THE Tears of the Muses; IN A CONFERENCE, BETWEEN Prince
GERMANICUS,
AND A Male-content Party.
LONDON:
Printed for T. WARD, near
Pater-noster Row.
M.DCC.XXXVII.
TO THE Right Honorable, and Publick-Spirited, The
President, Officers,
and
Committee,
OF THE SOCIETY FOR
Encouragement
of LEARNING.
My Lords, and Gentlemen,
LEST it shou'd be consider'd as a Disregard of Propriety, when a Poem of a
Satirical
Species, is address'd to the Patronage most distinguish'd for Extent of Humanity, please to receive it, as a poetical
Janus
; of whose Opposite two Faces, the fairest and best drawn you will find to be
Panegyric.
BUT, on That Side, you were
attach'd.
—And, such devoted Admirers of the
Life
wou'd with Difficulty have been brought to allow a
Resemblance
in the
Picture.
Whereas, on the Side of the
Satire,
you cou'd not possibly be Parties concerned: and were, therefore, best qualify'd, to judge it, impartially.
YET, since it is not by any Merit of mine, that you are so safe on the Satirical Quarter, It was fit I shou'd do
something,
that might have room to expect your Acknowledgment. I have, therefore, declin'd any
Encomium
on your generous Society; or on Any of its particular Members: tho', to Every Reader,
not such,
It wou'd have increas'd the
Delight
of the Poem.
BUT, You are such Enemies to every Kind of
Corruption,
that I apprehended the very Appearance, of an Attempt at evading your
Judgment,
by engaging your
Generosity
in my Favour.
IN this Situation, there are preserv'd to you all the natural Rights of the
Critic.
Yet, I am under no Pain from the Use you may make of that Freedom: For, what candid Writer wou'd wish to escape a Reproach, where, being sure of its
Justice,
he can be made but the Wiser, from Effect of its
Severity?
And, as to the more desirable
Reverse
of the Prospect, no Man is in Danger of missing your
Approbation,
unless he has, no where,
deserved
it.
THE
Muses
have used you too kindly, not to expect your
Concern,
for the Fate you will find 'em reduc'd to: And, to hear of
your
Grief, and good Wishes in their Behalf, may, from the Knowledge they have of your
Consequence,
deserve to be thought little less, than a
Balance,
for the Neglect they are under, from Thousands.
BUT, to speak a plain Truth, without
Metaphor,
whatever Advantage the Poetical World wou'd have deriv'd from imaginary
Muses,
might be,
really,
an Effect, of some such confederate Influence as yours, in good Earnest exerted.
HOW many great and desirable Changes in literate Taste, may we not reasonably expect, from the associated Prevalence of Numbers, united, as
you
are, upon the most generous Principle in Nature, an unprofitable and voluntary Pursuit of the Benefit of Others, from Effect of your own Cost, and Labour?
TO instance, in One, the most obvious and easy of many: How soon wou'd our present low Relish for
dramatical Buffoonery
give Way, to your
nobler Example?
—persevering (indeed, with some necessary Obstinacy) to applaud, and support, good
Tragedy
and
Comedy:
till what is now but mere
Reason,
might have the Honour to be consider'd as
Fashion
—by Concurrence of your munificent Endeavours, but for one or two short Winters?
AND, yet, what a National Deliverance were This!—With what Effusion of
unmercenary
Gratitude would it immortalize those generous Conquerors, who, protecting the noblest of our Youth from bad Principles, had, by expelling Mean-spiritedness, Corruption, and Folly, from our
Theatres,
intercepted them in their Passage upward, into Situations whence their Effects, extended wider, become in Proportion more dreadful.
WHATEVER Misconceptions have arisen, with View to your more immediate and particular good Purpose, from its Relation to the
Profession
of a considerable Body, in Trade, whose Interest may appear to be concern'd, not in the
Intention,
but
Effect,
of your Establishment, There will never, I am persuaded, lie any Objection at all against this opener and easier Road, to the Redemption of one Branch of Polite Learning, that stands in too visible Need of your Patronage.
AND, now, since All the Motive I had to this distant Address was the Pleasure of professing, in public, my Respect for so
public
a
Spirit
; you will forgive me, that I with-hold from your Knowledge a Discovery of so little Importance, as the
Name,
of
My Lords, and Gentlemen,
Your devoted Humble Servant,
The Author.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.
NOT assuming such an Air of Authority, as to give Rules, much less
Examples,
of Writing, the Author in the following Verses intended no more, than an humble Attempt, from mere private Curiosity, upon an Idea of
Satire,
which appear'd to be
New:
or not
practis'd.
