in country and town, by images and circumftances, marking the time in either place not without feveral oblique ftrokes of fatyre, and is as follows:
It was the Hour, when Hufwife Morn
With Pearl and Linen hangs each thorn;
When happy Bards, who can regale
Their Mufe with Country air and ale,
Ramble afield, to Brooks and Bow'rs,
To pick up Sentiments and Flow'rs;
When Dogs and Squires from kennel fly,
And Hogs and Farmers quit their stye;
When my Lord rifes to the Chace,
And brawny Chaplain takes his place.
These Images, or bad or good,
If they are rightly understood,
Sagacious Readers must allow,
Proclaim us in the Country now.
For Obfervations moftly rife
From Objects juft before our eyes,
And ev'ry Lord in Critic Wit
Can tell you where the piece was writ,
Can point out, as he goes along,
(And who fhall dare to fay he's wrong?)
Whether the warmth (for Bards, we know,
At prefent never more than glow)
Was in the Town or Country caught,
By the peculiar turn of thought.
It was the HOUR
We now declare ourselves in Town,
Nor will a moment's paufe allow
For finding when we came, or how.
The Man who deals in humble Profe,
Tied down by rule and method, goes,
But they who court the vig'rous Mufe,
Their carriage have a right to chufe;
Free as the Air, and unconfin'd,
Swift as the motions of the Mind,
The POET darts from place to place,
And inftant bounds o'er Time and Space.
Nature (whilft blended fire and skill
Inflame our paffions to his will)
Smiles at her violated Laws,
And crowns his daring with applause.
Should there be ftill fome rigid few
Who keep propriety in view,
Whose heads turn round, and cannot bear
This whirling paffage thro' the Air,
Free leave have fuch at home to fit,
And write a Regimen for Wit:
To clip our Pinions let them try,
Not having heart themselves to fly.
It was the HOUR, when Devotees
Breathe pious curfes on their knees,
When they with pray'rs the day begin
To fanctify a Night of Sin;
When Rogues of Modefty, who roam
Under the veil of Night, fneak home,
That free from all reftraint and awe,
Juft to the windward of the Law,
Lefs modeft Rogues their tricks may play,
And plunder in the face of day.
From hence taking occafion juft to hint at objections that have been made against
This rambling, wild, digreffive Wit,
he makes a folemn invocation to Method (the only perfection men of no genius, and much reading, can be guilty of) and proceeds to an account of Fame,
Who had beheld from first to laft
How our Triumvirate had pass'd
Night's dreadful interval, and heard,
With ftrict attention, every word,
The Reader might perhaps find some pleasure in the comparison of our Author's Defcription of Fame, and Butler's. Although there is nothing borrowed from the last, yet, as there is fome fimilarity in the manner, perhaps it may not be unentertaining to give an extract of both :
"There is a tall long-fided Dame
"(But wond'rous light) ycleped Fame,
"That like a thin Chamæleon boards
"Herself on Air, and feeds on Words:
"Upon her shoulders wings the wears,
"Like hanging fleeves, lin'd through with ears;
"And eyes and tongues, as Poets lift,
"Made good by deep Mythologist.
"With these fhe through the welkin flies,
"And fometimes carries Truth, oft Lies;
"With Letters hung, like Eaftern Pigeons,
"And Mercuries of furtheft Regions,
"Diurnals writ for regulation
"Of Lying, to inform the Nation,
"And by their public Ufe to bring down
"The rate of Whetstones in the Kingdom.
"About her Neck a pacquet Mail,
"Fraught with advice, fome fresh, fome ftale;
"Of Men that walk'd when they were
"And Cows of Monsters brought to-bed:
"Of Hail-ftones, big as Pullet's Eggs,
"And Puppies whelp'd with twice two Legs;
"A blazing Star feen in the Weft
"By fix or feven Men at the leaft,
"Two Trumpets, &c."
To ascertain the very spot,
Nor yet to give you a relation
How it eluded Gravitation)
Hung a Watch-Tow'r
With fuch rare skill by Jove's Command,
That ev'ry word, which whisper'd here,
Scarce vibrates to the neighbour ear,
On the ftill bofom of the Air
Is borne, and heard diftinctly there,
The Palace of an antient Dame,
Whom Men as well as Gods call FAME.
A prattling Goffip, on whofe tongue
Proof of perpetual motion's hung;
Whose lungs in ftrength all lungs furpass,
Like her own Trumpet made of brass,
Who with an hundred pair of eyes
The vain attacks of fleep defies,
Who with an hundred pair of wings,
News from the fartheft quarters brings,
Sees, hears, and tells, untold before,
All that she knows, and ten times more.
Not all the Virtues, which we find
Concenter'd in a HUNTER's mind,
Can make her fpare the ranc'rous tale,
If in one point fhe chance to fail;
Or, if, once in a thousand years,
A perfect Character appears,
Such as of late with joy and pride
This Hag, who aims at all alike,
At Virtues e'en like theirs will strike,
And make faults, in the way of trade,
When she can't find them ready made.
All things she takes in, small and great,
Talks of a Toy-hop and a State,
Of Wits and Fools, of Saints and Kings,
Of Garters, Stars, and Leading-Strings,
Of Old Lords fumbling for a Clap,
And Young Ones full of Pray'r and Pap,
Of Courts, of Morals, and Tye-Wigs,
Of Bears, and Serjeants dancing jigs,
Of Grave Profeffors at the Bar,
Learning to thrum on the Guittar,
Whilft Laws are flubber'd o'er in hafte,
And Judgment facrific'd to TASTE ;
Of whited Sepulchres, Lawn Sleeves,
And God's houfe made a den of thieves,
Of Fun'ral pomps, where Clamours hung,
And fix'd disgrace on ev'ry tongue,
Whilft SENSE and ORDER blufh'd to fee
Nobles without HUMANITY;
Of Coronations, where each heart
With honeft raptures bore a part,
Of City Feafts, where ELEGANCE
Was proud her Colours to advance,
And GLUTTONY, uncommon cafe,
Could only get the second place,
Of New-rais'd Pillars in the State,
Who must be good as being great ;
Of Shoulders, on which HONOURS fit
Almoft as clumfily as Wit;
Of doughty Knights, whom titles please,
But not the payment of the Fees;
Of Lectures, whither ev'ry Fool
In fecond child-hood goes to school;
Of grey Beards deaf to Reafon's call,
From Inn of Court, or City Hall,
Whom youthful Appetites enflave,
With one Foot fairly in the grave,
By help of Crutch, a needful Brother,
Learning of HART to dance with t'other;.
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