stoop

But learn we might, if not too proud to
To quadrupede inftructors, many a good
And useful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among ourselves.
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 glift'ning even in the dying eye.

Man praises man. Defert in arts or arms Wins public honor; and ten thousand fit Patiently present at a facred fong, Commemoration-mad; content to hear

(Oh wonderfu. ffect of mufic's pow'r!) Meffiah's eulogy, for Handel's fake.

But lefs, methinks, than facrilege might serve(For was it lefs, what heathen would have dar'd

To ftrip Jove's ftatue of his oaken wreath,

And hang it up in honor of a man?)

Much lefs might ferve, when all that we defign

Is but to gratify an itching ear,

And give the day to a mufician'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 huh!—the mufe perhaps is too fevere,
And with a gravity beyond the size

And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed
Lefs impious than abfurd, and owing more
To want of judgment than to wrong defign.

So in the chapel of old Ely House,

When wand'ring Charles, who meant to be the third,

Had

Had fled from William, and the news was fresh,
The fimple 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 fomewhat 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 fhall go
In pilgrimage to bow before his fhrine.

The theatre, too small, fhall fuffocate

Its fqueez'd contents, and more than it admits.
Shall figh at their exclufion, and return
Ungratified. For there fome noble lord

Shall ftuff his fhoulders with king Richard's bunch,
Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak,

And ftrut, and ftorm and straddle, ftamp 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

And

And folemn ceremonial of the day,

And call'd the world to worship on the banks
Of Avon, fam'd in fong. Ah, pleasant proof
That piety has ftill in human hearts

Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct.

The mulb'ry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths
The mulb'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 fuch relics, as devotion holds

Still facred, and preferves 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, ftalls, and styes,
Swarm in the streets. The ftatesman of the day,
A pompous and flow-moving pageant comes,
Some fhout him, and fome hang upon his car,
To gaze in 's eyes, and blefs him. Maidens wave

Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy:

While others, not so satisfied, unhorse

The gilded equipage, and, turning loofe

His steeds, ufurp a place they well deserve.

Why? what has charm'd them? Hath he fav'd the state? No. Doth he purpose its falvation? 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 muft fuffice him foon.

Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise,

And dedicate a tribute, in its use

And just direction, facred, to a thing

Doom'd to the duft, or lodg'd already there.

Encomium in old time was poet's work;

But poets having lavishly long fince
Exhausted all materials of the art,

The task now falls into the public hand;
And I, contented with an humble theme,