There is indeed, something so like
Cruelty
in the
Face
of that Species of Poetry, that it can only be reconcil'd to
Humanity,
by the general Benevolence of its
Purpose:
attacking Particulars, for the Public Advantage.
But, methinks, It gives up this
End,
(which is Reformation) when, mistaking the
Means,
It attempts the good Work with a Hand either too
rough,
or too
gentle.
In the first Case, It
corrodes,
where It professes to
cure:
In the second, It is only sportive and wanton, with what It shou'd
correct,
and discountenance.
The
Medium
perhaps might be found, in an Art like that of the
Painters:
who, by opposing their
Shades
against
LIGHTS,
call out Darkness into open Distinction.
So, Enormities, which
Satirists
wou'd censure, are but dimly and imperfectly mark'd, till the
Defect
admits Disgrace, from the Neighbourhood of
Perfection.
—Then Contempt stings more scarply, in
One,
by the compar'd Admiration of the
Other:
Besides, that the Censur'd are driven, at the same Time, from their la
t little Refuge of Vanity, and can no longer recriminate upon the Censurer his
Ill-nature,
and Malevolence of Purpose.
I am afraid, there is another Particular, that calls aloud for the Regard of the
Satirist:
and That is, a Reflexion, how far Decency may make it a
Duty,
to abandon his personal Self, and insinuate Opinions, with
Modesty.
I mean from the Mouth of some
figurative Speaker,
whom He ought to
suppose
of more Consequence; and whose Sentiments the Reader will
be sure
to receive with less Scruple.
There is a Meaning, in the very
Name,
of a
Poet,
that shou'd seem to prescribe us this Duty: And the Use and Necessity of
Invention
can never be more manifest, than where the Subject is so
vidious, as
Satire.
Who is there, to say Truth, so unguilty of the Follies of Life, that he dares, in his own proper Person, stand out and
justify
the Right he assumes, of reproaching the Conduct of Others?
Reproof is too bitter a Potion, to be welcome from our Sense of its
Use.
And the administring Hand shou'd be
dear,
not
disgustful,
if it would incline us to taste it, with Pleasure.
I thought it but necessary, to prefix this short Note, to an Essay toward a
New Kind of Satire.
I will not pretend to assert my own System: because it is the most probable Thing in the World, that I shou'd conceive a
mistaken Idea.
Yet, since by frequent Attempts and Miscarriages, there are started, at least, some good
Hints,
He, whose false Steps have contributed either to the Caution, or Direction, of Others, may be said to have
err'd, with Good Fortune.
THE Tears of the Muses; A POEM.
GERMANICUS,
for Love, and Empire, born,
At once to
govern
Kingdoms, and
adorn
;
Too good for Greatness, but that Kings can
bless,
Too firm for Fear, but of his
Friend
's Distress:
Fore-temp'ring Pow'r by Reason's generous Plan,
To task the
Monarch,
meditates the
Man.
IN a Town Grove, whence Dryads
Noise
exclude,
And hush loud Streets, to Sylvan Solitude,
Veil'd by a verdant Skreen's incircling Shade,
Whose angly Sides eight arching Lights pervade,
Friend to Mankind, their pensive Fav'rite stood;
Revolving previous Plans of purpos'd Good.
SOFT, to his Sight, a
Female Suppliant
press'd,
In all the speaking Marks of Mis'ry dress'd:
Down-look'd, relax'd of Mien, oft bending, low;
Now stopping short, now re-advancing, slow:
Pardon, she cry'd, th' intruding Sighs of Grief;
Hope is the friendless Wretche's
last
Relief.
GERMANICUS,
who when Distress draws nigh,
Catches quick Sorrow, from the Suff'rer's Eye,
With gentle Waft invites her back'ning Fears,
And smiles the Warmth of Pity on her Tears.
Her, while advancing, heedful he survey'd,
Chance stretch'd his Eye to the remoter Shade:
Where, dimly obvious from the bord'ring Wood,
Dark'ning the Arches, Eight new Phantoms stood;
All, like the First, thin Forms of shivering Woe,
Wept All—in dumb, sad, solemn, circly Show!
THINK, cry'd th' Approacher, prostrate at his Feet,
How sharp is Insult! and Relief how sweet!
Pity a wretched Sisterhood of Tears:
Nine friendless Mourners, whom no Comfort chears.
