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Crine novo Carolus*, pulloque ornatus amictu, Versat, ad exemplum doctus properare paternum; Versaretque pari studio, mihi crede, Philippus, Ni satis hinc dives, musarum sede relictâ, Civiles coleret curas, patriæque paratus Consulere, et lapsis Britonum succurrere votis, Plaudentem alliceret juvenis gravitate Senatum† : Nescis quò valeant sanctæ mysteria Legis -W. Nescio quò valeat RUMMUS, quem præbeat usum. H. Id quæro, dignusne legi sit, necne libellus:

IV. Tanquam ad RUM attineat quidquam! — H. Tibi scilicet uni

Hæc coëmis?-bene sit fidis, te divite, amicis

W. Quid mi igitur suades? - ut scripta vel optima, mî

Brindli

Pumice munda petam, titulisque, auroque decora,
Quæ mihi tu demens unum, demens etiam unum
Paulatim vellas ?-tutus mihi crescat acervus
Tutus ab Hardingis : procul o! procul este profani.
Lectores, totâque absistete bibliothecâ !

H. Parietibusne datur solis hæc tanta supellex?
W. Non ita; namque etsi levioribus otia nugis
Vespertinus agam, quamvis tua, Yorkiadave

* Charles Yorke, just called to the Bar.

†These compliments to the House of Yorke, and through them to their admirer, the Hero of the Poem, are elegant, and beautiful; but, with all my filial predilection, I confess they are inferior to those of Hawkins Browne, in his Poem on the Soul. There is in that eloge a dignity of taste, which has caught the best manner of the Augustan Poets, and has improved upon it. Mr. Yorke spoke admirably well at his début in the House of Commons.

The author and his brother Dr. Hardinge had an ill name for borrowing books, and losing them. A bantering friend of mine, for whom I had left a copy of this Poem on my table, called at my house one day when I was absent, and had brought with him a book which he was to lend me; but, seeing this passage in the Poem, he pocketed the intended loan, and wrote as an apology, "Tutus ab Hardingis !''

Concutiam

Concutiam facili vacuus penetralia risu,

Restat, ut his ego me valeam recreare libellis.
Ergo ubi jam stipata domus nymphisque, virisque,
Perstrepit, et pictis fervent conclavia chartis,
Sermonis, teæque satur, me, desidiamque
Increpito, pressis agitans hæc vota labellis :
"ORUM! quando ego aspiciam, quandoque licebit
"Conducto ad proprios curru remeare penates!"
H. Vidi ego, te, meminique preces has pectore ab imo
Fundere, scalpentemque † caput, pectusque, latusque,
Aurigas nimium seros, bigamque morantem

Sæpe queri, et longos in Diras ducere fletus.
W. Talia volventi currus ‡ mihi nuncius omnes
Elapsos narrat; nec adest lectica §.-Domum me
Confestìm refero pedes, et jucunda reviso
Scrinia; sopitos, jubeo, puer excitet ignes,
Accendat lumen; soleas mihi, pileolumque
Afferat; his, cœlebs quæ poscit vita, peractis,
Suspiciens vestigo oculis, si forte liber quis
Sit mihi, qui indoctos pariter, doctosque repôstas
Celet opes juvat arcanos accedere fontes,
Insignemque meis salibus petere inde || leporem,
Unde priùs nullî dederint libamina Musæ ¶.

A hackney coach.

+ It happens rather whimsically, that WRAY, in the epistolary poem above cited, and in one of his prose letters dated Knoll Hills, a country-seat of Mr. Hardinge, alludes to these characteristic peculiarities of his own, and ascribes them to others. Hackney Coaches off the stand.

§ A sedan chair.

This is mere play; for he had a fountain always at hand in his own genius: unless in quoting well some classical version of his own thought, no man was less a copyist.

It is delightful to see how this playful banter upon his friend was received by that friend himself. There is a letter now in the Museum, written by Mr. WRAY to Dr. Birch, dated Wrest, Sept. 21, 1746. in which, alluding to this Dialogue, which had found its way to Mr. Cave, he expresses the hope that he is in

The Dialogue between Mr. WRAY and Mr. HARDINGE, on the subject of purchasing old and scarce Books, called RUMS, in which the former took delight.

W. I often wish'd, (ye Fates! I ask no more)

Of books, no lavish, but an ample store,

Which, as my inmates, their old clothes would keep,
Nor into gold, like other fops, would leap:
My book-worm Taylors have the wish improv'd,
And fear of lace, for ever, is remov'd.

