And turn, as now thou dost on me, But now the servants they rush'd in; To-morrow with thee will I fight And now the sun declining low Full gently pranc'd he o'er the lawn; Long brandish'd he the blade in air, At length he spied the merry-men brown, From out the boot bold Nicholas And so he did-for to New Court His rolling wheels did run: Not that he shunn'd the doubtful strife; Back in the dark, by Brompton park, Meanwhile Duke Guise did fret and fume, A sight it was to see, Benumb'd beneath the evening dew Under the green-wood tree. Then, wet and weary, home he far'd, Meantime on every pissing-post Now God preserve our gracious king, May learn this lessen from Duke Nic, FRAGMENT OF A SATIRE. [This fragment, with various alterations, was worked by Pope into the Epistle to Dr Arbuthnot, which forms the Prologue to his Satires.] IF meagre Gildon draws his venal quill, 'Tis hunger, and not malice, makes them print: Yet e'en this creature may some notice claim, Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! Are others angry? I excuse them too: Well may they rage; I gave them but their due. Each man's true merit 'tis not hard to find; But each man's secret standard in his mind, That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness, This who can gratify? for who can guess? The wretch, whom pilfer'd pastorals renown, Who turns a Persian tale for half-a-crown, Just writes to make his barrenness appear, And strains from hardbound brains six lines a year: In sense still wanting, tho' he lives on theft, Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left. Johnson,† who now to sense, now nonsense leaning, Means not, but blunders round about a meaning: And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, It is not poetry but prose run mad.‡ Should modest Satire bid all these translate, And own that nine such poets make a Tate; How would they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe! How would they swear, not CONGREVE'S § self was safe! Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires Apollo kindled, and fair Fame inspires: Blest with each talent and each art to please, * Ambrose Philips translated a book called "Persian Tales ;" a book full of fancy and imagination.-POPE. + Author of the Victim, and Cobbler of Preston.-H. Verse of Dr. Ev.-H. Thus it originally stood in the "Miscellanies," though the name was afterwards altered to "Addison ;" a circumstance, says Mr Nicol, not noticed by the learned commentators upon Pope.-N. Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer, * The quarrel between Pope and Addison, which gave rise to these memorable lines, does not belong to the works of Swift. Yet it is curious to trace the same similies applied to the same person, in a prose letter of Pope to Mr Craggs, 15th July 1725. "We have, it seems, a great Turk in poetry, who can never bear a brother on the throne; and he has his mutes too, a set of nodders, winkers, and whisperers, whose business is to strangle all other offsprings of wit in their birth." |