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Amuse and flatter, till the soul, too prone

If pride be thus the fountain of all vice; To self-activity, deserts her throne.

Whence must we say that virtue bas its rise,

But from humility? and what the sure, Be on your guard--the bus'ness of a man

And certain sign, that even this is pure? Is, to be sure, to do what good he can;

For pride itself will in its dress appear, But first at home; let patience rule within

When nothing touches that same self too near. Where charity, you know, must first begin: Not monied love, as fondly understood,

But when provok'd, and say unjustly too, But calm, sedate propensity to good;

Then pride disrobes; then wbat a huge ado!

Then who can blame the passion of a pride The genuine product of the virtue, friend,

That has got reason, reason of its side; Which you oblige me here to recommend;

“He's in the wrong-and I am in the right The trial this of all the rest beside, For without patience they are all but pride:

Resentment come, Humility, good night!"
A strong ambition shines within its sphere,

Now the criterion, I apprehend,
But proves its weakness—when it cannot bear. On which, if any, one may best depend,
There lies the test; bring ev'ry thing to that;

Is patience;-is the bear and the forbear;

To which the truly virtuous adbere; It shows us plainly what we would be at:

Resolv'd to suffer, without pro and con,
Of gen'rous actions we may count the sum,

A thousand evils, rather than do one.
But scarce the worth, till disappointments come:
Men oft are then most gen'rously absurd,

Not to have patience, and yet not be proud, Their own good actions have their own bad word. Is contradiction not to be allow'd: Impatience hates ingratitude, forsooth;

All eyes are open to so plain a cheat, Why?-it discovers an ungrateful truth;

But of the blinded by the self-deceit;

Who, with a like consistency, may tell
That having done for interest or fame
Sach and such doings, she has lost her aim;

That nothing ails them, tho' they are not well. While thankless people, really in her debt, Strict is the rule; but notwithstanding true; Have all got theirs—and put her in a fret. However I fall short of it, or you:

Best to increase our stock, if it be small,
Possest of patience, a right humble mind,

By dealing in it with our neighbours all;
At all events, is totally resign'd;
Does good for sake of good, not for th'event,

And then, who knows, but we sball in the end, Leaves that to Heav'n, and keeps to its content:

Learn to have patience with ourselves—and mendo Good to be done, or to be suffer'd ill, It acts, it bears with meek submissive will “ Enough, enough.-Now tell me, if you please,

REMARKS How is it to be had, this mental ease?"

UPON DR. AKENSIDE'S AND MR. WHITENEAN'S God knows, I do not, how it is acquir’dBut this I know if heartily desir'd,

VERSES WHICH WERE PUBLISHED AND ADWe shall be thankful for the donor's leave


YEAR 1758. To ask-to hope and wait till we receive.

“Waither is Europe's ancient spirit Aled'?" PART II.

How came this query in the doctor's head? “Virtues,"you say,“ by patience must be tried Whitber is Britain's—one had sooner guess'd

, If that be wanting, they are all but pride,

In ode to his own countrymen address'd: Of rule so strict, I want to have a clue.”

But as outlandish rivers soon infer it, Well, if you'll bave the same indulgence too,

(Six in three lines) it must be Europe's spirit. And take a fresh compliance in good part, I'll do the best I can with all my heart.

Of“ valiant tenants of her shore,” 't is said,

“ Who from the warrior bow the strong dart Pride is the grand distemper of the mind;

sped"The source of ev'ry vice of ev'ry kind: That love of self, wherein its essence lies,

Let bow be warrior, and let dart be strong;

Verse does not speed so speedily along;
Gives birth to vicious tempers, and supplies:
We coin a world of names for them, but stil

“ The strong dart spedidoes but go thump, All comes to fondness for our own dear will.

thump, thump,

That quick as thrown should pierce the liver We see, by facts, upon the triple stage Of present life, youth, manhood, and old age,

“ And with firm hand the rapid poleax bore". How to be pleas'd—be honour'd—and be rich

If it had been the rapid dart, before, These three conditions commonly bewitch:

-rusticorum mascula militum From young to old, if human faults you weigh, 'Tis selfish pride, that grows from green to grey.

Proles, Sabellis docta ligonibus


versare glebas. Pride is, indeed, a more accustom'd name

Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled? Por quest of grandeur, eminence, or fame;

Where are the valiant tenants of her shore? But that of pleasure, that of gold betrays

Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped, What inward principle it is that sways:

Or with firm hand the rapid poleax bore? The rake's young dotage, and the miser's old, Oue same inslaving love to self unfold.

