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Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,
Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man;
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest.
"Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay,
Lords of the street, and terrors of the way;
Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and
wine,

Their prudent insults to the poor confine;
Afar they mark the flambeau's bright ap-
proach,

And shun the shining train and golden coach. "In vain, these dangers pass'd, your doors you close,

And hope the balmy blessings of repose:
Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair,
The midnight murderer bursts the faithless
bar;

Invades the sacred hour of silent rest,

And plants, unseen, a dagger in your breast. "Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die,

With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply. Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band, Whose ways and means support the sinking land;

Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring, To rig another convoy for the king.

"A single jail, in Alfred's golden reign, Could half the nation's criminals contain; Fair Justice then, without constraint adored, Held high the steady scale, but sheathed the sword;

No spies were paid, no special juries known; Bless'd age! but ah! how different from our

own!

"Much could I add,-but see the boat at hand,

The tide retiring, calls me from the land: Farewell!-When youth, and health, and fortune spent,

Thou fliest for refuge to the wilds of Kent; And, tired like me with follies and with crimes, In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times; Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid,

Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade; In virtue's cause once more exert his rage, Thy satire point, and animate thy page."

Samuel Johnson.-Born 1709, Died 1784.

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Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride,

To chase the dreary paths, without a guide,
As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good;
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant
voice;

How nations sink by darling schemes oppress'd,

When vengeance listens to the fool's request. Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart, Each gift of nature and each grace of art: With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, With fatal sweetness elocution flows, Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath,

And restless fire precipitates on death.

But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold

Fall in the general massacre of gold;
Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfined,
And crowds with crimes the records of man-
kind;

For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety

buys,

The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

Let history tell where rival kings command,

And dubious title shakes the madded land, When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, How much more safe the vassal than the

lord;

Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of power,

And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower, Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound,

Though confiscation's vultures hover round.
The needy traveller, serene and gay,
Walks the wild heath and sings his toil
away.

Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy,

Increase his riches, and his peace destroy.
Now fears in dire vicissitude invade,
The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring
shade,

Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief,
One shows the plunder, and one hides the

thief.

Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies assails, And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales;

Few know the toiling statesman's fear or

care,

The insidious rival and the gaping heir.

Once more, Democritus, arise on earth, With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth, See motley life in modern trappings dress'd, And feed with varied fools the eternal jest: Thou who couldst laugh, where want enchain'd caprice,

Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece;

Where wealth unloved without a mourner died;

And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate,

Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws,

And senates heard before they judged a

cause;

How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish tribe,

Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe!

Attentive truth and nature to descry,

And pierce each scene with philosophic eye. To thee were solemn toys, or empty show, The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe: All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain.

Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind,

Renew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind; How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare, Search ev'ry state, and canvass ev'ry prayer. Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's

gate,

Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great;
Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant call,
They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.
On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend,
Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their
end.

Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door

Pours in the morning worshipper no more;
For growing names the weekly scribbler lies,
To growing wealth the dedicator flies;
From ev'ry room descends the painted face,
That hung the bright palladium of the place;
And, smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold,
To better features yields the frame of gold;
For now no more we trace in ev'ry line
Horoic worth, benevolence divine:
The form distorted justifies the fall,
And detestation rids the indignant wall.

But will not Britain hear the last appeal, Sign her foe's doom, or guard her favourite's zeal?

Through Freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings,

Degrading nobles and controlling kings;
Our supple tribes repress their patriot
throats,

And ask no questions but the price of votes ;
With weekly libels and septennial ale,
Their wish is full to riot and to rail.

In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand,
Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand :
To him the church, the realm, their powers
consign,

Through him the rays of regal bounty shine, Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows,

His smile alone security bestows:

Still to new heights his restless wishes tower, Claim leads to claim, and power advances

power:

Till conquest unresisted ceased to please,
And rights submitted left him none to seize :
At length his sov'reign frowns-the train of
state

Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate.

Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;

Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liv'ried army, and the menial lord.
With age, with cares, with maladies op-
press'd,

He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.
Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings,
And his last sighs reproach the faith of
kings.

Speak thon whose thoughts at humble peace repine,

Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolsey's end be thine?

Or livest thou now, with safer pride content, The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, On weak foundations raise the enormous weight?

Why, but to sink beneath misfortune's blow, With louder ruin to the gulfs below?

What gave great Villiers to the assassin's knife,

And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life? What murder'd Wentworth, and what exiled Hyde,

By kings protected, and to kings allied? What but their wish indulged in courts to shine,

And power too great to keep or to resign?

When first the college rolls receive his

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Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; Should no disease thy torpid veins invade, Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee:

Deign on the passing world to turn thine

eyes,

And pause awhile from letters to be wise;
There mark what ills the scholar's life assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
See nations, slowly wise and meanly just,
To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
If dreams yet flatter, once again attend,
Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end.

Nor deem, when Learning her last prize
bestows,

The glitt'ring eminence exempt from foes; See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or awed,

Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. From meaner minds though smaller fines content,

The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent, Mark'd out by dangerous parts, he meets the shock,

And fatal Learning leads him to the block:
Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep,
But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and
sleep.

The festal blazes, the triumphal show,
The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe,
The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous
tale,

With force resistless o'er the brave prevail.
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd,
For such the steady Roman shook the world;
For such in distant lands the Britons shine,
And stain with blood the Danube or the

Rhine;

This power has praise, that virtue scarce can

warm

Till fame supplies the universal charm.

Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game, Where wasted nations raise a single name; And mortgaged states their grandsires' wreaths regret,

From age to age in everlasting debt; Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey

To rust on medals, or on stones decay.

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,

How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide;

A frame of adamant, a son of fire,

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,
Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain;
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the
field;

Behold surrounding kings their powers combine,

And one capitulate, and one resign;

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On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,
And all be mine beneath the polar sky."
The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,
And Winter barricades the realms of Frost;
He comes, nor want nor cold his course
delay;-

Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day:
The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait,
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend?
Did no subverted empire mark his end?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand;

He left the name, at which the world grew pale,

To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

All times their scenes of pompous woes afford,

From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord.
In gay hostility and barb'rous pride,
With half mankind embattled at his side,
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey,
And starves exhausted regions in his way;
Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er,
Till counted myriads soothe his pride no

more;

Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his mind,

The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind; New powers are claim'd, new powers are still bestow'd,

Till rude resistance lops the spreading god;
The daring Greeks deride the martial show,
And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe;
Th' insulted sea with humbler thought he
gains,

A single skiff to speed his flight remains;
Th' encumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded
coast

Through purple billows and a floating host.
The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour,
Tries the dread summits of Cæsarean power,
With unexpected legions bursts away,
And sees defenceless realms receive his sway:
Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful
charms,

The queen, the beauty, sets the world in

arms;

From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of

praise;

The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; The baffled prince, in honour's flatt'ring bloom

Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom;

His foes' derision and his subjects' blame, And steals to death from anguish and from shame.

"Enlarge my life with multitude of days!" In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant

prays:

Hides from himself its state, and shuns to know,

That life protracted is protracted woe.
Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy,
And shuts up all the passages of joy:

In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour,

The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower; With listless eyes the dotard views the store, He views, and wonders that they please no more;

Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless wines,

And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain,

Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain:

No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious

ear,

Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus

near;

Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend,
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend;
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue,
Perversely grave, or positively wrong.
The still returning tale, and ling'ring jest,
Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd
guest,

While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring

sneer,

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear:

The watchful guests still hint the last offence;

The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, Improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill,

And mould his passions till they make his will.

Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; But unextinguish'd av'rice still remains, And dreaded losses aggravate his pains; He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands,

His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.

But grant, the virtues of a temp rate prime Bless with an age exempt from scorn crime;

or

An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating conscience cheers;
The general fav'rite as the general friend :
Such age there is, and who shall wish its
end?

