Imatges de pÓgina

He now with pleasure views the gasping prize Wand'ring in plenty, danger he forgets,
Gnash his sharp teeth, and roll his blood-thot cyes; Nor dreads the flav'ry of entangling nets.
Then draws him to the shore with artful care, The subtle dog scours with fagacious nose
And lifts his nostrils in the sick’ning air : Along the field, and snuffs each breeze that blows;
Upon the burthen’d stream he floating lies, Against the wind he takes his prudent way,
Stretches his quiv'ring fins, and gasping dies. While the strong gale directs him to the prey.

Would you preferve a num'rous finny race, Now the warm scent assures the covey near ;
Let your fierce dogs the rar 'nous otter chase He treads with caution, and he points with fears
(Th'amphibious monster ranges all the shores, Then (left some sentry-fowl the fraud descry,
Darts thro' the waves, and ev'ry haunt explores): And bid his fellows from the danger fly)
Or let the gin his roving steps betray,

Close to the ground in expectation lies, And save from hostile jaws the scaly prey.

Till in the snare the flutt'ring covey rise. I never wander where the bord'ring reeds Soon as the bluthing light begins to spread, O'crlook the muddy stream, whose tangling weeds And glancing Phæbus gilds the mountain's head, Perplex the fisher; I nor choose to bear His early flight th' ill-fated partridge takes, The thievith nightly net, nor barbed (pear; And quits the friendly shelter of the brakes. Nor drain I ponds, the golden carp to take;

Or, when the sun casts a declining ray, Nor trowle for pikes, dispeoplers of the lake;

And drives his chariot down the western way, Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine, Let your obsequious ranger search around, No blood of living infcét stain my line.

Where yellow stubble withers on the ground: Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook, Nor will the roving spy direct in vain, With pliant rod, athwart the pebbled brook,

But num'rous coveys gratify thy pain. Silent along the mazy margin stray,

When the meridian sun contracts the shade, And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey. And frisking heifers feck the cooling glade ;

Or when the country floats with sudden rains, CANTOJI.

Or driving mists dcface the inoitten'd plains ;

In vain his toils th' unskilful fowler tries, NOW, sporting Muse, draw in the flowing reins, while in thick woods the feeding partridge lies. Leave the clear streams awhile for funny plains. Nor must the sporting verse the gun forbear, Should you the various arms and toils rehearse, But what's the Fowler's be the Muse's care. And all the fisherman adorn thy verse; See how the weil-taught pointer leads the way: Should you the wide encircling net display, The scent grows warm; he stops; he springs the And in its spacious arch inclose the fea;

Then haul the plunging load upon the land, The fluct'ring coveys from the stubble rise,
And with the foal and turbot hide the sand; And on swifi wing divide the founding skies;
It would extend the growing theme too long, The scatering lead pursues the certain sight,
And tire the reader with the wat'ry song: And death in thunder overtakes their fight

Let the keen hunter from the chace refrain, Cool breathes the moi ning air, and Winter's hand
Nor render all the ploughman's labour vain, Spreads wide her hoary manele o'er the land;
When Ceres pours out plenty from her horn, Now to the copse thy leffer spaniel çake,
And clothes the fields with golden ears of corn. Tcach him to range the ditch, and force the brake;
Now, now, ye reapers, to your task repair,

Not cioteft coverts can protect the game:
Haste ! save the product of the bountcous year: Hark! the dog pens; take thy certain aim.
To the wide-gathering hook long furrows yield, The woodcock futters ; how he wav'ring fies!
And rifing fleaves extend through all the ficid. The wood resounds : he wheels, he drops, he
Yet, if for fylvan sports thy bosom glow,

dies, Let thy fleet greyhound urge his flying foc. The tow'ring hawk let future poets sing, With what delight the rapid course 1 view! Who terror bears upon his soaring wing: How does my eye the circling race purfue ! Let them on high the fighted hern Turvey, He snaps deceitful air with empty jaws;

And lofty numbers paint their airy fray. The subtle hare darts swift beneath his paws ; Nor Tall the mountain laik ihe Mule detain, She Alies, he stretches; now with nimble bound That greets the morning with his carly strain ; Eager he presses on, but overshoots his ground; When, 'midst his song, the twinkling glass She turns; he winds, and foon regains the way. betrays, Then tears with goary mouth the creaming prey. While from cach angle A21h t' e glancing rays, What various sport does rural life afford! Ind in the fun the transient oleurs blaze, What unbought dainties heap the wholesome Pride lures the little warbler from the shies : board!