See an Ode to the Country Gentlemen of Eng. land by Dr. Akenside.



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And the strong poleax, here, it had agreed That speak or quote in prose or rhyme
With a firm bold as well, and darting speed: Things or facetious or sublime,
Whither are fled from ode-versification,

Observe what passes, and anon,
The ancient-Pleasures of Imaginationa?

When you come home think thereupon;

Write what occurs, forget it not,
Really these fighting poets want a tutor, A good thing sav'd's a good thing got,
To teach them-ultra crepidam ne sutor;
To teach the doctor, and to teach the laureat,

Let no remarkable event
Ex Helicone sanguinem ne hauriat:

Pass with a gaping wonderment, Tho'blood and wounds infect its limpid stream,

A fool's device" Lord who would think!" It should run clear before they sing a theme.

Commit it safe to pen and ink

Whate'er deserves attention now,
Yem"Britons rouse to deeds of death !"-says For when 't is pass’d, you know not how,

Too late you'll find it to your cost
" Whither,” the next, “is Europe's spirit gone?” So much of human life is lost.
While real warriors think it all a farce
For them to bounce of either Mors or Mars:

Were it not for the written letter,
Safe as one sacks it, under bloodless bay;

Pray what were living men the better And sure as t'other even death must pay.

For all the labours of the dead,

For all that Socrates e'er said?
But you shall hear what captain ***** said, The morals brought from Heav'n to men
Wben he had heard both ode and verses read:

He would have carried back again:
On mottos–Versibus exacuit-

"Tis owing to bis short-hand youth And- Proles militum-he mus'd a bit;

That Socrates does now speak truth. · Then having cast his hunting wits about In quest of rhymes, he thus at last broke out:“ Poh! let my serjeant, when his dose is taken,

TO LADY BMW, Britons strike home with moisten'd pipe rehearse, To deeds of death 'twill sooner much awaken, UPON HER PRESENTING THE AUTHOR WITH THE Than a cart load full of such ode and verse."


This ticket is to be divided-well; If these two bards will, by a tuneful labour,

To lady Betty let these presents tell Show, without sham, their love to killing life,

How much I value, chances all apart, Let Akenside go thump upon the tabor;

This gentle token of her friendly heart;
And Whitehead grasp th’exacuating fife.

Without regard to prizes or to blanks,
My obligation is immediate thanks;

And here they come as hearty and as free

As this unlook'd for favour came to me,

Five thousand pounds perhaps a handsome CONVERSATION.

Ay, but in specie five may never come.- · (sumIn reading authors, when you find

That as you please, dame Fortune, in my mind Bright passages that strike your mind,

I have already taken it in kind; And which perhaps you may have reason

Am quite contented with my present lot, To think on at another season,

Whether you're pleas'd to second it or not: Be not contented with the sight,

Chance is but chance, however, great or sinall, But take them down in black and white;

The spirit of a loving gift is all. Such a respect is wisely shown

“ Three tickets offer'd to make choice of one, That makes another's sense one's own.

And write the memorandum thereupon"When you're asleep upon your bed

Spread in successive order, as they lie, A thought may come into your head,

May all be prizes for her sake, thought I! Which may be of good use if taken

That upon which my fancy chose to fix, Due notice of when you're awaken;

Was (let me see) four hundred fifty-six: Of niidnight thoughts to take no heed,

Four, five, and six-they are, if I can read, Betrays a sleepy soul indeed;

Numbers that regularly should succeed. It is but dreaming in the day

Thou backward Fortune, that in days of yore To throw our nightly hours away.

Hast read from six to five, from five to four, In conversation, when you meet

Once, for the lady's sake, reverse thy spite, With persons cheerful and discreet,

And trace a luckier circle to the right,

If thou art angry that I should despise 2 Alluding to a celebrated poem, written by Thy gifts, which never dazzld much my eyes; Dr. Akenside, entitled The Pleasures of the Ima- Now speak me fair, nor let the occasion slip gination.

Of such an honourable partnership.
Animnos in martia bella
Versibus exacuit.


Stand still a moment on thy bridge's pier, Britons, rouse to deeds of death!

And the conditions of success let's hear; See Verses to the People of England, 1753, by Say what the bard shall offer at thy shrine, William Whitehcad, esq. poet laureat.

