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove,

Where-e'er the friendly rivals rove,

Lives in a fond romance of love,

And seems for each to dye;

'Till each a little spiteful grown,

They make their faults to Thyrsis known,

Sabina Caelia's shape run down,

And she Sabina's eye.

Their envy made the shepherd find

Those eyes which love cou'd only blind,

Thus both the chains of both unbind,

And set the lover free:

No more he haunts the grove or stream,

The flow'ry walk of either dame,

Or with a true-love knot and name,

Engraves a wounded tree, &c.

IN THE BOOK-WORM.

Pag. 78. After Ver. 28. the MS. reads thus:

The monster issues from the wood

That boasts the gallant Nisus' blood;

From leaf, &c.

—After Ver. 24. reads thus:

Around my temples laurel bind,

But leave that azure silk behind,

I'll have my fillet flame with red,

To suit a sacrificer's head.

Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near,

To pile a sacred altar here;

Now Spencer, Milton, Dryden lift,

Row, Steel, Pope, Addison and Swift,

Hold boy, thy hand out-runs thy wit,

You reach'd the plays that Dennis writ:

You reach'd me Phillip's, &c.

Pag. 79. After Ver. 28. the MS. reads thus:

Come bind the victim, but forbear

To turn his throat to upper air,

That posture suits the Gods above,

This earth the Muses often love,

And now I think they are not gone,

They live with Pope and Addison.

So—as I would the savage lies, &c.

Pag. 80. After Ver. 6. the MS. reads thus:

It foams with wine, upon the beast

I pour a drop, and drink the rest, &c.

—After Ver. 10. reads thus:

Here's fame to Pope, and wealth to Steel,

And all to Addison he will,

May Garth have practice, Congreve sight,

May Row get many a full third night;

Be gentle Gay's and Tickel's lot

At least as good as Budgell got;

But if their riches, &c.

—After Ver. 14, reads thus:

Devoted wretch! thy mischief past

Has made this point of time thy last,

—After Ver. 16. reads thus:

Beneath the native mail I run,

He bleeds, he bleeds, the work is done;

—After Ver. 18. reads thus:

M. Go reach thy sounding harp my boy,

And Io Paean! sing for joy.

How like, &c.

IN THE NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH.

Pag. 90. Ver. 11, 12.

P. Time was, like thee they life possest,

And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.

M. Time was, like thee they life possest,

And thou like them shalt sink to rest.

Pag. 92. After Ver. 6. the MS. reads thus:

Nor count we death a cause to grieve,

But dying when to vice we live.

—Ver. 13.

P. On earth, and in the body plac'd,

A few, and evil years they waste.

M. Confin'd to flesh, and plac'd beneath,

A few, and evil years they breathe.

IN THE HERMIT.

Pag. 96. Ver. 5.

M. His goods a glass to measure human breath,

The books of wisdom, and the spade of death.

Pag. 98. Ver. 17, 18.

P. Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep,

And shake the neighb'ring wood to banish sleep.

M. With fresh'ning airs o'er gay parterres they creep,

And shake the rustling groves to banish sleep.

Pag. 101. Ver. 1.

P. Now night's dim shades again involve the sky.

M. When dusky twilight bid the night prepare,

To light with radiant drops the dark'ning air;

Pag. 102. Ver. 1.

Instead of HELL'S BLACK JAWS, the MS. has HELL'S DEEP JAWS.

—Ver. 25, 26.

P. The form etherial bursts upon the sight,

And moves in all the majesty of light.

M. So when the sun his dazzling splendour shrowds,

Yet just begins to break the veiling clouds;

A bright effulgence at the first is seen,

But shorn of beams, and with a mist between,

Soon the full glory bursts upon the sight,

And moves in all the majesty of light.

Pag. 103. Ver 3.

M. So loud thro' rocks the tumbling waters stray,

Then glide beneath the fall unheard away.

—Ver. 13, 14, 15.

P. The Maker justly claims that world he made.

In this the right of Providence is laid;

Its sacred Majesty, &c.

M. Eternal God the world's foundations laid,

He made what is, and governs what he made,

His sacred Majesty, &c.