II. Ye moths! I give you joy; for whom your friend
A feast prepares, which you, alone, attend!
Regardless of the supper, and the night,
His promise to the girls, and beauty's right.
Ye venerable shades of authors old,

Whom dust, and smoke in chains of durance hold;

time, before the Magazine for that month is printed off; and then his words are these:

"The Dialogus inter duos Amicos is of too private a nature to "entertain the publick-we desire him to leave it out by all means. "If he will hear no reason, but must fill up his Magazine, beg "him to make use of the inclosed paper*. If any way could be "found for a similar application to the London Magazine, it “would be right. But our friend here (Mr. Yorke) and myself "desire it should not be propagated. The corrections are only "meant as a dernier resort."

The inclosure is in these words:

"To abbreviate Wrayius, Yorkius, &c. &c. Philippus, Hardingus. "To make the following corrections: Servaret, mecum nova, "&c. &c. ;" and various other verbal corrections.

I quote these passages to shew that Mr. Yorke and his friend were possessed of this poem in manuscript, and corrected Mr. Cave's copy by their own.

Mr. Yorke's objection to its appearance in the Magazine arose from the modesty of his nature, as the verses in one passage confer a very high, though a very just, compliment upon him.

Mr. WRAY appears to have had no objection upon his own account, as the hero of the ridicule.

Mr. Cave readily complied'; and omitted all notice of the " Dialogue." The paper contained corrections of Mr. Cave's transcript from the original Manuscript.

This application was made, and with effect. VOL. I.

E

Or

Or hung to wind, and rain upon your stall,
Or half in rags, and flutt'ring on a wall,
Shy of the kitchen-grate; your champion hail,
Who buys you all, and lumps you at a sale.
W. You laugh, and so does Yorke, when I review

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My RUMS before me with applause H. But you
Of Greek, and Latin pilgrims were the host,
And with a native's pride their vein could boast;
Why does your Tully, exil'd as before,
And in a sordid vest, your tears implore?
Must Plato be to fellowship compell'd
With all the Bards that he himself expell'd?
What has the deep-resounding Homer done?
Where sleeps the wreath, by Sappho's genius won?
Shall Maro from his Mantuan fane retreat,
Resigning to a Camoëns the seat?

Shall Casimir the harp of Pindar brave?
Shall Dutchmen tread on thy Sicilian's grave?
Ah! whither is thy Horace fled, whose tone
It were in thee ungrateful to disown?
Of thy terse wit the model, and the guide.
Beware of murder! and of parricide!

W. What! shall I miss the Bank, and Stock Exchange,
In Attic, or Augustan fields to range!

Like thee, in Classic numbers to delight,

Or, in their idioms vers'd, like thee, to write?
II. But why through dirty courts, and crowds of gloom,
That speed of thine to reach the Auction-room!
With keen pursuit thy avarice to lead,

And pile upon her shelves what none can read?
RUMS, at all hazard of the purse, to buy,
But watching bargains with an eagle's eye,
Till bursting cases feel Iberian weight,
And Suares can at Vasques nod in state?

W. My

W. My parlour-doors, tho' dinners they forget,
For those dear inmates have not open'd yet;
My shallow tent in vain its mouth expands
To that Briareus with a hundred hands,
Tostatus, by a hundred volumes girt,
Half-buried in his Antiquary dirt :

Him, for congenial space, my hopes reserve,

As time, and place with Hymen's lamp may serve ;
Yet, oh! but let the rich those gems possess!

To me, Cervantes might his vein address;
With me Hercilla's renovated bloom,

And Lopes, could with ease find ample room.
H. What, have you been at Spanish Granville's court,
Proud of the seals, and of his patriot sport,
But consul of a mutilated year;

Has he to notes of Spain attuu'd thine ear,
To the sesquipedals, and pomp of speech
Which Keene himself is in despair to reach ?
W. I've no ambition; but, my bant'ring friend,
Hast thou no dusty relicks to defend?
Thy Magna Charta is in being still,

Nor moves a foot on Time's descending hill.
Hast thou no Fleta*? Is not Bracton thine?
And Glanville in his venerable shrine?

Thy two barbarians, of revolting name,

The Henghams great, and small†, thy homage claim,
Thy Norman Year-books, thy Fitzherbert's lore,
Statham, and Brook, by turns thy hand implore,
Croke's polished Graces‡, Dyer kissing Roll,
The subtle Coke, and Plowden's mauly soul.

* All these are very antient Law-writers. ↑ Hengham Magna.-Hengham parva. Three volumes of Croke.

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H. But

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