"My rare device the public taste shall hit,
"And crouds devour my pennyworths of wit.

510

520

"But are the nerves for such a project mine? "As well in senates might I hope to shine. "And must I then the bud of hope destroy? "Hope, sole surviving promiser of joy? "Chief soother of the warm poetic breast? "Sole good remaining in Pandora's chest? "No-riches I renounce; and humbly aim, "At courtly readers, and a present fame. "I'll pen loose prologues for a private play, "And rhyme the mushroom tattles of the day; "Pursue the models suited to the time, "Each flimsy archetype of easy rhyme; "While smutty equivoque adorns the song, "Charade and pun may charm the female throng. “Ladies and Lordlings thus may lisp my lines; "Tho' their poor author in a garret pines ;"And, wondrous favour to an humble bard, "A chair at readings, be my proud reward; "With wits, male, female, epicone, and common, "The Soldier feminine, the mankind Woman; "Age, Affectation, Impotence, and Spite, "All human reptiles that both sting and bite. "And can Ambition then such plaudits chuse ? "Are these the patrons that inspire thy muse ? "Is it, for such, that bards renounce the hope "Of ease and comfort, and neglected mope? "Oh Shame, Oh Shame! tho' deaf to Wisdom's cry, "Pride shall redeem me from such slavery."All prospects of the present are resigned.

"Say shall the future captivate my mind?
"Shall I the Muse with fatal fondness grasp,

530

"And to my bosom hold the poisonous Asp?" 540

No, Fate is adverse to th' imprudent aim:
And Poverty precludes e'en future fame.-
How shall the spirit, sunk with want and care,
Catch the bright phantoms of the good and fair?
Penurious thoughts, ridiculous distress,
Contract the soul, and make it daily less.-
When Nature's wants besiege with ceaseless cry,
It cannot rise, exulting to the sky.-

Can Fancy's visions on the cell descend,

Where blank Despair, and chearless Famine bend? 550
Poetic rage the frowns of Fortune tame,

The tears of Anguish damp the expansive flame,
While the free Muse of Pain impatient flies
To meads enamelled, and to cloudless skies;
To gush of fountains, and to vales, and groves,
Where flocks and birds renew their vernal loves.
When the grim offspring of a doom unkind,
Like hounds voracious tear the frame and mind;
Who then may bid the generous fury rave,
Or court the Muses in Pierian cave?
In vain, O Poverty, thine abject band,

Would grasp the Thyrsus with unhallowed hand.
Vacant and pure, let rushing godhead find
The sacred temple of the Poet's mind.
No menial objects must admittance gain;
No vulgar cares divided sway retain ;
No pangs the bard, but pangs ideal know;
And should he weep, the tear from fiction flow.
When Horace wing'd the bold Pindaric flight,
Midst affluence, social hours, and gay delight,
Ease, from her couch, the downy plumage lent,
And imp'd the pinions of his bold ascent.
How had the Muse of mighty Maro fail'd;
His dwelling had the fury Want assail'd.

560

570

By Fortune doom'd to Famine and to Care,
The snakes had fallen from Alecto's hair.
No more the bard a daring glance had cast,
To gaze on godhead thro' th' etherial vast;
No martial trump had wak'd the Trojan host,
ARMS and the MAN had been forever lost.

While Pope luxurious in his grot reclines,
And forms his Quincunx or displays his Vines,
Fed like a Monk and flatter'd like a Lord,
With Ease, and Wealth, and Leisure at his board;
In happy hours he wooes the tuneful train,

580

And works, with patient stroke, the polished strain.
The man who never felt the touch of Want,
On Ease and Dignity may safely cant;

On brother poets glance the purse-proud sneers;
Or drop his councils in unwilling ears.

590

And view with scornful eye, the wretch who scrawls,
With desp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls.*
Not Lombard-street could boast with more parade,
The weight of purse, or scorn the rhyming trade;
That trade which taught deformity to please,
And added fame to competence and ease.
While pamper'd Arrogance and Self-conceit
Boast his connection with the rich and great;
With venom'd taunts he mocks the rhyming poor,
And spurns the needy poet from his door.
600
Great-little bard, how chang'd had been thy strain,
Hadst thou been doom'd to poverty and pain!
Hadst thou been doom'd, in base dependant state,
To cope, like Savage, with Misfortune's hate;

Supposed to be a cruel sneer in Pope at the unhappy malady of poor Nat Lee.

And had some other Pope arisen for thee,
To tread insulting on thy misery!

610

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.

620

630

"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.

66

"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.

650

STANZAS.

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.

R. A. D.