THE FOLLOWING POEMS ARE PUBLISHED FROM THE MANUSCRIPT FROM WHICH THE FOREGOING VARIATIONS WERE TAKEN.

BACCHUS: OR, THE VINES OF LESBOS.

AS Bacchus ranging at his leisure,

(lo Bacchus! king of pleasure)

Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances,

And all his thousand airy fancies;

Alas! he quite forgot the while

His fav'rite vines in Lesbos isle.

The God returning ere they died,

Ah! see my jolly Fawns, he cried,

The leaves but hardly born are red,

And the bare arms for pity spread;

The beasts afford a rich manure,

Fly, my boys, and bring the lure,

Up the mountains, down the vales;

Thro' the woods, and o'er the dales;

For this, if full the clusters grow,

Your bowls shall doubly overflow.

So chear'd, with more officious haste

They bring the dung of ev'ry beast,

The loads they wheel, the roots they bare,

They lay the rich manure with care,

While oft he calls to labour hard,

And names as oft the red reward.

The plants revive, new leaves appear,

The thick'ning clusters load the year;

The season swiftly purple grew,

The grapes hung dangling deep with blue.

A vineyard ripe a day serene

Now calls them all to work again;

The Fawns thro' ev'ry furrow shoot

To load their flaskets with the fruit;

And now the vintage early trod,

The wines invite the jovial God.

Strow the roses, raise the song,

See the master comes along!

Lusty Revel join'd with Laughter,

Whim and Frolic follow after.

The Fawns beside the vatts remain

To shew the work, and reap the gain.

All around, and all around

They sit to riot on the ground,

A vessel stands amidst the ring,

And here they laugh, and there they sing;

Or rise a jolly jolly band,

And dance about it hand in hand;

Dance about, and shout amain,

Then sit to laugh and sing again.

But, as an antient author sung,

The vine manur'd with ev'ry dung,

From ev'ry creature strangely drew,

A tang of brutal nature too;

'Twas hence in drinking on the lawns

New turns of humour seiz'd the Fawns.

Here one was crying out, by Jove!

Another, fight me in the grove;

This wounds a friend, and that the trees;

The Lion's temper reign'd in these.

Another grins and leaps about,

And keeps a merry world of rout,

And talks impertinently free;

And twenty talk the same as he:

Chatt'ring, airy, idle, kind:

These take the Monkey-turn of mind.

Here one who saw the nymphs that stood

To peep upon them from the wood,

Steals off, to try if any maid

Be lagging late beneath the shade;

While loose discourse another raises

In naked Nature's plainest phrases;

And ev'ry glass he drinks enjoys

With change of nonsense, lust and noise;

Mad and careless, hot and vain,

Such as these the Goat retain.

Another drinks and casts it up,

And drinks and wants another cup,

Solemn, silent, and sedate,

Ever long and ever late,

Full of meats and full of wine;

This takes his temper from the swine.

Here some who hardly seem to breathe,

Drink and hang the jaw beneath,

Gaping, tender, apt to weep;

Their natures alter'd by the sheep.

'Twas thus one autumn all the crew

(If what the Poets sing be true)

While Bacchus made the merry feast

Inclin'd to one or other beast;

And since 'tis said for many a mile

He spread the vines of Lesbos isle.

ELYSIUM.

IN airy fields, the fields of bliss below,

Where woods of myrtle set by Maro grow;

Where grass beneath, and shade diffus'd above,

Refresh the fever of distracted love:

There at a solemn tide, the beauties slain

By tender passion, act their fates again:

Thro' gloomy light that just betrays the grove,

In Orgyes all disconsolately rove;

They range the reeds, and o'er the poppies sweep,

That nodding bend beneath their load of sleep;

By lakes subsiding with a gentle face,

And rivers gliding with a silent pace,

Where kings and swains, by antient authors sung,

Now chang'd to flow'rets, o'er the margin hung:

The self-admirer, white Narcissus, so

Fades at the brink, his picture fades below;

In bells of azure, Hyacinth arose,

In crimson painted young Adonis glows;

The fragrant Crocus shone with golden flame,

And leaves inscrib'd with Ajax' haughty name.

