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But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop
To quadrupede instructors, many a good
And useful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among

Attachment never to be wean’d, or chang'd
By any change of fortune ; proof alike
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect;
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small
And trivial favors, lasting as the life,
And glist’ning even in the dying eye.

Man praises man.

Desert in arts or arms
Wins public honor ; and ten thousand fit
Patiently present at a sacred song,
Commemoration-mad; content to hear
(Oh wonderfu. ffect of music's pow'r !)
Messiah's eulogy, for Handel's sake.
But less, methinks, than facrilege might serve-
(For was it less, what heathen would have dar'd

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To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath,
And hang it up in honor of a man?)
Much less might serve, when all that we design
Is but to gratify an itching ear,
And give the day to a musician's praise.
Remember Handel? Who that was not born
Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets,
Or can, the more than Homer of his age ?
Yes—we remember him ; and while we praise
A talent fo divine, remember too
That His most holy book from whom it came
Was never meant, was never us'd before,
To buckram out the mem'ry of a man.
But hush !the muse perhaps is too severe,
And with a gravity beyond the size
And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed
Less impious than absurd, and owing more
To want of judgment than to wrong design.
So in the chapel of old Ely House,
When wand'ring Charles, who meant to be the third,


Had fled from William, and the news was fresh,
The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce,
And eke did rear right merrily, two staves,
Sung to the praise and glory of King George.
--Man praises man; and Garrick's mem'ry next,
When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made
The idol of our worship while he liv'd,
The god of our idolatry once more,
Shall have its altar; and the world shall go
In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine.
The theatre, too small, shall suffocate
Its squeez'd contents, and more than it admits
Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return
Ungratified. For there some noble lord
Shall stuff his shoulders with king Richard's bunch,

wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak,
And strut, and storm and straddle, stamp and stare,
To show the world how Garrick did not act,
For Garrick was a worshipper himself;
He drew the Liturgy, and fram'd the rites


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And folemn ceremonial of the day,
And call'd the world to worship on the banks
Of Avon, fam'd in song. Ah, pleasant proof
That piety has still in human hearts
Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct.
The mulb'ry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths ;
The muib'ry-tree stood center of the dance;
The mulb’ry-tree was hymn’d with dulcet airs ;
And from his touchwood trunk, the mulb’ry-tree
Supplied such relics, as devotion holds
Still sacred, and preserves with pious care.
So 'twas an hallow'd time: decorum reign'd,
And mirth without offence. No few return'd,
Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd.
-Man praises man. The rabble all alive,
From tippling-benches, cellars, stalls, and styes,
Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day,

and Now-moving pageant comes,
Some shout him, and some hang upon his car,
To gaze in 's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave


Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy:
While others, not so satisfied, unhorse
The gilded equipage, and, turning loose
His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve.
Why? what has charm’d them? Hath he sav'd the state?
No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No.
Inchanting novelty, that moon at full,
That finds out ev'ry crevice of the head
That is not found and perfect, hath in theirs
Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near,
And his own cattle must suffice him foon.
Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise,
And dedicate a tribute, in its use
And just direction, sacred, to a thing
Doom'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there.
Encomium in old time was poet's work;
But poets having lavishly long since
Exhausted all materials of the art,
The task now falls into the public hand;
And I, contented with an humble theme,

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