Any thing less than worship, and 't is thine.


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If not so quite (as they relate thee) blind, They cannot reconcile to serious thought
See both our names, which thus together join'd, God's church and state-with life to come, un
I'd rather share ten thousand pounds, I own, With law or gospel cannot make to suit (taught:
Than court thee for ten millions alone.

Virgin of Sion sinking down to brute.
“ Thousands and millions, sir, are pompous Zeuxis the new, they argue, takes a pride

In shapes so incompatible ally'd;
For poets, seldom conversant in pounds." And talks away as if he had pourtray'd
Yes; but I'm only looking on th' event

A real creature mixt of mare and maid:
As corresponding to a kind intent,

All who deny the existence of th' pad,
Should it turn out its thousands more or less, He centaurizes into fool and mad".
I should be somewhat puzzl’d 1 profess,
And must upon a case so new, so nice,

If one objected to a maiden hoof;
Fly to my benefactress for advice.

“Why, 'tis an animal;"—was all his proof:

If to an animal with human head;
What shall I do with such a monstrous prize? “O! 'tis a beauteous woman;" — Zeuxis said.
But--we'll postpone the question till it rise, “ What! animal and woman both at once?"
Let it's to morrow manage that.-To day “Yes, that's essential to the whole, ye dunce."
Accept the thanks which I am bound to pay;
Enrich'd, if you permit me still to share

His primary and secondary sense,
Your wish of welfare, and your gen'rous care:

Like mare and maid, support his fond pretence: The greatest bliss, if I have any skill,

From joining spot he skips to each extreme; Of human life, is mutual good-will.

Or strides to both, and guards the motley scheme;

Solving, with like centauriformal ease,
This, without question, has your hand confest; Law, prophets, gospel, quoted as you please.
This, without flatt'ry, warms a willing breast:
So much good nature shown with so much ease;

Thus both went on, long labour'd volumes Bestow your sums, dame Fortune, where you Now what must fair impartial readers do?

throThat kind of satisfaction which I feel

(please; Must they not grieve, if either of them treat Comes not within the compass of your wheel; No prize can heighten the unpurchas'd grace,

On law or grace with rudeness or with heat?

Of either Zeuxis they allow the skill; Nor blanks the grateful sentiments efface.

But that-the Centaur is a fable still.

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THE CENTAUR FABULOUS', ZEUXIS of old a female Centaur drew,

THOUGHTS ON THE CONSTITUTION OF To show his art; and then expos'd to view :

The human half, with so exact a care,
Was join'd to limbs of a Thessalian mare,

That seeing from a different point the piece,
Some prais'd the maid and some the mare of Greece. STRONG passions draw, like horses that are strong,
Like to this Centaur, by his own relation,

The body-coach of flesh and blood along; Is doctor Warburton's Divine Legation:

While subtle reason, with each rein in hand, Which superficial writers on each hand,

Sits on the box and has them at command; Christians and deists did not understand;

Rais'd up aloft to see and to be seen, Because they both observ'd, from partial views,

Judges the track, and guides the gay machine. Th'incorporated church and state of Jews.

But was it made for nothing else--beside Th’ ingenious artist took the pains to draw,

Passions to draw, and reason to be guide? Full and entire, the compound of the law;

Was so much art employ'd to drag and drive, The two societies, the civil kind

Nothing within the vehicle alive? And the religious, perfectly combin'd;

No seated mind that claims the moving pew, With God Almighty, as a temp'ral prince,

Master of passions and of reason too? Governing both, as all his proofs evince;

The grand contrivance why so well equip Without the doctrine of a future state?

With strength of passions rul'd by reason's wbip? Here with opponents lies the main debate: Vainly profuse had apparatus been,

Did not a reigning spirit rest within ; 1 The delicate poignancy of the wit with which | Which passions carry, and sound reason means this allegorical piece is enlivened, will be obvious to To render present at pre-orderd scenes. the reader who is acquainted with the writings of the celebrated author of the Divine Legation; and

: Who has not signalised himself against the therefore any extracts to illustrate the epithets Divine Legation? Bigots, Hutchinsonians, meand allusions which refer to them in the following thodists, answerers, free-thinkers, and fanatics, verses, would only serve to swell the notes into a

have in their turns been all up in arms against it, tedious prolixity: however one quotation is an- The scene was opened by a false zealot

, and at nexed in order to justify a charge, which might present seems likely to be closed by a Behmenist

. be suspected of exaggeration by those who are

A natural and easy progress from folly to madstrangers to the learned writer's manner of treat

ness. See the dedication prefixed to the 1st v. of ing his opponents.

the 2d part of the D. L.