All Arts were Ours, that polish'd Life cou'd gain:
But Arts, and polish'd Life, were Ours in vain.
See! what Reward wish'd Knowledge cou'd impart!
Where Fool is Fashion, Ignorance is
Art.
Urg'd by Derision, and escaping Hate,
We, sad, slow, Exiles, seek some gentler Fate.
To the bleak
North's
new-rising Coasts we go;
Less
cold
than These, amidst eternal
Snow.
Glory's gay Beams, to whose felt Warmth we run,
More than supply the Absence of their Sun.
There, mourning Merit cannot miss Relief;
Where watchful
Pow'r
supplants
prevented
Grief.
Fam'd for Munificence, Thy princely Hand
Singly
absolves
an unbestowing Land.
Ah! Save the Friendless—Help the Wrong'd away:
Too
poor
to go, yet too
un-lov'd
to stay!
Pay
but wish'd
Passage
from this cruel Shore:
And never, never, will we trust it more.
SCARCE had th' imploring Accents voic'd her Pray'r,
When the known Sounds and recollected Air
Through the false Semblance, natively convey'd,
To the charm'd Prince, a speaking
Muse,
betray'd.
Round, while, uncrediting the storied Woe,
His curious Eyes discov'ring Glances, throw,
Th' examin'd Umbrage, as he turn'd, reveal'd
Each
Muse,
that every distant Arch conceal'd.
Waiting impatient, for the finish'd Tale,
Quit your vain Hope, he cry'd, by
Want's
thin Veil
Unhid,
to 'scape the Rev'rence of my Zeal,
Who all your Power, through all your Changes, feel.
JOYFUL, He snatch'd th' Implorer from the Ground,
Then, turning graceful, bow'd progressive, round;
Press'd their joint Access undisguis'd and gay;
And shone, receptive of each effluent Ray.
SEATED, and circled by the beamy Train,
Their Shapes, resuming, and Themselves again,
Tell me, said He—Ye Soul-inspiring
Nine!
Ye living Fires, that give the Great, to
shine!
Who, quick'ning Regal Courage into Flame,
Guide it, by Justice, to immortal Fame!
Why wou'd ye
leave
a Land distinguish'd, long,
For Love of Valour, and for Hate of Wrong?
Where Freedom unrestrain'd her Empire holds,
And Legal Monarchy new Bloom unfolds?
HE paus'd—and CLIO answering, thus began,
Perish pale
Malice!
—It oblit'rates
Man.
Where Envy
blasts,
the Muse inspires in vain:
No human Culture, there, extends its Reign.
Lost in Malignity by civil Hate,
Virtues that clash with Virtues curse a State.
Stifled in Faction, Arts unfriended sink:
Or, pigmy'd into partial Flatt'ry shrink.
Hist'ry
must blush, the Wiles of
Spleen
to pen,
And grace the bloodless Broils of angry Men.
SMOTHER'D in
Self,
there breathes no public Soul,
Where sep'rate Strugglings gen'ral Strength controul:
There, Policy's old gen'rous Straitness
bends
;
And shifting
Medium
crawls, to sidelong Ends.
There, Fraud
triumphant
tempts the Just to fall:
And every one Man's Gain is Loss, to All.
There, Love internal, checking Sighs that roam,
Begins, and ends, all Charity,—at Home.
Each Pray'r appropriates one Man's modest Aim:
And humbly trusts to
God
the Common Claim.
Crush'd by Contempt of Praise,
Exertion
dies:
And Public Spirit, laugh'd at, shuns to rise.
THITHER when Hope misleads th' Historic Muse,
Swift let her seek some Scene of nobler Views.
Where guileless Pow'r no Praise to
Graft
ascribes,
Where Courage scorns
Deceit,
and Duty—
Bribes.
Where nervous Meaning dares,
directly,
speak:
And crooked Windings teach no Truth to
sneak.
'TIS
found
—for, see!—The icy
Pole
dissolves!
Honour's new Warmth with sunny Force evolves!
There, glows
Event!
There, more than
Roman
Arms
Clash their
prophetic
Thunder's fear'd Alarms!
There, the puls'd Public beats, in ev'ry Vein:
Strong, to one Purpose, lifts with equal Strain.
No
vile
Pretension, there, at
Titles
aims:
No Pride-swoln Lumber
lazy Lordship
shames.
There, shines the
Sword,
in Honour's guarded Track,
No Knighthood blushes, on a
Miser
's Back.
No bought Emblaz'nings Eminence efface,
No dirty Dignity sublimes Disgrace.
