And had some other Pope arisen for thee,
To tread insulting on thy misery!
Hadst thou, from cruel pride and meanness found
Gifts that debase, and benefits that wound;
Thy Muse, the terror of the dunce and cheat,
Had cring'd in flattery to the vain and great;
E'en in thy garret quak'd at Lintot's frown,
And bow'd submiss to Curl for half-a-crown.-
Where then the Muse, that scorning Fancy's throng,
Had stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd her song?
Hadst thou, when call'd to rhyme, in Nature's spite,
Perceiv'd, O Bard, WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT?
Here let the tale of my misfortunes end,-
For Heav'n, relenting, sends a pious friend;
A man of books he is, to letters true,
Studious of authours, whether old or new.
No narrow bound his patronage confines,
Tho' partial chief to Lawyers and Divines.
Not deepest sciences his search preclude,
No theme too crabbed, and no style too rude;
Within his ample stores, a vast retreat,
Enrag'd Polemics'peaceably would meet ;
Great emblem of the grave, where factions cease,
Where all are equal, and where all is peace.
When biting Eurus, from his glassy wing,
Was wont the nitrous arrowy shower to fling,
Studious a frugal luxury to prove,
I sought his mansion with increasing love.
Exhilarating dust my nose regal'd,
And fragrant fumes my longing lips inhal'd;
He sought me out, and shook me by the hand.
Small preface kindly purposes demand.
"Oft have I griev'd to see thee toil in vain, "For me was labour'd many a favourite strain.
"My humble roof and homely board partake; "And learn some profit from the Muse to make. 640 "On paper wings thy name shall be display'd, "And each effusion shall be duly paid. "No churlish hand its off'ring shall refuse, "No critic sit in judgment on thy muse. "Nay more, embalm'd, ennobled, and divine, "Thy works may shun the gripe of Cloacine. "Behind my counter take thy thriving seat, "And, spite of taxes, thou shalt laugh and eat."My appetite his fair proposal chear'd, And daily gain my station soon endear'd: Rejoic'd to wear a sleek unthinking face, I laugh at Phœbus and the tuneful race.
YES, false one, triumph in my woes,
And joy these flowing tears to view!
How just to wound that heart's repose
That gladly would have bled for you!
Yet, poor the pleasure thou hast gain'd,
And very soon will it be o'er ;
That bosom, where thou long hast reign'd,
Shall fondly throb for thee no more.
Nor vainly think my tears, my sighs,
LOVE's still-unvanquish'd power proclaim:
Each drop that trickles from my eyes
But helps to quench his dying flame.
SEE Nature's fairest gift appear;
The promise of the blooming year,
The rose has burst her infant bands,
And gay in Summer's pride expands,
Queen of flowers, how bright her hue,
Spangled o'er with morning dew;
From her breast what sweets exhale,
At eve when Zephyr's ling'ring gale,
Loth to quit the fond delight,
Flings her refreshing odours to the night.
Pleasure's joyous votaries haste,
Not one precious moment waste,
Make those blushing charms your own,
Seize them now they are fully blown,
And while they grace your flowing hair,
Give no thought to absent Care;
Come with frolic sport advance,
Lead the joy-inspiring dance,
While Music's fascinating pow'rs
Wake to Mirth the laughing hours.
For me a wreath does Fate provide,
A chaplet meet to deck the bride
Who weds Despair-the pallid cypress here,
Shall, mix'd with dark funereal yew, appear.
Ah! never should thy fragrant breath,
Sweet rose, be wasted in the cave of death,
There must the nuptial feast be shortly spread,
There the stern bridegroom waits my bridal guests
Then not for me, too lavish rose,
Spread thy robe of crimson hue,
Far hence thy balmy sweets disclose,
Whilst I the weeping willow woo.
When the wild winds impetuous blow,
And lay the trembling forest low,
When the tall elm and stately oak,
Fall beneath the furious stroke,
Amidst the ravage of the plains,
The humble willow safe remains;
She lowly bends again to rise,
When the rude tempest's fury dies.
But not for yielding gentleness alone,
And patient meekness is the willow known;
Tis her distinguish'd lót to prove
The last resource of suff'ring love;
Her graceful foliage decks the maid,
Who weeps too easy faith betrayed;
Or crowns the drooping love-lorn swain,
Whose haughty fair-one scorns his pain.
Or marks the consecrated spot where sleep
Love's victims, who at length have ceased to weep.
Then still to cureless grief a friend,
Thine aid to me, sweet willow, lend;
Now Hope's deluding visions fade,
Receive within thy darksome shade,
And hide a wretch who shuns the day,
From hateful light's intrusive ray:
Wrapt in thy deep o'ershadowing gloom,
The darker shelter of the tomb,
Can only tempt me to resign,
This lone sequester'd bower of thine ;
For till that last asylum shall enclose,
With its strong fence, my then forgotten woes,
What object so can charm mine eye,
As in the streani that murmurs by,
To see thy pendant branches o'er me wave,
Which shortly shall adorn my peaceful grave.
To hear Ned by the hour blunder forth his vile prose, Job himself scarcely patience would keep !
He's so dull, that each moment we're ready to doze, Yet so noisy we can't go to sleep.
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