The ligh-enamour'd bird deluded dies. Nor less the spaniel, skilful to betray,

But Itill the chace, a pleasing taik, remains; Rewards the fowler with the feather'd prey. The hound must open in these rural strains. Soon as the labouring horse, with fuelling veins, Soon as Aurora drives away the night, Has fafely hous'd the farmer's doubtful gains, And edges eastern clouds with rosy light, To sweet repast th' unwary partridge flies, The healthy huntsman, with the cheerful horn, With joy amid the scatter'd harvest lics ; Summons the dogs, and greets the dappled morn;




Tanto major Famae fitis et qui


The jocund thunder wakes th' enliven'd hounds, The fleecy ball their buly fingers cull,
They rouse fronllcepandansiver founds for sounds; Or from the spindle draw the lengib'ning in:
fide thro' the furzz field their route they take; Thus How her hours with constant peace of mind,
Their bleeding botoms force the thorny brake: Till age the latest thread of life unwind.
The flying game their fmoking vostrils trace, Ye happy fields, unknown to ncise and file,
No bounding hedge obfructs their cager pace; The kind rewarders of ind. ftrious lire;
The cittant mountains echo from afar,

Yc thady woods, where once I us'd to rove,
And hanging woods resuund thc flying war: Alike indulgent to the Muse an! L'e;
The tuneful noile the prightly courler hears, Yo murm’ring ítreams that in m anders roll,
Paws the green turf, and pricks his trembling cars; The sweet composers of the peo five loui;
The tlacken'd rcin now gives him all his speed, Farewell!--the city calls me froin your bou'rs:
Back flies the rapid ground bencath the stred; Farewell, amusing thoughts, and pe ceililoari
Hills, dales, and foreits, far behind remain, (train.
While the warm fcent draws on the deep-mouth'd
Where thall the trembling hare a shelter find? § 53. Love of Fame, the Universal T.
Hark! death advances in each gust of wind !

New stratagems and doubling wiles the tries;
Now circling turns, and now at large the flies;

To bis Grace tbc Duke of Delet.
Till, ipent at last, the pants, and heaves for breath,
Then lays her down, and waits devouring death.

But stay, advent'rous Muse! haft thou the force
To wind the twitted horn, to guide the horse ? MY verse is Satire ; Dorset, lend your ear,
To keep thy feat uninor'd, hait thou the skill, And patronize a Mulc you cannot far;
O'er the high gate, and down the headlong hill: To Poets lacred is a Dorfet's name,
Canst thou the stag's laborious chace direct, Their wonted patport thro' the gates of fume;
Or the firong fox thro' all his arts dctićt ? It brilies the partial reader into praise,
Tie theme demands a more experienc'd lay : And throws a giory round the thclier'd lass;
Ye mighty hunters ! spare this weak eliay. The dazzled judynient fester faults candie,

O happy plains, remote from war’s alarms, And gives applavíc to B—- --, or to me. And all the ravages of hostile arms !

But you decline the mittreis we purlue; And happy Theplerds, who, fecure from fear, Others are food of Fame, but Faine of you. On open downs preserve your ficecy care !

Initructive Sa ire, irut-to virtue's caute, "hose ipacious barns groan with increasing store, Thou shining supplement of public laurs! And whirling lails disjoint the cracking Hoor! Il'hen Hutter'd coincs of a liccntious age Vis barbarous foldier, went on cruel fpoil, Reproach our ileoce, and demand our id; Spreads defolation o'er your fertile toil; "l'hion purchas id sollics from each tidit sand,

No trampling steed lays walic the ripen'd grain, Like arts, improve in Britain's 13 ilful hard; Nor crackling fires devour the proinis d gain :

II lie thic lati hins her teuth, but arts re: bit?, Vis timing beacons cast their blaze afar, And South-Sca treasures are not brougitivity ; The dicadful tignal of invasive war:

When curcimen fcripture for the Ciclics qui, No trumpet's clangor wounds the mother's ear, Peliic aportatus from God's.grace to nit; Ad calls the lover froin his fivooning fair. When men grotv great froir their revecue sport,

IV hat happiness the rural maid atiends, And fly froin bailiit's into parliament; To chocrful labour while each day the spends! When dying inners, to blot out the sccre, She gratefully receives what Ilearen has tent, Bcqueath the church the leavings of a wiceAnd, rich in poverty, enjoys conturit

To chafu our ipleen when themes like these inSich happiness, and such unblemith'd fame,

creale, Per glad the bofom of the courtly dame): Shall panegyric reign, and censure cease? Sieu never feels the spleen's imagin'd puins, Shall pociv, like luv, turn wiony to right, Nor melancholy ftagnates in her viids;