There,
Heroes
multiply: and labouring Fame
Grows busy,—to record each sparkling Name.
SHE ceas'd.—The Prince his Patriot Eyes withdrew,
Weigh'd the long Charge, and wish'd it, Half, untrue.
Sigh'd at the Waste domestic Discord made:
And mourn'd unfriended Arts, by Spleen betray'd.
Then view'd the Sisters, re-prepar'd to hear:
While ERATO, soft sighing, charm'd his Ear.
LUR'D, said the
am'rous
Muse, from Realms above,
Pleas'd I descended on this Land of
Love
;
Look'd
and
approv'd:
and form'd aerial Schemes,
Of heart-felt Tyes, and Hope's elusive Dreams;
Vainly propos'd—Each Sex by Each to mend;
And smooth the rugged Paths of Life, with
Friend.
Snatch'd at
One
sweet Example,
New
to
Fame,
Urg'd its dear Pow'r, th'
Unhappier
to reclaim:
Misguided Millions hail'd th' acknowledg'd Charms;
And lov'd Perfection, when it bless'd
Thy
Arms.
But, ah! too lost a Length
Themselves
were gone!
They worship'd, and confess'd:—but still
sinn'd
on.
Yet I, vain Hoper! Still new Helps apply:
And, ever failing, wou'd for ever
try.
To slighted Beauty wou'd new Powers impart;
And stretch the aided Empire of the Heart.
Teach Man, that Woman's Strength in Softness lies:
Teach Woman, why the Modest charm the Wise.
Useless to Either, I from Both, remove.
Money
's th' inspiring
Muse
of modish Love!
O'er Truth and Passion, Avarice prevails:
All Vows are venal, and all Sighs are
Sales.
Int'rest and Vanity, and Self, disarm
Mutual Esteem, till neither Sex can charm.
Then, blanc unnat'ral Whims pervert Desire:
Attraction failing, they exchange
Attire.
Then, Man's
lac'd Lightness
apes the Lady's Air:
And bluff big Boldness
masculates
the Fair.
With changing Sexes, Love's lost Motives change,
From Wish to Wish the short-liv'd Passions range.
Recorded Constancy becomes
Romance:
And, among Millions, Two may love—by Chance!
WHY should I, then, supporting present Scorn,
Stretch my too patient Hope, to Times unborn?
When, to the
North,
where Nature shines unstain'd,
Confiding Sexes love, with Faith unfeign'd.
Their native Beauties, in no Clime excell'd,
To rising Force by conscious Worth impell'd;
While through the sparkling Eye taught Spirit breaks,
And the felt Lustre of their Fame partakes.
THE Lover Prince unwillingly believ'd
Faults, which his nobler Nature scarce conceiv'd.
Touch'd for the Honour of the Human Heart,
His own glow'd painful, with ideal Smart.
When loftier Accents from URANIA broke,
And snatch'd his list'ning Soul, while
Science
spoke.
FROM Heav'n's unsounded Depth, she cry'd, I stole
Angelic Fire, and form'd a NEWTON's
Soul.
Taught him the secret Walks of God to tread;
And 'twixt the starry Worlds his Spirit led:
All
Aether
op'ning to a Mortal's Eyes,
Till Earth sent Colonies, and held the Skies!
What King, for This, magnificently just,
Bless'd him in Life, or dignified his Dust?
What voted Honours
mark
th' Aspirer's Race?
What
thinking Statues
emulate his Face?
He, who immortaliz'd his Country's Name,
Beyond Ten Thousand
Conqu'rors
bounded Fame,
He, who, to lift Mankind, new Heav'ns display'd,
And every Human Breather nobler made,
Did He to public Fame All Nature raise?
And is He poorly left to private Praise!
In such a Land, ah! what can Arts expect?
What Claim has hopeless Science, but Neglect?
O! Fate of wintry Worth, by Climate cross'd!
Budding untimely, to be nip'd in Frost!
NEWTON has multiplied the
Suns!
—yet pours
In vain, the Light of all their Orbs, on Ours.
When will th' incurious Courts, for which, He found
New Worlds, find Will to trace an Old one round?
What promis'd Pension ships th' unshaken Soul,
To dare Discov'ry, and ungloom the Pole?
What coasting Keel, indenting
Southern
Strands,
Starts the long Shores of Cloud-benighted Lands?
No annual Bounty, persevering, kind,
Draws the dark Veil, that covers half Mankind.
What regal Influ'nce, easing Learning's Birth,
Now, adds new Stars to Heav'n? or Arts, to Earth?
