OU fay "it hurts you to the foul
To brook confinement or controul."
And yet will voluntary run
To that confinement you would fhun,
Content to drudge along the track,
With belis and harness on your back.
Alas! what genius can admit
A monthly tax on fpendthrift wit,
Which often flings whole ftores away,
And oft has not a doit to pay!
Give us a work, indeed
Something which speaks poetic ftrength;
Is fluggish fancy at a ftand?
No scheme of confequence in hand?
I, nor your plan, nor book, condemn,
But why your name, and why AM?
Yes it ftands forth to public view,
Within, without, on white, on blue,
In proper, tall, gigantic Letters,
Not dash'demvowell'd-like my betters.
And though it ftares me in the face,
Reflects no fhame, hints no difgrace.
Whilft these unlabour'd trifles please,
Familiar chains are worn with ease.
Behold! to your's, and my furprize,
These trifles to a VOLUME rife.
Thus will you fee me, as I go,
Still gath'ring bulk, like balls of snow,
Steal by degrees upon your shelf,
And grow a giant from an elf.
The current ftudies of the day,
Can rarely reach beyond a PLAY:
A PAMPHLET may deserve a look,
But Heav'n defend us! from a Book!
A LIBEL flies on Scandal's wings,
But works of length are heavy things.
Not one in twenty will fucceed
Confider, fir, how few can read.
A man of Tafe MUST buy.
AUTHOR.
And half a dozen more, my friend,
Whom your good Tafte fhall recommend. vrtn
Experience will by facts prevail,
When argument and reafon fail;
The NUPTIALS now
tho' thousand readers pafs,
It still looks through its pane of glass,
And feems indignant to exclaim
Pafs on ye Sons of TASTE, for fhame!
While duly each revolving moon,
Which often comes, God knows, too foon,"
Continual plagues my foul moleft,
And Magazines disturb my reft,
While fcarce a night I fteal to bed,
Without a couplet in my head,
And in the morning, when I ftir,
Pop comes a Devil, Copy, fir."
I cannot strive with daring flight
To reach the brave Parnaffian HEIGHT,
But at its foot, content to ftray,
In eafy unambitious way,
Pick up thofe flowers the mufes fend,
To make a nofegay for my friend.
In fhort, I lay no idle claim
To genius ftrong, and noify fame,
But with a hope and wish to pleafe,
I write, as I would live, with eafe.
FRIEND.
But you must have a fund, a mine,
And here, my friend, I reft fecure;
He can't lofe much, who's always poor.
And if, as now, thro' numbers five,
This work with pleasure kept alive,
Can ftill its currency afford,
Nor fear the breaking of its hoard,
Can pay you, as at fundry times,
For felf per Mag, two thousand Rhimes,
From whence fhould apprehenfion grow,
That felf fhould fail, with richer Co?
No doer of a monthly grub,
Myfelf alone à learned club,
I ask my readers to no treat
Of fcientifick bash'd-up meat,
Nor feek to please theatric friends
With fcraps of plays, and odds and ends.
Your method, fir, is plain enough;
And all the world has read your PUFF.*
Th' allufion's neat, expreffion clean
About your travelling MACHINE,
But yet it is a Magazine,
Why let it be, and wherefore fhame?
As JULIET fays, what's in a name?
Befides it is the way of trade,
Through which all fcience is convey'd,
Thus knowledge parcels out her shares ;
The COURT has hers, the LAWYERS theirs.
Something to SCHOLARS fure is due,
Why not one MAGAZINE for You?
* See a Poem, called the PUFF, in the firft Number of
That's an Herculean tafk, my friend,
You toil and labour to-offend.
Part of your scheme-a free translation,
TO SCHOLARS is a profanation;
What! break up Latin! pull down Greek!
(Peace to the foul of fir JOHN CHEEKE! *)
And fhall the generous liquor run,
Broach'd from the rich FALERNIAN tun?
Will you pour out to English (wine,
Neat as imported, old GREEK wine?
Alas! fuch beverage only fits
Collegiate taftes, and claffic wits.
I feek not, with fatyric ftroke,
To ftrip the pedant of his cloak;
No let him cull and fpout quotations,
And call the jabber, demonftrations ;
Be his the great concern to fhew,
If Roman gowns were tied, or no ; †
Whether the Grecians took a flice
Four times a-day, or only twice,
Still let him work about his hole,
Poor, bufy, blind, laborious mole;
Still let him puzzle, read, explain,
Oppugn, remark, and read again.
Such, though they wafte the midnight oil
In dull, minute, perplexing toil,
Not understanding, do no good,
Nor can do harm, not understood,
By fcholars, apprehend me right,
I mean the learned, and polite,
The first refferer Greek learning in England.
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