Scornful of earth and clouds, should reach the skies, With wonder (though with envy still) pursued by human eyes.
But we must change the style-just now I said, I ne'er was master of the tuneful trade;
Or the small genius which my youth could boast,
In prose and business lies extinct and lost.
Bless'd if I may some younger muse excite,
Point out the game, and animate the flight;
That from Marseilles to Calais, France may know,
As we have conquerors, we have poets too;
And either laurel does in Britain grow;
That, though amongst ourselves, with too much
We sometimes wrangle, when we should debate; (A consequential ill which freedom draws;
A bad effect, but from a noble cause);
We can with universal zeal advance,
To curb the faithless arrogance of France;
Nor ever shall Britannia's sons refuse
To answer to thy master or thy muse;
Nor want just subject for victorious strains;
While Marlborough's arm eternal laurels gain;
And where old Spenser sung, a new Eliza reigns.
FOR THE PLAN OF A FOUNTAIN,
On which are the Effigies of the Queen on a Triumphal Arch, the Duke of Marlborough beneath, and the chief Rivers of the World round the whole Work.
YE active streams, where'er your waters flow, Let distant climes and furthest nations know, What ye from Thames and Danube have been taught,
How Anne commanded, and how Marlborough fought.
Quacunque æterno properatis, flumina, lapsu, Divisis latè terris, populisque remotis, Dicite, nam vobis Tamisis narravit et Ister, Anna quid imperiis potuit, quid Marlburus armis.
As the Chameleon, who is known
To have no colors of his own:
But borrows from his neighbour's hue
His white or black, his green or blue;
And struts as much in ready light,
Which credit gives him upon sight:
As if the rainbow were in tail
Settled on him, and his heirs male;
So the young squire, when first he comes
From country school to Will's or Tom's:1
And equally, in truth is fit
To be a statesman or a wit ;
Without one notion of his own,
He saunters wildly up and down;
Till some acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad;
Admits him in among the gang:
They jest, reply, dispute, harangue;
He acts and talks, as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him.
Thus merely, as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances.
If haply he the sect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their mysterious face:
He drinks his coffee without lace.
This week his mimic-tongue runs o'er
What they have said the week before;
His wisdom sets all Europe right,
And teaches Marborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet
With folks who have more wealth than wit;
He loves cheap port, and double bub;
And settles in the hum-drum club:
1 Two celebrated coffee-houses.
He learns how stocks will fall or rise;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation;
And says that learning spoils a nation.
But if, at first, he minds his hits,
And drinks champagne among the wits!
Five deep he toasts the towering lasses;
Repeats you verses wrote on glasses;
Is in the chair; prescribes the law;
And lies with those he never saw.
SLY Merry Andrew, the last Southwark fair
(At Barthol'mew he did not much appear:
So peevish was the edict of the Mayor)
At Southwark therefore as his tricks he show'd,
To please our masters, and his friends the crowd;
A huge neat's tongue he in his right hand held :
His left was with a good black pudding fill'd.
With a grave look in this odd equipage,
The clownish mimic traverses the stage:
Why how now, Andrew! cries his brother droll,
To-day's conceit, methinks, is something dull:
Come on, Sir, to our worthy friends explain,
What does your emblematic worship mean?
Quoth Andrew; Honest English let us speak:
Your emble-(what d'ye call't) is heathen Greek.
To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence :
Learning thy talent is, but mine is sense.
That busy fool I was, which thou art now;
Desirous to correct, not knowing how :
With very good design, but little wit,
Blaming or praising things, as I thought fit.
I for this conduct had what I deserv'd;
And dealing honestly, was almost starv'd.
But, thanks to my indulgent stars, I eat;
Since I have found the secret to be great.
O, dearest Andrew, says the humble droll,
Henceforth may I obey, and thou control;
Provided thou impart thy useful skill.—
Bow then, says Andrew; and, for once, I will.-—
Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says;
Sleep very much; think little; and talk less;
Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong,
But eat your pudding, slave; and hold your tongue.
A reverend prelate stopp'd his coach and six,
To laugh a little at our Andrew's tricks ;
But when he heard him give this golden rule,
Drive on (he cried); this fellow is no fool.
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