Who
sows Munificence, to root up Sloth,
And call forth Harvests, of eternal Growth?
HAIL, to the Land, where War makes
Science
Room!
Where Realms from Desarts rise! and Ruins bloom!
Where Conquest, spreading to embrace Distress,
Lets loose Ambition, not to waste, but bless!
There, Pow'r inverts Destruction, into
Birth
;
And the
prolific
Sword empeoples Earth!
There, Desolation, fruitful in Decay,
Fades, into Opulence, and strengthens Sway.
There, Ports (un-native) indrawn Seas confine:
And climbing Streams o'er channel'd Mountains shine.
There, public Splendor
swallows
private Pride,
And Claims which All Men share in, All Men,
guide.
There, Art rewarded, strains excited Skill;
Till dazling Wonders wid'ning Empire fill.
The fierce free
Tartar
sees the
Tartar taught
;
Grins, at advancing
Rule,
and pants for
Thought.
Then, in long Link, new Nations forward draw:
And the drain'd Wilds of Nature crowd to
Law.
Hail, promis'd Land!—All, now, that seems severe,
Is—that, removing hence, We leave YOU here.
URANIA stopp'd, and bow'd.—The Prince, whose Heart
Inly confess'd the Pow'r of cherish'd Art,
Nobly approving Praise, so justly warm;
Smil'd, conscious of his inborn Right to charm.
NEXT, rose TERPSICHORE,—
melodious
Muse!
Soft, her first Accents, like descending Dews:
Sweet, and slow-swelling, till in livelier Sound,
Gay, to the ravish'd Ear, quick Transports bound.
Tim'd to the tuneful Voice, each trembling Tree
Strain'd its tugg'd Roots, and labour'd to be free.
Warm'd through the wak'ning
Stone,
the sculptur'd Ear
Of every starting Statue seem'd to
hear.
Air catch'd, and length'ning back the mazy Notes,
Curls, while the undulating Music floats.
Earth, list'ning, to
inhale
harmonious Pain,
Sigh'd it, in soft Vibration, back again.
PARDON a mourning Muse, that leaves, with Tears,
The Land, that lov'd GERMANICUS endears.
But, ah! what Toils, what Anguish, shalt thou bear!
What endless Labour must o'erload thy Care!
Ere thy lost Views a Taste like Thine, inspire,
And sparkling Kingdoms catch Thy manly Fire!
NEAR
Opera
's fribling
Fugues,
what Muse can stay?
Where wordless Warblings winnow
Thought,
away!
Music, when
Purpose
points her not the Road,
Charms, to betray, and softens, to
corrode.
Empty of Sense, the Soul-seducing Art
Thrills a slow Poison to the sick'ning Heart.
Soft sinks
Idea,
dissolute in Ease,
And all Life's feeble Lesson is, to
please.
Spirit, and Taste, and generous Toil, take Flight:
And lazy Love, and indolent Delight,
And low luxurious Weariness of Pain,
Lull the lost Mind,—and all its Powers are vain.
HENCE, to the Realms of
Fame,
ye Muses, fly.
There, to the Drum's big Beat, the Heart leaps high.
There, sighing Flutes but temp'ring Martial Heat,
Teach distant Pity and Revenge to
meet.
The manly Pipe, there, scorns th' expanded
Shakes,
That wind wav'd Nothings, till Attention
akes.
There
now,
concurring Keys and Chords increase
The Heart's soft social Tyes, and cherish
Peace.
Then,
Trumpets, answ'ring Trumpets, shrill, and far,
Swell to the sounding Wind th' inspiring
War.
There, the rows'd Soul, in Exercise, grows strong:
Nor
pools
to puddly Foulness, stopp'd, too long.
Strength'ning, and strengthned by, the Poet's Fire,
There, Music's meaning Voice
exalts
Desire.
There, Harmony not drowns, but quickens, Thought;
And Fools, unfeeling Words, by Notes are
caught.
SOFT sigh'd the Prince, for suff'ring Music, pain'd,
And POLYHYMNIA, rising warm, complain'd.
Deign to be told, Impartial, Gen'rous, Wise!
Why fruitless
Eloquence
indignant flies.
Gall'd at lost Time, in Cases vainly clear'd,
At Truths,
untouching,
and at Sounds,
unheard
;
Blushing, while Oratory's lab'ring Strains
On
Prae-decision,
waste derided Pains;
And flourish'd Periods, to no Purpose
fine,
Like Suns in Desarts, without
Notice,
shine,
Hating
grave
Insult, I disdain to stay,
Where Talk but trifles, and where Tropes but play.
