(Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow
I never miss'd your works till now)
I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine,
(That only way you please the Nine)
But since I chance to want these two,
I'll make the songs of Durfey1 do.

Rent from the corpse, on yonder pin
I hang the scales that braced it in;
I hang my studious morning gown,
And write my own inscription down.

This trophy from the Python won,
This robe, in which the deed was done,
These, Parnell glorying in the feat,
Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat.
Here Ignorance and Hunger found
Large realms of wit to ravage round;
Here Ignorance and Hunger fell-
Two foes in one I sent to hell.
Ye poets, who my labours see,
Come share the triumph all with me!
Ye critics, born to vex the Muse,
Go mourn the grand ally you lose !'

79

90

100

AN ALLEGORY ON MAN.

A THOUGHTFUL being, long and spare,
Our race of mortals call him Care;
(Were Homer living, well he knew
What name the gods have call'd him too)
With fine mechanic genius wrought,
And loved to work, though no one bought.

16 'Durfey:'
' the well-known wit of the time.

This being, by a model bred
In Jove's eternal sable head,

Contrived a shape, empower'd to breathe,
And be the worldling here beneath.

The Man rose staring, like a stake,
Wondering to see himself awake!
Then look'd so wise, before he knew
The business he was made to do,
That, pleased to see with what a grace
He gravely show'd his forward face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An under-something of the sky.

But e'er he gave the mighty nod,
Which ever binds a poet's god,
(For which his curls ambrosial shake,
And mother Earth's obliged to quake :)
He saw old mother Earth arise,
She stood confess'd before his eyes;
But not with what we read she wore,
A castle for a crown, before;
Nor with long streets and longer roads
Dangling behind her, like commodes:
As yet with wreaths alone she dress'd,
And trail'd a landscape-painted vest.
Then thrice she raised, (as Ovid said)
And thrice she bow'd her weighty head.
Her honours made, Great Jove, she cried,
This thing was fashion'd from my side;
His hands, his heart, his head are mine;
Then what hast thou to call him thine?
Nay, rather ask, the monarch said,
What boots his hand, his heart, his head?
Were what I gave removed away,

Thy parts an idle shape of clay.

Halves, more than halves! cried honest Care; Your pleas would make your titles fair,

You claim the body, you the soul,
But I who join'd them, claim the whole.
Thus with the gods debate began,
On such a trivial cause as Man.
And can celestial tempers rage?
(Quoth Virgil in a later age.)

As thus they wrangled, Time came by ;
(There's none that paint him such as I,
For what the fabling ancients sung
Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.)
As yet his winters had not shed
Their silver honours on his head;
He just had got his pinions free
From his old sire Eternity.
A serpent girdled round he wore,
The tail within the mouth before;
By which our almanacs are clear
That learned Egypt meant the year.
A staff he carried, where on high
A glass was fix'd to measure by,
As amber boxes made a show
For heads of canes an age ago.

His vest, for day and night, was pied,
A bending sickle arm'd his side,

And Spring's new months his train adorn;
The other Seasons were unborn.

Known by the gods, as near he draws,
They make him umpire of the cause.
O'er a low trunk his arm he laid,
(Where since his Hours a dial made ;)
Then, leaning, heard the nice debate,
And thus pronounced the words of Fate:

I

42

50

60

70

Since Body from the parent Earth,
And Soul from Jove received a birth,
Return they where they first began;
But since their union makes the Man,
Till Jove and Earth shall part these two,
To Care, who join'd them, Man is due.

He said, and sprung with swift career
To trace a circle for the year,
Where ever since the Seasons wheel,
And tread on one another's heel.

'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent
Thundering he shook the firmament;
Our umpire Time shall have his way,
With Care I let the creature stay:
Let business vex him, avarice blind,

75

80

Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind,

90

Let error act, opinion speak,

And want afflict, and sickness break,

And anger burn, dejection chill,
And joy distract, and sorrow kill,
Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow,
Time draws the long destructive blow;
And wasted Man, whose quick decay,
Comes hurrying on before his day,
Shall only find, by this decree,
The Soul flies sooner back to me.

100

AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES.

RELENTLESS Time! destroying power

Whom stone and brass obey,

Who giv'st to every flying hour

To work some new decay;

Unheard, unheeded, and unseen,
Thy secret saps prevail,
And ruin Man, a nice machine

By Nature form'd to fail.

My change arrives; the change I meet,
Before I thought it nigh.

My spring, my years of pleasure fleet,
And all their beauties die.

In age I search, and only find
A poor unfruitful gain,

Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind,
Oppress'd with loads of pain.
My ignorance could once beguile,
And fancied joys inspire;
My errors cherish'd hope to smile
On newly-born desire.

But now experience shows the bliss,
For which I fondly sought,
Not worth the long impatient wish,
And ardour of the thought.
My youth met Fortune fair array'd;
In all her pomp she shone,
And might perhaps have well essay'd
To make her gifts my own:
But when I saw the blessings shower

On some unworthy mind,

I left the chase, and own'd the power
Was justly painted blind.

I pass'd the glories which adorn

The splendid courts of kings,

And while the persons moved my scorn,

I rose to scorn the things.

My manhood felt a vigorous fire,

By love increased the more;

5

10

20

30