To emulate, a generous warmth implies,
To reach the virtues, that make great men rise;
But envy wears a mean malignant face,
And aims not at their virtues—but their place.
Such to oblige, how vain is the pretence!
When every favour is a fresh offence,
By which superior power is still implied,
And, while it helps their fortune, hurts their pride. Slight is the hate, neglect or hardships breed; But those who hate from envy, hate indeed.
"Since so perplex'd the choice, whom shall we trust?"
Methinks I hear thee cry-The brave and just;
The man by no mean fears or hopes control'd,
Who serves thee from affection, not for gold.
We love the honest, and esteem the brave,
Despise the coxcomb, but detest the knave;
No show of parts the truly wise seduce,
To think that knaves can be of real use.
The man,
who contradicts the public voice,
And strives to dignify a worthless choice,
Attempts a task that on that choice reflects,
And lends us light to point out new defects.
One worthless man, that gains what he pretends,
Disgusts a thousand unpretending friends:
And since no art can make a counterpass,
Or add the weight of gold to mimic brass,
When princes to bad ore their image join,
They more debase the stamp, than raise the coin.
Be thine the care, true merit to reward
And gain the good-nor will that task be hard;
Souls form'd alike so quick by nature blend,
An honest man is more than half thy friend.
Him, no mean views, or haste to rise, shall
Thy choice to sully, or thy trust betray:
Ambition, here, shall at due distance stand;
Nor is wit dangerous in an honest hand:
Besides, if failings at the bottom lie,
We view those failings with a lover's eye;
Though small his genius, let him do his best,
Our wishes and belief supply the rest.
Let others barter servile faith for gold,
His friendship is not to be bought or sold:
Fierce opposition he, unmov'd, shall face,
Modest in favour, daring in disgrace,
To share thy adverse fate alone, pretend;
In power, a servant; out of power, a friend.
Here pour thy favours in an ample flood,
Indulge thy boundless thirst of doing good:
Nor think that good to him alone confin'd;
Such to oblige, is to oblige mankind.
If thus thy mighty master's steps thou trace, The brave to cherish, and the good to grace; Long shalt thou stand from rage and faction free, And teach us long to love the king, through thee: Or fall a victim dangerous to the foe,
And make him tremble when he strikes the blow;
While honour, gratitude, affection join
To deck thy close, and brighten thy decline;
(Illustrious doom!) the great, when thus displac'd,
With friendship guarded, and with virtue grac'd,
In awful ruin, like Rome's senate, fall,
The prey and worship of the wondering Gaul.
No doubt, to genius some reward is due, (Excluding that, were satirizing you ;) But yet, believe thy undesigning friend, When truth and genius for thy choice contend, Tho' both have weight when in the balance cast, Let probity be first, and parts the last.
On these foundations if thou dar'st be great,
And check the growth of folly and deceit;
When party rage shall droop thro' length of days,
And calumny be ripen'd into praise,
Then future times shall to thy worth allow
That fame, which envy would call flattery now.
Thus far my zeal, though for the task unfit,
Has pointed out the rocks where others split;
By that inspir'd, though stranger to the Nine,
And negligent of any fame-but thine,
I take the friendly, but superfluous part;
You act from nature what I teach from art.
VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE FOREGOING EPISTLE.
Sopitos suscitat ignes. VIRG.
FROM man's too curious and impatient sight,
The future, Heaven involves in thickest night.
Credit gray hairs: though freedom much we boast,
Some least perform, what they determine most.
What sudden changes our resolves betray!
To-morrow is a satire on to-day,
And shows its weakness. Whom shall men be
When constantly themselves, themselves deceive?
Long had I bid my once-loved muse adieu; You warm old age; my passion burns anew. How sweet your verse! how great your force of
What power of words! what skill in dark mankind! Polite the conduct; generous the design;
And beauty files, and strength sustains, each line. Thus Mars and Venus are, once more, beset; Your wit has caught them in its golden net.
But what strikes home with most exalted grace
Is, haughty genius taught to know its place;
And, where worth shines, its humbled crest to bend,
With zeal devoted to that godlike end.
When we discern so rich a vein of sense,
Through the smooth flow of purest eloquence;
'Tis like the limpid streams of Tagus roll'd
O'er boundless wealth, o'er shining beds of gold.
But whence so finish'd, so refin'd a piece? The tongue denies it to old Rome and Greece; The genius bids the moderns doubt their claim, And slowly take possession of the fame. But I nor know, nor care, by whom 'twas writ, Enough for me that 'tis from human wit, That soothes my pride: all glory in the pen Which has done honour to the race of men.
But this have others done; a like applause
An ancient and a modern Horace draws.1
But they to glory by degrees arose,
Meridian lustre you at once disclose.
'Tis continence of mind, unknown before,
To write so well, and yet to write no more.
More bright renown can human nature claim,
Than to deserve, and fly immortal fame ?
Next to the godlike praise of writing well,
Is on that praise with just delight to dwell.
O, for some God my drooping soul to raise !
That I might imitate, as well as praise;
For all commend: e'en foes your fame confess;
Nor would Augustus' age have priz'd it less;
An age, which had not held its pride so long,
But for the want of so complete a song.
A golden period shall from you commence : Peace shall be sign'd 'twixt wit and manly sense; Whether your genius or your rank they view, The muses find their Halifax in you.
Like him succeed! nor think my zeal is shown For you; 'tis Britain's interest, not your own; For lofty stations are but golden snares,
Which tempt the great to fall in love with cares.
I would proceed, but age has chill'd my vein, 'Twas a short fever, and I'm cool again.
Though life I hate, methinks I could renew
Its tasteless, painful course, to sing of you.
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