If serious Rhet'ric sweats, where sneering
Mutes
Hast'ning the hurried
Question,
crop Disputes;
If
Law
sells Argument, yet
Forms
must reign,
And, Custom pleading, Equity is vain;
If the dark
Pulpit
's short mysterious Art
Lifts
Faith
to Heav'n; and damns the
Moral Heart
;
Bear me, dishonour'd God! to some plain State,
Where Truth, in spite of
Aye
and
No,
is Weight.
Where Pleas of Right a reas'ning Bench persuade,
And Justice scorns in
Precedent
to trade.
Where no bold Blasphemy wou'd Faith enslave:
But, humble, honest, doubting,
Works
can
save.
EUTERPE, watchful of her Sister's Close,
Snatch'd her sunk Cadence, and impatient rose.
Pleasure,
she cry'd, is Mine; Mine, the gay Skill,
To paint the Fancy, and adorn the Will.
But, where dry
Avarice
has Taste betray'd,
Pleasure is
Robbery,
in
Masquerade,
Contending Sexes push One common Aim:
And Youth, and Wit, and Beauty, meet, to
game!
At Cards to conquer, or at Dice to sweep,
Is all the humble Joy, the
Polish'd
reap!
OR, if, aspiring to robuster Praise,
Some livelier Genius, Warmth more
active
sways,
Then, frock'd in groomy Sleekness, tight, and smart,
The pert, capp'd,
Racer
dares the
Jockey
's Art.
At Stake and Plate, his Skill profoundly shewn,
He from his
Horse
's Worth, presumes his own.
OR, nobly stung by
John
the
Coachman
's Claim,
Climbing th' advent'rous
Box,
disputes his Fame!
Scatt'ring malignant Dust, cracks Voice and Thong,
Glows, for a Livery's
Right,
and burns along!
Proudly display'd, looks back, and shouts, to find
Poor conscious
John,
less glorious, hang behind:
NOT
so,
th'
Olympian
Rivals charm'd, of Old,
When fiery Youths in whirling Chariots roll'd!
Then, the watch'd Signal bad the Rank disjoin;
And rushing Wheels dissolv'd the breaking Line:
Strain'd to th' expanded Whip's impulsive Sound,
Light leap'd th' exulting Axles o'er the Ground:
'Twixt crowding Nations, partial, panting, gay,
The prais'd plum'd Heroe
skim'd
the less'ning Way.
The smoaking Steeds obey'd the watchful Rein,
And winding warlike, swept the shouting Plain.
Now, graceful
rais'd,
now
pendent
in Carier,
High, and far-glitt'ring, shone the Charioteer;
Firm in his Seat, superior in his Mien,
Flew o'er the Course, and flam'd along the Green:
Martial in Gesture, Eminent in Grace,
His Birth and Grandeur light'ning from his Face.
OR, if to sweeter Contest match'd he mov'd,
And, in some
Ball,
led the kind Hand he lov'd,
The modest Fair, slow through the mazy Dance,
Swam to the love-sick Soul, in soft Advance.
No light coarse
Frisking
kick'd off Woman's Air:
No strong, stretch'd, Limb out-trod Attraction, there.
Decent their Pleasures, and discreetly weigh'd;
Active the Youth, and delicate the Maid.
Honour, by Elegance, its Right maintain'd:
And, Thought correcting Rapture, Prudence reign'd.
MOURNFUL MELPOMENE, with
Tragic
Frown,
Spoke next: and thus deplor'd a tasteless Town.
Why strove the
Scenic
Muse to shine, in vain,
Where Wit is Levity, and Art is Gain?
Where Law's blind Hope wou'd curb Corruption's Rage,
Yet, left undue
Contempt
to taint the Stage?
Hence, Theatres, neglected into Shame,
Catching at Concourse, Purity disclaim.
By Pow'r deserted, make their humbler Court
To Rake, and Rancour, or to Fool and Sport.
Piqu'd to Reprizal, unconfed'rate Wit,
Noting the
popular,
evades the
fit.
Then, the Play plots on State-craft, laughs at Truth:
Misguides Allegiance, or unsinews Youth.
Thither crowds Faction, to be taught Complaint:
Where Pow'r, the
Martyr,
might have reign'd, the
Saint.
There, Wisdom bleeds, by Pleasure's feath'ry Dart:
And Love's loose Hand unstrings the slacken'd Heart.