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They who are loud in human reason's praise, Now, my lord, I would ask of the learn'd and And celebrate the drivers of our days,

Seem to suppose by their continual bawl, If Ge-urgious ben't a mistake for Gregorious ?
That passions, reason, and machine, is all;
To them the windows are drawn up, and clear

In names so like letter'd it would be no wonder Nothing that does not outwardly appear.

If hasty transcribers bad made such a blunder;

And mistake in the names, by a slip of their pen, Matter and motion, and superior man

May perhaps have occasion'd mistake in the men, Ry head and shoulders, form their reas'ning plan; That this has been made, to omit all the rest, View'd, and demurely ponder'd, as they roll; Let a champion of yours, your own Selden, attest; And scoring traces on the paper soul,

See his books upon titles of honour--that quarter Blank, shaven white, they fill th’ unfurnish'd | Where he treats of St. George, and the knights of plate,

the garter. With new ideas, none of them innate,

There he quotes from Froissart, how at first on When these adepts are got upon a box, Of a lady's blue garter, blue order began (the plan Away they gallop thro' the gazing flocks;

In one thousand three hundred and forty and four, Trappings adınir'd, and the high metil'd brute, But the name of the saint in Froissart is Gregore; And reason balancing its either foot;

So the chronical writer or printed or wrote (note: While seeing eyes discern at their approach, For George, without doubt, says the marginal Fulness of skill, and emptiness of coach.

Be it there a mistake-but, my lord, I'm afraid

That the same, vice versa, was anciently made. 'Tis very well that lively passions draw, That sober reason keeps them all in awe;

For tho' much has been said by the great antia The one to run, the other to control,

quarian And drive directly to the destin'd goal: [gin; Of an orthodox George-Cappadocian and “What goal?"-Ay, there the question should be- Arian; What spirit drives the willing mind within? “ How the soldier first came to be patron of old,

I have not,” says he,“ light enough to behold:» Sense, reason, passions, and the like are still

A soldier-like nation he guesses (for want (saint; One self-same man, whose action is his will;

Of a proof that it did so) would choose him for Whose will, if right, will soon renounce the Por in all his old writings no fragment occurr'd

pride Of an oan reason for an only guide;

That saluted him patron, till Edward the Third, As God's unerring spirit shall inspire,

His reign he had guess'd to have been the first Will still direct the drift of his desire.


(rhyme, But for old Saxon prose and for old English Which mention a George, a great martyr and saint,


Tho' they say not a word of the thing that we

They tell of his tortures, his death, and his pray'r, IN A LETTER TO LORD WILLOUGHBY, PRESIDENT

Without the least hint of the question'd affair; OF THE ANTIQUARIAN SOCIETY.

That light, I should guess, with submission to

Selden, Will you please to permit me, my very good as he was not the patron, he was not beheld in.

lord, Some night when you meet upon ancient record, The name in French, Latin, and Saxon, 'tis Full worthily filling Antiquity's throne,


[ed; To propose to your sages a doubt of my own, Some three or four times is mis-writ or mis-printA certain moot point of a national kind;

He renders it George—but allowing the hint, For it touches all England to have it defin'd And the justice of change both in writing and With a little more fact, by what kind of a right print, Her patron, her saint, is a Cappadox knight? Some George, by like errour (it adds to the doubt)

Has turn'd our converter St. Gregory out: I know what our songs and our stories advance, He, or Austin the monk, bid the fairest by far That St. George is for England, St. Denys for To be patron of England-till garter and star.

