"Improve the means of Education,
"And learn commodious Adulation.
"Your Master scarcely holds it fin,
"He chucks his Lordship on the Chin,
"And would not for the World rebuke,
"Beyond a pat, the fchool-boy Duke.
"The Paftor there of.
"With smiles eternal in his Face,
"With dimpling cheek, and fnowy hand, "That fhames the whitenefs of his band; "Whose mincing Dialect abounds
"In Hum's and Hah's, and half-form'd founds; "Whofe Elocution, fine and chafte,
Lays his commainds with Judgment vaist; "And left the Company should hear, "Whispers his Nothings in your Ear, "Think you 'twas Zeal, or Virtue's Care "That placed the fmirking Doctor there. "No- -'twas Connections form'd at School "With fome rich Wit, or noble Fool, "Obfequious Flattery, and Attendance, "A wilful, ufeful, bafe dependance; "A fupple bowing of the Knees "To any human God you pleafe.
(For true good-breeding's fo polite, 'Twould call the very Devil white) "'Twas watching others fhifting Will, "And veering to and fro with Skill: "These were the means that made him rife, "Mind your connections, and be wife.".
Methinks I hear fon Tom reply, I'll be a Bishop by and by.
Connections at a public School Will often ferve a wealthy Fool, By lending him a letter'd Knave To bring him Credit, or to fave;
And Knavery gets a profit real,
By giving parts and worth ideal.
The child that marks this flavish Plan,
Will make his Fortune when a Man.
While honeft Wit's ingenuous Merit
Enjoys his pittance, and his Spirit.
The Strength of public Education
Is quick'ning Parts by EMULATION;
And Emulation will create
In narrow minds a jealous state,
Which stifled for a courfe of Years,
From want of Skill or mutual Fears,
Breaks out in manhood with a zeal,
Which none but rival Wits can feel.
For when good people Wits commence,
They lofe all other kind of fenfe ;
(The maxim makes you fmile, I fee,
Retort it when you please on me)
One writer always hates another,
As Emperors would kill a brother,
Or Empress Queen, to rule alone,
Pluck down a Hufband from the throne.
When tir'd of Friendship and alliance,
Each fide fprings forward to defiance,
Inveterate Hate and Refolution,
Faggot and Fire and Perfecution,
Is all ther aim, and all their Cry,
Though neither fide can tell you why.
To it they run like valiant Men,
And flash about them with their Pen.
What Inkshed springs from Altercation!
What loppings off of Reputation!
You might as foon hufh ftormy Weather,
And bring the North and South together,
As reconcile your letter'd foes,
Who come to all things but dry blows.
Your defperate lovers wan and pale,
As needy culprits in a jail,
Who mufe and doat, and pine, and die,
Scorch'd by the light'ning of an eye,
(For ladies' eyes, with fatal ftroke,
Will blaft the verieft heart of oak.)
Will wrangle, bicker, and complain,
Merely to make it up again.
Though swain look glum, and miss look fiery,
'Tis nothing but amantium iræ,
And all the progrefs purely this
A frown, a pout, a tear, a kifs.
Thus love and quarrels (April weather)
Like vinegar and oil together,
Join in an easy mingled ftrife,
To make the fallad up of life.
Love fettles beft from altercation,
As liquors after fermentation.
In a stage-coach, with lumber cramm'd,
Between two bulky bodies jamm'd,
Did you ne'er writhe yourself about,
To find the feat and cufhion out?
How difagreeably you fit,
With b-m awry, and place unfit,
Till fome kind jolt o'er ill-pav'd town,
Shall wedge you close, and nail you down.
So fares it with your fondling dolts,
And all love's quarrels are but jolts.
When tiffs arife, and words of ftrife Turn one to two in man and wife,
(For that's a matrimonial course
Which yoke-mates must go through perforce,
And ev'ry married man is certain
T'attend the lecture call'd the curtain)
Tho' not another word is faid,
When once the couple are in bed:
There things their proper channel keep,
(They make it up, and go to fleep)
These fallings in and fallings out,
Sometimes with caufe, but most without,
Are but the common modes of ftrife,
Which oil the fprings of married life,
Where fameness would create the spleen,
For ever fupidly ferene.
You tofs the feathers up, and shake it.
So fondness springs from words and fcuffling,
As beds lie fmootheft after fhuffing.
But authors wranglings will create
The very quintessence of hate;
Peace is a fruitlefs vain endeavour,
Sworn foes for once, they're foes for ever.
Oh! had it pleas'd my wifer betters
That I had never tafted letters,
Then no Parnaffian maggots bred,
Like fancies in a madman's head,
No grafpings at an idle name,
No childish hope of future fame,
No impotence of wit had ta'en
Poffeffion of my mufe-ftruck brain.
Or had my birth, with fortune fit,
Varnish'd the dunce, or made the wit;
I had not held a shameful place,
Nor letters paid me with difgrace.
O! for a pittance of my own,
That I might live unfought, unknown!
Retir'd from all this pedant ftrife,
Far from the cares of buft'ling life;
Far from the wits, the fools, the great,
And all the little world I hate.
By the late CHARLES EMILY, Efq.
HE feftive roar of laughter, the warm glow
Of brifk-ey'd joy, and friendship's genial bowl,
Wit's feafon'd converfe, and the liberal flow,
Of unfufpicious youth, profufe of foul,
Delight not ever; from the boisterous scene
Of riot far, and COMUS' wild uproar,
From folly's croud, whofe vacant brow ferene
Was never knit to wifdom's frowning lore,
Permit me, ye time-hallow'd domes, ye piles
Of rude magnificence, your folemn rest,
Amid your fretted vaults and lengthening ifles,
Lonely to wander; no unholy guest,
That means to break, with facrilegious tread,
The marble flumbers of your monumented dead.
Permit me with fad mufings, that infpire
Unlabour'd numbers apt, your filence drear
Blameless to wake, and with th' Orphean lyre
Fitly attemper'd, footh the merc'lefs ear
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