A sad remembrance brings their lives to view,

And with their passion makes their tears renew;

Unwinds the years, and lays the former scene,

Where after death, they live for deaths again.

Lost by the glories of her lover's state,

Deluded Semele bewails her fate,

And runs, and seems to burn, the flames arise,

And fan with idle furies as the flies.

The lovely Caenis, whose transforming shape

Secur'd her honour from a second rape,

Now moans the first, with ruffl'd dress appears,

Feels her whole sex return, and bathes with tears.

The jealous Procris wipes a seeming wound,

Whose trickling crimson dyes the bushy ground,

Knows the sad shaft, and calls before she go,

To kiss the fav'rite hand that gave the blow.

O'er a feign'd Ocean's rage the Sestian Fair

Holds a dim taper from a tow'r of air;

A noiseless wind assaults the wav'ring light,

The beauty tumbling, mingles with the night.

Where curling shades for rough Leucate rose,

With love distracted tuneful Sappho goes;

Sings to mock-cliffs a melancholy lay,

And with a Lover's leap affrights the sea.

The sad Eriphyle retreats to moan

What wrought her husband's death, and caus'd her own;

Surveys the glitt'ring veil, the bribe of fate,

And tears the shadow, but she tears too late.

In thin design and airy picture fleet

The tales that stain the Royal House of Crete:

To court a lovely bull Pasiphae flies,

The snowy phantom feeds before her eyes;

Lost Ariadne raves, the thread she bore

Trails on unwinding as she walks the shore;

And desp'rate Phaedra seeks the lonely groves

To read her guilty letter while she roves;

Red shame confounds the first, the second wears

A starry crown, the third a halter bears.

Fair Laodamia mourns her nuptial night

Of love defrauded by the thirst of fight;

Yet for another as delusive cries,

And dauntless sees her hero's ghost arise.

Here Thisbe, Canace, and Dido stand

All arm'd with swords, a fair but angry band;

This sword a lover own'd, a father gave

The next, the last a stranger chanced to leave.

And there ev'n she, the Goddess of the grove,

Join'd with the phantom Fairs, affects to rove,

As once for Latmos she forsook the plain,

To steal the kisses of a slumb'ring swain;

Around her head a starry fillet twines,

And at the front a silver crescent shines.

These, and a thousand, and a thousand more,

With sacred rage recal the pangs they bore,

Strike the deep dart afresh, and ask relief,

Or sooth the wound with soft'ning words of grief.

At such a tide unheedful Love invades

The dark recesses of the madding shades,

Thro' long descent he fans the fogs around,

His purple feathers as he flies resound,

The nimble Beauties crouding all to gaze,

Confess the common troubler of their ease;

Tho' dulling mists and dubious day destroy

The fine appearance of the flutt'ring boy,

Tho' all the pomp that glitters at his side,

The golden belt, the clasp and quiver hid,

And tho' the torch appear a gleam of white

That faintly spots and moves thro' haizy night;

Yet still they know the God, the gen'ral foe,

And threat'ning lift their airy hands below.

As mindless of their rage he slowly sails

On pinions cumber'd in the misty vales;

(Ah! fool to light) the nymphs no more obey,

Nor was this region ever his to sway;

Cast in a deepen'd ring they close the plain,

And seize the God reluctant all in vain.

From hence they lead him where a myrtle stood,

The saddest myrtle in the mournful wood,

Devote to vex the God, 'twas here before

Hell's awful empress soft Adonis bore,

When the young hunter scorn'd her graver air,

And only Venus warm'd his shadow there.

Fix'd to the trunk the tender boy they bind,

They cord his feet beneath, his hands behind;

He mourns, but vainly mourns his angry fate,

For Beauty still relentless acts in hate;

Tho' no offence be done, no judge be nigh,

Love must be guilty by the common cry;

For all are pleas'd, by partial passion led,

To shift their follies on another's head.