There, Discontent first trys her tim'rous Force;
Hints, and finds
Help,
and
dares
her dang'rous Course.
There, Froth, Farce, Flatt'ry, Chance, Sedition, rule:
And Virtue scarce finds Place, in Virtue's
School!
FAREWELL, forsaken Stage.—When
Courts
refuse
To
urge
Wit's wand'ring Rein, she
shames
a
Muse.
Hail! from AFAR—Thou, fate-foretelling Light!
Beaming
prognostic,
through the Eye of Night!
Kindling a hundred Realms, th' enliv'ning Flame
Wings the wak'd Energy of courted Fame.
There, Empire flashing into Glory's Blaze,
Conscious Intention blushes not at Praise.
There, spurring Virtue, Wit has leave to
mean:
And Pow'r, exciting Passion, prompts the
Scene.
SO
must it be,
ere Tragic Fire is felt!
But, where grave Thoughts are Marks, for Fools to pelt;
Where tir'd, illit'rate, viewless, yawning Pride
Must hear, unlist'ning, and, un-taught, decide,
There, let lost
Sentiment
mispoint no Beam;
To hope, were Blindness: and to wish, a Dream!
UP leap'd THALIA, glowing red with Rage,
Fir'd and indignant at a farceful Age.
Shall
Comedy
's insulted Muse, she cry'd,
Hold
Hoops,
to
Tumblers!
—
She paus'd,—unable to proceed;—sigh'd strong:
Repell'd the big Disdain—and trac'd her Wrong.
SHALL COMEDY, for sworded
Harlequin,
Split
Lathes?
and arm him, for the mimic Scene!
While
He,
proud Impotence! with modish Strut,
Cocks bluff, diffusive of his
wooden Cut!
Must she
swing Gypsies
o'er the winnow'd Pit,
Mounting
Posteriors,
in Defect of
Wit!
Or clap some
human Whirlwind
's blust'ring Rage,
That, o'er twelve Heads descending, shakes the Stage!
Stare, while th' unmanly Reptile's wriggling Twist
Threads the stav'd Ladder, and descends,
unhiss'd?
Or, for the Rope-Aspirer's jirkful Tread,
Shall she poize right their emblematic
Lead?
NO.—Let implor'd Expulsion wing me thence!
Far let me fly, to some fair Seat of Sense:
Where Life's stol'n Humour glows with mirthful Grace,
And Comic Picture copies Nature's Face.
Where imag'd Passion, dear to the Polite,
Leaves low Buffoon'ry to the Rabble's Right.
Tir'd, yet untask'd, let me no longer wait,
Laughing unheeded,—at the laughing
Great:
While, with the Roar of Boys, to Tricks they run,
Which Mobs shou'd shout at, and the Wise shou'd shun.
Gravely, good Souls! reserving solid Scorn,
For Thoughts, to feel whose
Force,
Themselves were
born.
WARM'D in Wit's Cause, lamenting Genius lost,
Nor tasting Ecstasy, at Judgment's Cost,
List'ning GERMANICUS, with pensive Grace,
Revolv'd wish'd Soft'nings, for a pitied Race:
When, like a Trumpet pouring Music's
Flood,
Speaking CALLIOPE thrill'd through his Blood.
THERE was a Prince! ah! bid me add, ere long,
There is:—impulsive of the
Epic
Song.
Flame of imperial Prominence, He shin'd:
Terror,
at once, and
Charm,
of Humankind!
All the soft Praise of social Life his Due:
All the rais'd Pow'rs, of Arms, and Arts, he knew.
Fearless impell'd his Father's Fortune on:
And, in Youth's Dawn, a dazzling Victor, shone!
In Force resistless, yet undaring Wrong:
Honest,
in Vengeance! and in Pity,
strong!
Without, dwelt War, in all her thund'ring Din:
While Peace, in all her Stillness, wept, within.
Form'd for a Lover, for a Thinker taught;
Bloodless
reflective
Eminence, He sought:
Born to be
greatest,
chose but to be
best:
But Heav'n, that knew his Use, forbad his Rest.
Then, from the Calms of conqu'ring
Thought,
he rose,
Glow'd in tempestuous
War,
and scorn'd Repose.
Uncrown'd,
gave
Crowns, at Will, their
Thorns
untry'd;
And,
more
than reigning,
without
reigning died.
SUCH, though the Land I
leave
cou'd shew me, still,
Calm Seasons call not for a Pilot's Skill.
Peace
is the Blessing, Commerce loves to chuse:
But
War,
and
Glory,
task the
Epic Muse.
