IMITATION IV.
NRITICKS avaunt; TOBACCo is my theme;
Tremble like hornets at the blasting steam.
And you, court-infects, flutter not too near
Its light, nor buzz within the fcorching sphere.
POLLIO, with flame like thine, my verse inspire,
So fhall the Mufe from fmoke elicit fire.
Coxcombs prefer the tickling fting of fnuff;
Yet all their claim to wisdom is—a puff:
Lord FOPLIN fmokes not-for his teeth afraid :
Sir TAWDRY fmokes not-for he wears brocade.
Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon;
They love no fmoke, except the smoke of town;
But courtiers hate the puffing tribe,-
Strange if they love the breath that cannot flatter!
Its foes but fhew their ignorance; can he
Who fcorns the leaf of knowledge, love the tree?
The tainted templar (more prodigious yet)
Rails at TOBACCo, tho' it makes him-spit.
CITRONIA VOws it has an odious ftink;
She will not smoke (ye gods !)—but she will drink :
And chafte PRUDELLA (blame her if you can)
Says, pipes are us'd by that vile creature Man :
Yet crowds remain, who ftill its worth proclaim,
While fome for pleasure smoke, and some for fame :
Fame, of our actions universal spring,
For which we drink, eat, fleep, fmoke-ev'ry thing.
LEST leaf! whofe aromatick gales difpenfe
To templars modefty, to parfons fense:
So raptur'd priefts, at fam'd DoDONA's fhrine
Drank inspiration from the steam divine.
Poifon that cures, a vapour that affords
Content, more solid than the smile of lords
Reft to the weary, to the hungry food,
The last kind refuge of the WISE and GOOD.
Infpir'd by thee, dull cits adjust the scale
Of Europe's peace, when other statesmen fail.
By thee protected, and thy fifter, beer,
Poets rejoice, nor think the bailiff near.
Nor lefs the critick owns thy genial aid,
While fupperlefs he plies the piddling trade.
What tho' to love and foft delights a foe,
By ladies hated, hated by the beau,
Yet focial freedom, long to courts unknown,
Fair health, fair truth, and virtue are thy own.
Come to thy poet, come with healing wings,
And let me tafte thee unexcis'd by kings.
ΙΜΙΤΑΤΙΟΝ VI.
OY! bring an ounce of FREEMAN's best,
And bid the vicar be my guest:
Let all be plac'd in manner due,
A pot wherein to spit or fpue,
And London Journal, and Free-Briton,
Of ufe to light a pipe, or
This village, unmolested yet
By troopers, fhall be my retreat :
Who cannot flatter, bribe, betray;
Who cannot write or vote for *.
Far from the vermin of the town,
Here let me rather live, my own,
Doze o'er a pipe, whose vapour bland
In fweet oblivion lulls the land;
Of all which at Vienna passes,
And fcorning rafcals to carefs,
Extol the days of good Queen BESS,
When firft TOBACCO bleft our isle,
Then think of other Queens-and fimile,
Come jovial pipe, and bring along
Midnight revelry and fong;
The merry catch, the madrigal,
That echoes fweet in City Hall;
The parfon's pun, the fmutty tale
Of country justice o'er his ale.
I ask not what the French are doing,
Or Spain to compafs Britain's ruin :
Britons, if undone, can go,
Where TOBACco loves to grow.
HARLES, fon of Yorke, who on the mercy-feat
Of justice states the bounds of right and wrong;
Not like the vulgar law-bewilder'd throng,
Who in the maze of error, hope to meet
Truth, or hope rather to delude with lies
And airy phantoms, under truth's disguise.
Some wrapt in precedents, or points decreed,
Or lop or ftretch the law to forms precife:
Some, who the pedantry of rules despise,
Plain fenfe adopt, from legal fetters freed;
Senfe without science, fleeting, unconfin'd,
Is empty guefs, and fhifts with ev'ry wind.
But he, thy fire, with more difcerning toil,
Rang'd the wide field, fagacious to explore
Where lay difpers'd or hid the precious ore;
Then form'd into a whole the gather'd spoil.
Law, reafon, equity, which now unite,
Reflecting each on each a friendly light.
Bleft in a guide, a pattern so compleat,
Tread, as thou do'ft, his footsteps; for not rude
Thy genius, not uncultur'd, unfubdu'd.
Yet there are intervals, and feafons meet,
To fmooth the brow of thought; nor thou difdain
Fit hour of vacance with the Mufe's train.
Let meaner fpirits, cast in common mould,
Who feed on husks of learned lore, refufe
To hear the leffons of the warbling Mufe;
Nor know that bards, the law-givers of old,
By foothing fong to moral truth beguil'd
Man, till then fierce, a lawless race, and wild.
What means the lyre, by which the fabled fage
Drew beafts to liften, and made rocks advance
Around him as he play'd, in myftick dance ?
What, but the Mufe? who foften'd human rage.
Parent of concord, fhe prepar'd the plan
Of focial life, and man attun’d to man.
She taught the spheres to move in fair array,
Each in their orbits heark'ning to her strain ;
Elfe would they wander o'er th' etherial plain
Licentious, but that fhe directs their
way:
She aw'd to temper, by her magick spell,
The warring elements, and powers of hell.
|