Now sharp Reproaches ring their shrill alarms,

And all the Heroines brandish all their arms,

And ev'ry Heroine makes it her decree,

That Cupid suffer just the same as she;

To fix the desp'rate halter one essay'd;

One seeks to wound him with an empty blade;

Some headlong hang the nodding rocks of air,

They fall in fancy, and he feels despair;

Some toss the hollow seas around his head,

(The seas that want a wave afford a dread)

Or shake the torch, the sparkling fury flies,

And flames that never burn'd, afflict his eyes.

The groaning Myrrha bursts her rinded womb,

And drowns his visage in the moist perfume;

While others, seeming mild, advise to wound

With hum'rous pains, by sly derision found;

That prickling bodkins teach the blood to flow,

From whence the roses first begin to glow;

Or in the flames to singe the boy prepare,

That all shou'd chuse by wanton fancy where.

The lovely Venus, with a bleeding breast,

She too securely thro' the circle prest,

Forgot the parent, urg'd his hasty fate,

And spurr'd the female rage beyond debate;

O'er all her scenes of frailty swiftly runs,

Absolves herself, and makes the crime her son's;

That clasp'd in chains with Mars she chanc'd to lye,

A noted fable of the laughing sky;

That from her Love's intemp'rate heat began

Sicanian Eryx, born a savage man;

The loose Priapus, and the monster-wight

In whom the sexes shamefully unite.

Nor words suffice the Goddess of the Fair,

She snaps the rosy-wreath that binds her hair,

Then on the God who fear'd a fiercer woe,

Her hands unpitying dealt the frequent blow;

From all his tender skin, a purple dew

The dreadful scourges of the chaplet drew;

From whence the rose by Cupid ting'd before,

Now doubly tinged, flames with lustre more.

Here ends their wrath; the parent seems severe,

The strokes unfit for little Love to bear;

To save their foe the melting beauties fly,

"And cruel mother! spare thy child, they cry;

To Love's account they plac'd their deaths of late,

And now transfer the sad account to fate;

The mother pleas'd beheld the storm assuage,

Thank'd the calm mourners, and dismiss'd her rage.

Thus Fancy once in dusky shade exprest,

With empty terrors work'd the time of rest,

Where wretched Love endur'd a world of woe,

For all a Winter's length of night below;

Then soar'd, as sleep dissolv'd, unchain'd away,

And thro' the port of Iv'ry reach'd the Day.

TO DR. SWIFT.

URg'd by the warmth of sacred friendship's flame,

But more by all the wonders of thy fame,

By all those offsprings of thy learned mind,

In judgment solid, as in wit refin'd;

Resolv'd I sing, tho' lab'ring up the way

To reach my theme—O Swift! accept my lay.

Rapt by the force of thought, and rais'd above,

Thro' Contemplation's airy fields I rove,

Where pow'rful Fancy purifies my eye,

And lights the beauties of a brighter sky,

Fresh paints the meadows, bids green shades ascend,

Clear rivers wind, and op'ning plains extend;

Then fills its landskip thro' the varied parts

With Virtues, Graces, Sciences and Arts,

Superior forms, of more than mortal air,

More large than mortals, more serenely fair:

And there two chiefs, the guardians of thy name,

Contend to raise thee to the point of fame.

Ye future times!—I heard the silver sound,

I saw the Graces form a circle round;

Each where she fix'd attentive seem'd to root,

And all but Eloquence herself was mute.

High o'er the throng I saw the Goddess rise,

Free to the breeze her upper garment flies;

By turns within her eye the passions burn,

The softer passions languish in their turn;

Upon her lips convincing Proof resides,

Thro' all her speech Persuasion melting glides;

A golden crown confess'd her high command,

And waving Action gently grac'd her hand.

Out of her bosom, where the treasure lay,

She drew thy labours to the blaze of day,

Then gaz'd, and read the charms she could inspire,

And taught the list'ning audience to admire.

How strong thy flight! how large thy grasp of thought!

How just thy schemes! how regularly wrought!

How sure you wound when ironies deride!

Which must be seen, yet feign to turn aside;

How far uncommon, with an air of ease,

How nicely taking are thy turns of praise!

