They made us many soldiers. Chatham still
Consulting England's happiness at home,

Secured it by an unforgiving frown

If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought,
Put so much of his heart into his act,

That his example had a magnet's force,

And all were swift to follow whom all loved.
Those suns are set. Oh rise some other such!
Or all that we have left is empty talk
Of old achievements, and despair of new.

Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float
Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets,
That no rude savour maritime invade
The nose of nice nobility. Breathe soft
Ye clarionets, and softer still ye flutes,
That winds and waters lull'd by magic sounds
May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore.
True, we have lost an empire,-let it pass.
True, we may thank the perfidy of France
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown
With all the cunning of an envious shrew.
And let that pass,-'twas but a trick of state.
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,
And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace 13.
And shamed as we have been, to the very beard
Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved

13 Who do for gold what Christians do for grace,
With open arms their enemies embrace.
Young. Satire vii.








Too weak for those decisive blows, that once
Insured us mastery there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast
At least superior jockeyship, and claim
The honours of the turf as all our own.
Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek,
And show the shame ye might conceal at home,
In foreign eyes!-be grooms, and win the plate 14, 280
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown!-
'Tis generous to communicate your skill

To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd 15;
And under such preceptors, who can fail?

There is a pleasure 16 in poetic pains

Which only poets know. The shifts" and turns,
The expedients and inventions multiform

To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win,-
To arrest the fleeting images that fill
The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast,
And force them sit, till he has pencil'd off

14 Then peers grew proud in horsemanship to excel, Newmarket's glory rose, as Britain's fell.

Pope. Imit. of Horace, ii. 1.

15 But difficulties soon abate

When birds are to be taught to prate,

And women are the teachers.

Tr. from Vincent Bourne.



16 There is a pleasure in being mad, which only madmen know.

Nut. Lee.

17 "Twere long to tell the expedients and the shifts

Which he that fights a season so severe

Book iii. 559.

A faithful likeness of the forms he views;

Then to dispose his copies with such art
That each may find its most propitious light,
And shine by situation, hardly less


Than by the labour and the skill it cost,
Are occupations of the poet's mind

So pleasing, and that steal away the thought

With such address, from themes of sad import,
That lost in his own musings, happy man!


He feels the anxieties of life, denied

Their wonted entertainment, all retire.

Such joys has he that sings. But ah! not such,
Or seldom such, the hearers of his song.
Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps
Aware of nothing arduous in a task
They never undertook, they little note
His dangers or escapes, and haply find


There least amusement where he found the most 18. 310 But is amusement all? studious of song,

And yet ambitious not to sing in vain,

I would not trifle merely, though the world
Be loudest in their praise who do no more.
Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay?
It may correct a foible, may chastise
The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,
Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch;
But where are its sublimer trophies found?

18 Damnant quod non intelligunt. Cic.

Serious should be an author's final views;
Who write for pure amusement, ne'er amuse.
Young. Second Epis. to Pope.


What vice has it subdued? whose heart reclaim'd 320
By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform?
Alas! Leviathan is not so tamed.

Laugh'd at, he laughs again; and stricken hard,
Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales,
That fear no discipline of human hands.

The pulpit therefore, (and I name it, fill'd
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware
With what intent I touch that holy thing;)
The pulpit, (when the satirist has at last,
Strutting and vapouring in an empty school,
Spent all his force, and made no proselyte ;)
I say the pulpit (in the sober use

Of its legitimate peculiar powers,)



Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand, The most important and effectual guard,

Support, and ornament of virtue's cause.


There stands the messenger of truth. There stands

The legate of the skies; his theme divine,
His office sacred, his credentials clear.
By him, the violated law speaks out


Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet

As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.
He stablishes the strong, restores the weak,

Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart,
And arm'd himself in panoply complete


Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms
Bright as his own, and trains by every rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,

The sacramental host of God's elect,

Are all such teachers? would to heaven all were! 350 But hark, the Doctor's voice!-fast wedged between

Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks
Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far
Than all invective is his bold harangue,
While through that public organ of report
He hails the clergy; and defying shame,
Announces to the world his own and theirs.


He teaches those to read, whom schools dismiss'd,
And colleges, untaught; sells accent, tone,
And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer
The adagio and andante it demands.


He grinds divinity of other days

Down into modern use; transforms old print

To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes
Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.—


Are there who purchase of the Doctor's ware?
Oh name it not in Gath!-it cannot be,

That grave and learned Clerks should need such aid.
He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll,
Assuming thus a rank unknown before,
Grand caterer and dry nurse of the church.

I venerate the man, whose heart is warm,


Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life Coincident, exhibit lucid proof

That he is honest in the sacred cause.


To such I render more than mere respect,

Whose actions say that they respect themselves.
But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In conversation frivolous, in dress
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse,
Frequent in park, with lady at his side,
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes,
But rare at home, and never at his books,


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