France; But the French, tho' uncertain what Denys it was, In the old Saxon custom of crowning our kings, All own be converted and taught 'em their mass; As Selden has told us, amongst other things Avd most other nations, I fancy, remount They nam'd in their pray’rs, wbich his pages To a saint whom they chose upon some such ac- transplant, count,

The Virgin--St. Peter and one other saint; But I never coull learn, that for any like notion, Whose connection with England is also exprest; The English made choice of a knight Cappadocian. And yields in this case such a probable test,

That a patron suppos'd, we may fairly agree, Their conversion was owing (event one would such a saint is the person whoever it be.

hope Worth remembrieg at least) to a saint and a pope, Now, with Mary, and Peter, when monarchs To a Gregory known by the First, and the Gieat, were crown'd, Who sent, to relieve them from Pagan deceit, There is only a Sanctus Gregorious found; St. Austin the monk; and both sender and sent And his title-Anglorum Apostolus too; Had their days in old Pasti that noted th’ event : With which a St. George can have nothing to do: beg

While Scotland, and Ireland, and France and Till just of late, good English has thought fit
Spain claims

To call me written, or to call me writ;
A St. Andrew, St. Patrick, St. Denys, St. James, But what is writ or written, by the vote
Both apostle and patron--for saint so unknown Of writers now, hereafter must be wrote:
Why should England reject an apostle her own? And what is spoken too, hereafter spoke ;

And measures never to be broken, broke.
This, my lord, is the matter-the plain simple

[times: I never could be driven, but, in spite Lay na fault, you perceive, upon protestant Of grammar, they have drove me from my right, I impute the mistake, if it should be one, solely None could have risen to become my foes; To the pontiffs succeeding, who christen'd wars But what a world of enemies have rose! holy,

Who have not gone, but they have went about, To monarchs, who, madding around their round And, torn as I have been, have lore me out.

tables, Prefer'd to conversion their fighting and fables:

Passive I am, and would be, and implore When soldiers were many, good Christians but That such abuse may be henceforth forbore, few,

If not forborn, for by all Spelling Book, St. George was advanc'd to St. Gregory's due. If not mistaken, they are all mistook :

And, in plain English, it had been as well One may be mistaken--and therefore would If what had fall’n upon me, had not fell. That a Willis, a Stukely, an Ames, or a Pegge, Since this attack upon me has began, In short, that your lordship, and all the fam'd set Who knows what lengths in language may be ran! Who are under your auspices happily met Por if it once be grew into a law, In perfect good humour-which you can inspire, You'll see such work as dever has been saze; As I know by experience—would please to en- Part of our speech and sense, perhaps beside quire,

Shakes when I'm shook, and dies when I am dy'd
To search this one question, and settle I hope,
Was old England's old patron a knight or a pope ?

Then let the preter and imperfect tense
Of my own words to me remit the sense;
Or since we two are oft enough agreed,

Let all the learned take some better heed;
ON SPECIOUS AND SUPERFICIAL of preter tense, and participle too.

And leave the vulgar to confound the due
How rare the case, tho' common the pretence,
To write on subjects from a real sense!
'Tis many a celebrated author's fate,
To print effusions just as parrots prate:

He moulds a matter that he once was taught
In various shapes, and thinks it to be thought.

A PATIENT in Bedlam that did pretty wdl, Words at command he marshals in array,

Was perunitted sometimes to go out of hś cell: And proves whatever he is pleas'd to say;

One day, when they gave him that freedom, he While learning like a torrent pours along,

spy'd And sweeps away the subject, right or wrong:

A beauish young spark with a sword by his side; One follows for a while a rolling theme,

With an huge silver hilt, and a scabbad for steel, Toss'd in the middle of the rapid stream;

That swung at due lenyth from his hip :o his heel. Till out of sight, with like impetuous force, Torn from its roots, another takes the course;

When he saw him advance on the gallery While froth and bubble glaze the flowing mud,

ground, And the inan thiuks all clear and understood;

The Bedlamite ran, and survey'd hij all round; A shining surface and a transient view,

While a waiter supprest the young captain's Makes the slight-witted reader think so too:

alarm, It entertains him, and the book is bought,

With—“You need not to fear, sir, he'll do you do Read and admir'd without expense of thought:

harm." No tax impos'd upon his wits, his cash

At the last he broke out—"Aye, a very fine show? Paid without scruple, he enjoys the trash.

May I ask him one question?"_" What's that?”

said the beau.




URBAN, or Sylvan, or whatever name
Delight thee inost, thou foremost in the fame
Of magazining chiefs, whose rival page
With inonthly medley coerts the curious age;
Hear a poor passive Participle's case,
And if thou can'st, restore me to my place,

“ Pray what is that long, dangling, cumbersome

thing, That you seem to be tyd to with ribband and

string?" “ Why, that is my sword."-" And what is it to

do?" “ Kill my enemies, master, by running them

“ Kill your enemies !-Kill a fool's bead of your

They'll die of themselves, if you'll let them


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