Fame wants no words to make the Patriot shine,

But yet, to chuse the best, must borrow thine:

What public spirit in thy works appears!

What rolling language fills the ravish'd ears!

Where Nature all her force of writing shows,

Where Art concealing Art with Nature goes.

She ceas'd. Applause attended on the close;

Then Poetry her sister art arose,

Her fairer sister, born in deepest ease,

Not made so much for bus'ness as to please;

Upon her cheeks sits beauty ever young,

The soul of music warbles on her tongue,

Bright in her eyes a pleasing ardour glows,

And from her heart the sweetest temper flows;

A laurel-wreath adorns her curling hair,

And binds their order to the dancing air;

She shakes the colours of her radiant wing,

While from the spheres she takes her pitch to sing.

Thrice happy Genius his! whose works have hit

The lucky point of bus'ness and of wit;

They seem like show'rs which April months prepare

To call the flow'ry glories up to air;

The drops descending make the varied bow,

And while they fall for profit, dress for show.

To me retiring oft he finds relief

From slow consuming care, and pining grief;

From me retreating oft he gives to view

What eases care, and grief in others too.

Ye fondly grave! be wise enough to know,

Life ne'er unbent is but a life of woe.

I'll gently steal you from your toils away,

Where balmy winds, and scents ambrosial play,

Where on the banks, as chrystal rivers flow,

They teach immortal Amaranths to grow;

Then from the wild indulgence of the scene,

Restore your tempers strong for toils again.

She ceas'd. Soft Music trembl'd in the wind,

And sweet Delight diffus'd, thro' ev'ry mind:

The little Smiles which still the Goddess grace,

Sportive arose, and run from face to face.

But chief—

A gentle band their eager joys express:

Here Friendship asks, and Love of Merit longs

To hear the Goddesses renew their songs;

There great Benevolence to Men is pleas'd;

These own their SWIFT, and grateful hear him prais'd.

You gentle band! you well may bear your part,

You reign Superior Graces in his heart.

O SWIFT! if Friendship's warm yet lasting flame,

If Love of Merit have to praise a claim;

If just esteem from ev'ry temper flows

To crown a tender sense of human woes;

These fair returns are thine: nor cou'dst thou lye

Unknown alive, nor wilt unlovely dye.

Or if high fame be life, (and well we know,

That Bards and Heroes have esteem'd it so)

Thou can'st not all expire; thy Works will shine

To future times, and Life in Fame be thine.

PIETY: OR, THE VISION.

'TWAS when the night in silent sable fled,

When chearful morning sprung with rising red,

When dreams and vapours leave to crowd the brain,

And best the Vision draws its heav'nly scene;

'Twas then, as slumb'ring on my couch I lay,

A sudden splendor seem'd to kindle day,

A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume,

Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room;

And in a void of blue, that clouds invest,

Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest;

Her head a ring of golden glory wore,

Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore,

Her rayment glitt'ring seem'd a silver white,

And all her sweet companions sons of light.

Strait as I gaz'd my fear and wonder grew,

Fear barr'd my voice, and wonder •ix'd my view,

When lo! a cherub of the shining crowd

That sail'd as guardians in her azure cloud,

Fann'd the soft air and downward seem'd to glide,

And to my lips a living coal applied;

Then while the warmth on all my pulses ran,

Diffusing comfort, thus the maid began.

'Where glorious mansions are prepar'd above,

'The seats of Music, and the seats of Love,

'Thence I descend, and PIETY my name,

'To warm thy bosom with celestial flame,

'To teach thee praises mix'd with humble pray'rs,

'And tune thy soul to sing seraphic airs;

'Be thou my bard.' A vial here she caught,

(An angel's hand the chrystal vial brought)

And as with awful sound the word was said,

She pour'd a sacred unction on my head,

Then thus proceeded. 'Be thy muse thy zeal,

'Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal;

'While other pencils flatt'ring forms create,

'And paint the gawdy plumes that deck the great;

'While other pens exalt the vain delight,

'Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night;

'Or others softly sing in idle lines,

'How Damon courts, or Amaryllis shines;

'More wisely thou select a theme divine;

''Tis Fame's their recompence, 'tis Heav'n is thine.