Yet ev'n on this her load Misfortune flings,

To press the weary minutes' flagging wings;

New sorrow rises as the day returns,
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.
Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier,
Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear;
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops some joy from with'ring life

away;

New forms arise, and different views engage, Superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage, Till pitying Nature signs the last release, And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.

But few there are whom hours like these await,

Who set unclouded in the gulfs of Fate.
From Lydia's monarch should the search
descend,

By Solon caution'd to regard his end,
In life's last scene what prodigies surprise,
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!
From Marlb'rough's eyes the streams of
dotage flow,

And Swift expires a driv'ler and a show.

The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face; Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring;

And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a king.

Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes,
Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise;
Whom joys with soft varieties invite,
By day the frolic, and the dance by night;
Who frown with vanity, who smile with art,
And ask the latest fashion of the heart;
What care, what rules, your heedless charms
shall save,

Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave?

Against your fame with fondness hate com. bines,

The rival batters, and the lover mines.
With distant voice neglected Virtue calls,
Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance
falls;

Tired with contempt, she quits the slipp'ry reign,

And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain.

In crowd at once, where none the pass defend,

The harmless freedom, and the private friend.

The guardians yield, by force superior plied: To Int'rest, Prudence; and to Flatt'ry, Pride.

Here beauty falls, betray'd, despised, dis

tress'd,

And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.

Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find?

Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?

Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem religion vain.

Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice:

Safe in his power, whose eyes discern afar The secret ambush of a specious pray'r; Implore his aid, in his decisions rest, Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best. Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires, Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, Obedient passions, and a will resign'd; For love, which scarce collective man can' fill;

For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat : These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain,

These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain;

With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find. Samuel Johnson.-Born 1709, Died 1784.

886.-ON THE DEATH OF DR. ROBERT LEVETT.

1782.

Condemn'd to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.

Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levett to the grave descend,
Officious, innocent, sincere,

Of every friendless name the friend.

Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
Nor, letter'd arrogance, deny
Thy praise to merit unrefined.

When fainting Nature call'd for aid,
And hovering Death prepared the blow.
His vigorous remedy display'd

The power of art without the show.

In Misery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his grean,
And lonely want retired to die.

No summons mock'd by chill delay,
No petty gain disdain'd by pride;
The modest wants of every day
The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure th' Eternal Master found
The single talent well employ'd.

The busy day, the peaceful night,

Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; His frame was firm, his powers were bright, Though now his eightieth year was nigh. Then with no throbs of fiery pain,

No cold gradations of decay, Death broke at once the vital chain, And forced his soul the nearest way. Samuel Johnson.-Born 1709, Died 1784.

887.-ODE TO PITY.

O thou, the friend of man assign'd With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe:

When first Distress, with dagger keen, Broke forth to waste his destined scene, His wild unsated foe!

By Pella's bard, a magic name,

By all the griefs his thought could frame,
Receive my humble rite:

Long, Pity, let the nations view
Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue,
And eyes of dewy light!

But wherefore need I wander wide
To old Ilissus' distant side,

Deserted stream, and mute?
Wild Arun too has heard thy strains,
And Echo, 'midst my native plains,
Been soothed by Pity's lute.

There first the wren thy myrtles shed
On gentlest Otway's infant head,
To him thy cell was shown;
And while he sung the female heart,
With youth's soft notes unspoil'd by art,
Thy turtles mix'd their own.

Come, Pity, come, by Fancy's aid,
E'en now my thoughts, relenting maid,

Thy temple's pride design :

Its southern site, its truth complete,
Shall raise a wild enthusiast heat
In all who view the shrine.

There Picture's toil shall well relate
How Chance, or hard involving Fate,
O'er mortal bliss prevail :

The buskin'd Muse shall near her stand,
And sighing prompt her tender hand,
With each disastrous tale.

There let me oft, retired by day, In dreams of passion melt away,

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