AN EPISTLE ΤΟ M R. W. WOTY.
THE praife of Genius will offend
A foe no doubt, fometimes a friend;
But curfe on genius, wit and parts,
The thirft of science, love of arts,
If inconfiftent with the plan
Of focial good from man to man.
For me, who will, may wear the bays,
I value not fuch idle praise :
Let wrangling wits abuse, defame,
And quarrel for an empty name,
What's in this fhuffling pace of rhyme,
Or grand pas ftride of ftiff fublime,
That vanity her trump should blow,
And look with fcorn on folks below?
Are wit and folly close ally'd,
And match'd, like poverty, with pride?
When rival bards for fame contend,
The poet often fspoils the friend;
Genius felf-center'd feels alone
That merit he esteems his own,
And cold, o'er jealous, and fevere,
Hates, like a Turk, a brother near;
Malice fteps in, good nature flies,
Folly prevails, and friendship dies.
Peace to all fuch, if peace can dwell
With those who bear about a hell,
Who blaft all worth with envy's breath,
By their own feelings ftung to death.
None but a weak and brainless fool,
Undifciplin'd in fortune's fchool,
Can hope for favours from the wit:
He pleads prefcription to forget,
Unnotic'd let him live or rot,
And, as forgetful, be forgot.
Most wags, whose pleasure is to smoke,
Wou'd rather lose their friend, than joke;
A man in rags looks fomething queer,
And there's vast humour in a fneer;
That jeft, alike all witlings fuits,
Which lies no further than the boots.
Give me the man whose open mind
Means focial good to all mankind;
Who when his friend, from fortune's round,
Is toppled headlong to the ground,
Can meet him with a warm embrace,
And wipe the tear from forrow's face.
Who, not felf-taught and proudly wife,
Seeks more to comfort than advise,
Who lefs intent to fhine than please,
Wears his own mirth with native ease;
And is from fenfe, from nature's plan,
The jovial gueft, the honest man ;
In fhort, whofe picture, painted true,
In ev'ry point resembles you.
And will my friend for once excufe
This off'ring of a lazy muse,
Moft lazy,-left you think her not,
I'll draw her picture on the spot.
A perfect ease the dame enjoys;
Three chairs her indolence employs :
On one she squats her cufhion'd bum,
Which wou'd not rife, tho' kings fhould come;
An arm lolls dangling o'er another,
A leg lies couchant on its brother.
To make her look fupremely wise,
At least like wisdom in disguise,
The weed, which first by Raleigh brought,
Gives thinking looks inftead of thought,
She fmokes, and smokes; without all feeling,
Save as the eddies climb the cieling,
And waft about their mild perfume,
She marks their paffage round the room.
When pipe forfakes the vacant mouth,
A pot of beer prevents her drowth,
Which with potations pottle deep
Lulls the poor maudlin mufe to fleep.
Her books of which fh'as wond'rous need,
But neither pow'r nor will to read,
In fcatter'd tomes lie all around
Upon the lowest shelf-the ground.
Such ease no doubt suits easy rhyme;
Folks walk about who write SUBLIME,
While RECITATION's pompous found
Drawls words fonorous all around,
And ACTION waves her hand and head,
As those who bread and butter fpread.
You bards who feel not fancy's dearth,
Who ftrike the roof, and kick the earth,
Whofe mufe fuperlatively high
Takes lodgings always near the sky;
And like the lark with daring flight
Still foars and fings beyond our fight;
May trumpet forth your grand fublime,
And fcorn our lazy lounging rhyme.
Yet tho' the lark in æther floats,
And trills no doubt diviner notes,
Carelefly perch'd on yonder spray,
The linnet fings a pretty lay.
What horrid, what tremendous fight
Shakes all my fabric with affright!
With ARGUS' hundred eyes he marks,
With triple mouth the monster barks ;
And while he fcatters flaming brands
BRIAREUS lends him all his hands.
Hift! 'tis a CRITIC.-Yes-'tis he-
What wou'd your graceless form with me?
Is it t' upbraid me with the crime
Of spinning unlaborious rhyme,
Of ftringing various thoughts together
In verfe, or profe, or both, or neither?
A vein, which tho' it must offend
You lofty firs who can't defcend,
To fame has often made its way
From BUTLER, PRIOR, SWIFT and GAY;
Is it for this your brow auftere
Frowns me to ftone for very fear?
Hear my juft reason first, and then
Approve me right, or fplit my pen.
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