'Despise the fervours of unhallow'd fire,

'Where wine, or passion, or applause inspire,

'Low restless life, and ravings born of earth,

'Whose meaner subjects speak their humble birth;

'Like working seas, that when loud Winters blow,

'Not made for rising, only rage below:

'Mine is a great, and yet a lasting heat,

'More lasting still, as more intensely great,

'Produc'd where pray'r, and praise, and pleasure breathe,

'And ever mounting whence it shot beneath.

'Unpaint the Love that hov'ring over beds,

'From glitt'ring pinions guilty pleasure sheds,

'Restore the colour to the golden mines

'With which behind the feather'd idol shines;

'To flow'ring greens give back their native care,

'The rose and lily never his to wear;

'To sweet Arabia send the balmy breath,

'Strip the fair flesh, and call the phantom Death;

'His bow be sabled o'er, his shafts the same,

'And fork and point them with eternal flame.

'But urge thy pow'rs, thine utmost voice advance,

'Make the loud strings against thy fingers dance,

''Tis Love that angels praise, and men adore,

''Tis Love Divine that asks it all and more:

'Fling back the gates of ever-blazing day,

'Pour floods of liquid light to gild the way,

'And all in glory wrapt, thro' paths untrod,

'Pursue the great unseen descent of GOD!

'Hail the meek VIRGIN, bid the CHILD appear,

'The CHILD is GOD! and call him JESUS here;

'He comes; but where to rest? a manger's nigh,

'Make the GREAT BEING in a manger lye;

'Fill the wide skies with angels on the wing,

'Make thousands gaze, and make ten thousands sing:

'Let men afflict him, men he came to save,

'And still afflict him, 'till he reach the grave;

'Make him resign'd, his loads of sorrow meet,

'And me, like Mary, weep beneath his feet;

'I'll bathe my tresses there, my pray'rs rehoarse,

'And glide in flames of love along thy verse.

'Hah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell,

'My raptures smother what I long to tell!

''Tis GOD! a present GOD! thro' cleaving air

'I see the throne! I see the JESUS there!

'Plac'd on the right; he shows the wounds he bore!

'(My fervours oft have won him thus before)

'How pleas'd he looks! my words have reach'd his ear,

'He bids the gates unbar, and calls me near.'

She ceas'd. The cloud on which she seem'd to tread,

Its curls unsolded, and around her spread;

Bright angels waft their wings to raise the cloud,

And sweep their iv'ry lutes, and sing aloud;

The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky

Is tun'd to wond'rous music, as they fly;

And soft the swelling sounds of music grow,

And faint their softness, till they fail below.

My dow•y sleep the warmth of Phoebus broke,

And while my thoughts were settling, thus I spoke;

Thou beauteous Vision on the soul imprest,

When most my reason wou'd appear •o rest!

'Twas sure with pencils dipt in various lights

Some curious angel limn'd thy sacred sights;

From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew,

White moons the silver gave, and air the blue.

I'll mount the roving wind's expanded wing,

And seek the sacred hill, and light to sing;

('Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays,

Obedient to thy summons, sound with praise.

But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame,

I take for truth the flatt'ries of a dream;

And barely wish the wond'rous gift I boast,

And faintly practise what deserves it most.

"Indulgent LORD! whose gracious love displays

Joys in the light, and fills the dark with ease;

Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss,

Or be, to bless my nights, my dreams like this.

ECSTACY.

THE fleeting joys, which all affords below,

Work the fond heart with unavailing show.

The wish that makes our happier life compleat,

Nor grasps the wealth, nor honours of the great,

Nor loosely sails on Pleasure's easy stream,

Nor gathers wreaths from all the groves of Fame.

Weak man! who charms to these alone confine,

Attend my pray'r, and learn to make it thine.

"From thy rich throne, where circling trains of

Make day that's endless infinitely bright,

Thence, Heavenly Father! thence with mercy dart

One beam of brightness to my longing heart,

Dawn through the mind, drive Error's clouds away,

And still the rage in Passion's troubled sea;

That the poor banish'd soul, serene and free,

May rise from earth to visit heav'n and thee.