Farewel, sure Subject of my future Song!
When, rising flameful at a
People
's Wrong,
In Times yet distant, Thy rememb'ring Hand
Lets loose
Correction
at some foreign Land.
Then, loud as Thy Applause, reclaim us, All:
And every Muse of Nine shall wait thy Call.
SPEAKING she rose: and, with her, rising slow,
Her Eight sad Sisters, sighing, turn'd to go.
Lively upstarting from his shadow'd Seat,
Stay,
cry'd the Prince, alarm'd,—suspend Retreat.
Just though your Anger, yet Revenge forbear:
Lest, taught by Muses, Man forgets to
spare.
Too soon, degen'rate Nature warps awry,
The Bad to copy, and the Good to fly.
Have you beheld Wit's Stream
discolour'd
glide,
And pour'd lost Azure on th' unconscious Tide?
Think the Blame
yours,
who Heav'n's best Tincture bring,
To stain the Current, yet neglect the
Spring!
Wou'd you, at once,
coerulean
Depth renew?
And, gayly bright'ning, flush th' Improvement,
through?
High, at the
Source,
th' infusive
Tinge
bestow:
And ev'ry downward Drop shall tinctur'd flow.
BUT, while, a
Vagrant,
Inspiration strays,
And, here and there, unlicens'd Pow'r displays,
Though sep'rate individual
Strollers
share
Some uncollective Scatt'rings, of your Care;
This Way, and That, though some faint Hint of Light
Gleams, like a Meteor, and shrinks back in Night,
Or, mingling Beams, to form some deathless Blaze,
Once in an Age, You, POPES, or THOMSONS, raise:
All the lost Labour serves but to express
How wide our Wants! how thinly we possess!
Till the
Day breaks,
expect no gen'ral Glow:
For, the Sky darken'd, keeps all dark, below.
HERE, for Wit's
Fountain,
dream not of a
Court.
False and injurious, slight th' unweigh'd Report.
Meant, for a Clime, where
Thrones
appropriate Pow'r,
And One Man's Passions All Mens Rights devour.
But, in free States, where Liberty may
chuse,
Taste knows no
Monarch,
and obeys no
Muse.
Senates
their Muses,
Property
their Aim:
Their Boast but
Safety
;—and their Plaything,
Fame.
NO
—wou'd your willing Culture waste no Toil?
Wou'd your Bays thrive, in a reluctant Soil?
Ductile of Form, and changing Shapes at Will,
Assume
new Sex,
new Names, new Views,
new Skill.
Safe, in sage
Politics,
conceal your
Wit:
Then, by my Bounty,
qualify'd
to
sit,
Nine
Cornish
Boroughs might assign you Place,
Where, mix'd unthought-of, You may shun Disgrace.
There, breathing unsuspected Influence,
lurk,
Till patient Progress crowns your arduous Work.
Thence, shall descending Radiance
Taste
convey:
And willing Kingdoms make the
Muses
Way.
Till, Time slow fav'ring, You may quit Disguise,
And wear Wit,
plain,
among th' unlaughing Wise.
PAUSING, He smil'd Humanity, so kind,
That ev'ry Muse was touch'd, and chang'd her Mind:
All bow'd Consent, to His grave Purpose wrought;
And, thus, URANIA voic'd her Sister's Thought.
BORN to a People's
Hearts,
their DARLING, shine!
Let ev'ry Wish, and Hope, and Joy, be Thine!
Mov'd by the magic Mercy of Thy View,
We feel good Counsel, and embrace it too.
One sole
Condition
grant, and we obey:
No dang'rous
Notice
must detect our Stay!
Hid in
Thy Grove,
each menial Muse shall claim
Domestic Shelter from Reproach and Shame:
Till, by thy Scheme, their yet unrival'd
Friend!
Their Infl'ence widens, and their Suff'rings end.
Then, shewn the World, and
privileg'd
to please,
And, gath'ring Face and Fashion, by Degrees,
Seen at
Assemblies,
Belles may Jokes forbear:
Nor, shocking modest
Strangers,
turn and
stare!
THUS, in his Shade, from public Pain exempt,
Sleeping, the Visionary Poet
dreamt.
Then wak'd; and found his sparkling PRINCE was there:
But ev'ry empty
Muse
was lost in Air.
FINIS.
Shortly will be published,
&c.
An ESSAY on the
Merits
of ASSASSINATION: With a VIEW to The Dictator's True Character; AND His Designs on the
Roman
Republick.