Come Peace Divine, shed gently from above,

Inspire my willing bosom, wond'rous Love!

Thy purpl'd pinions to my shoulders tye,

And point the passage where I want to fly.

But whither, whither now! what pow'rful fire

With this bless'd influence equals my desire?

I rise, or Love the kind deluder reigns,

And acts in fancy such inchanted scenes,

Earth less'ning flies, the parting skies retreat,

The fleecy clouds my waving feathers beat;

And now the sun and now the stars are gone;

Yet still methinks the spirit bears me on,

Where tracts of aether purer blue display,

And edge the golden realm of native day.

O strange enjoyment of a bliss unseen!

O ravishment! O sacred rage within!

Tumultuous pleasure, rais'd on peace of mind,

Sincere, excessive, from the world refin'd!

I see the light that veils the throne on high,

A light unpierc'd by man's impurer eye;

I hear the words that issuing thence proclaim,

"Let God's attendants praise his awful name;"

Then heads unnumber'd bend before the shrine,

Mysterious seat of Majesty Divine!

And hands unnumber'd strike the silver string,

And tongues unnumber'd Hallelujah sing.

See, where the shining seraphim appear,

And sink their decent eyes with holy fear;

See flights of angels all their feathers raise,

And range the orbs, and as they range they praise;

Behold the great Apostles joyful met,

And high on pearls of azure aether set;

Behold the Prophets full of heav'nly fire

With wand'ring fingers wake the trembling lyre;

And hear the Martyrs tune; and all around

The church triumphant makes the region sound;

With harps of gold, with boughs of ever-green,

With robes of white, the pious throngs are seen;

Exalted anthems all their hours employ,

And all is music, and excess of joy.

Charm'd with the sight I long to bear a part,

The pleasure flutters at my ravish'd heart.

Sweet saints and angels of the heav'nly quire!

If Love has warm'd me with celestial fire,

Assist my words, and as they move along,

With Hallelujah crown the burthen'd song.

Father of all above and all below!

O great beyond expression!—

No bounds thy knowledge, none thy pow'r confine,

For pow'r and knowledge in their source are thine:

Around thee glory spreads her golden wing.

Sing, glitt'ring angels, Hallelujah sing.

Son of the Father! first begotten Son,

Ere the short meas'ring line of time begun!

The world has seen thy works, and joy'd to see

His bright effulgence manifest in thee.

The world must own thee Love's unfathom'd spring.

Sing, glitt'ring angels, Hallelujah sing.

Proceeding Spirit! equally divine,

In whom the Godhead's full perfections shine;

With various graces, comforts unexprest,

With holy transports you refine the breast,

And earth is heav'nly where your gifts you bring.

Sing, glitt'ring angels, Hallelujah sing.

But where's my rapture? where my wond'rous heat?

What interruption makes my bliss retreat?

This world's got in, the thought of t'other's crost,

And the gay picture's in my fancy lost.

With what an eager zeal the conscious soul

Would claim its seat, and soaring pass the pole?

But our attempts these chains of earth restrain,

Deride our toil, and drag us down again.

So from the ground aspiring meteors go,

And rank'd with planets, light the would below;

But their own bodies sink them in the sky,

When the warmth's gone that taught them how to fly.

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

The works: in verse and prose, of Dr. Thomas Parnell, ... Enlarged with variations and poems, not before publish'd.

Parnell, Thomas, 1679-1718.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
Oxford University Computing Services
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ota@oucs.ox.ac.uk

ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5031

ID [isbn10]

1106020308

ID [isbn13]

9781106020307

ID [TCP]

K095488.000

ID [BIBNO]

cw3312930933

ID [ECLL]

0485302400

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The works: in verse and prose, of Dr. Thomas Parnell, ... Enlarged with variations and poems, not before publish'd., Parnell, Thomas, 1679-1718.. [8],232p. ; 8⁰. Glasgow :: printed and sold by R. and A. Foulis,. 1755.. [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [Gaskell, 303] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT119135.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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