And dedications waib an Athicp buite, will never loics life in thoughileis eule,

Set up each fcriclefs wretch for nature's boast, Vor on the velvet couch invites discale; On whom praile Thines as trophies on a fuit? Her home-fpun dress in fimple ncatniss lies, Shall funeral cloquencu her colours fpread, And for no glaring equipage the tighs :

And scatter roles on the wealthy dead? ilur reputation, which is all her boalt,

Shall authors foile on fuch illustrious days, 1. a malicious visit ne'er was loit;

And fatirize with nothing but their pave' ito inidnight masquerade her beauty wcars, Whyllumbers Pope, who leads the turefurral, 19d health, not paint, the fading bloom repairs. Nor hcars that virtue which he loves, comisin? If love's soft pallion in her boím reign, Donne, Dorset, Dryden, Rocheiter are dead, i'r equal paflion warms her happy twain : And guilt's chief foe in Addison is fed; Hihonc-bred jars her quiet state controul, Congrere, who, crown'd with laurels fairly wes, Vir watchful jealousy torment, her soul; Sirs 1miling at the goal while others run, With ficret joy she sees her liktie race

He will not write; and (nore provoking fill') Lains on ler brcali, and her finall cottage grace; Ye gods! he will not write, and Meviuo "..


Doubly diftreft, what author shall we find Nor is 't enough all hearts are swoln with pride Discreetly daring and severely kind,

Her pow'r is mighty, as her realm is wide. The courtly Roman's thining paih to tread, What can the nor perform ? The love of fame And Tharply smile prevailing tolly dead > Made bold Alphonsus his Creator blame, Will no fuperior genius snatch the quill, Empedocles hurl'd down the burning steep, And save me, on the brink, from writing ill? ind (tronger still!) made Alexander weep. Tho'vain the Itrife, I'll ftrive my voice to raise : Nay it hold Delia from a second bed, [dead. What will nor men attempt for iacred praile? Tho' her lov'd lord has four half months beca

The love of praise, howe'er conceal’d by art, This patrion with a pimple have I seen Reigns, more or less, and glows in ev'ry hicart: Retard a cauic, and give a judge the splcen. The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure; By this infpir'd (oli ne'er to be forgot!) The modest ihun it but to make it sure,

Some lords have learn'd to spell, and some to knot. O'er globes and sceptres now on thrones it fivells, It makes Globose a speaker in the houle; Now trims the midnight lamp in college cells. Hc heins--and is deliver d of his mouse. 'Tis Tory, Whig; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads; It makes dear felf on well-bred tongues prevail, Harangries in fenates, squeaks in masquerades: And I the little hero of each tale Here, to Se's humour makes a bold pretence; Sick with the love of fame, ivhat throngs pouring There, bolder aims at Pult'ney's eloquence : Unpeople court, and leave the senate thin! It aids the dancer's hecl, the writer's hend, My growing subject seems but just begun, And heaps the plain with mountains of the dead. And, chariot-like, I kindle as I run. Nor ends with life ; but nods in fable plumes, Aid me, great Homer! with thy epic rules, Adorns our hearfe, and Qatrei's on our tombs. To take a catalogue of British fools.

Who is not proud? the pimp is proud to see Satire ! had I thy Dorset's force divine, So many like himielf in high degree:

A knave or fool should perish in each line ; The whore is proud her beauties are the dread Tho' for the first all Westminster fould plead, Of peevith virtue, and the marriage bed; And for the last all Gresham intercede. And the buib'd clickold, like crownd victims born Begin–who first the Catalogne Phall grace ? To laughter, glories in his gilded horn. To quality belongs the highest place.

Some go to church, proud humbly to repent, My lord comes forward; forward let him come! And come back much inore guilty than they went: Ye vulgar, at your peril give him room! One way they look, another way they fteer ; He stands for fame on his forefathers' feet, Pray to the gods, but would have inortals hcar; By heraldry prov'd valiant or discreet. And when their fins they set sincerely down, With what a decent pride he throws his eyes They 'll find that their religion has been one. Above the man by three descents less wise ! Others with wishful eyes on glory look,

If virtues at his noble hand you crave, When they have got their picture to sv'rds a book; You bid him raile his fathers fiom the grave. Or pompous titie, like a gaudy fiun

Men shouldpreis forward in fame's glorious chace; Meant to betray dull fots to wretched wine. Nobles look backward, and so lose the race.

If at his title T- -- had drope his quill, Let high birth triumph! what can be more great! T— might have pass’d for a great genius still; Nothing but meric in a low estate. But T-, alas! (excuse him, if you can)

To Virtue's humblert son let none prefer Is now a fcribbler, who was once a man. Vice, tho' descended from the Conqueror.

Imperious fome a clallic fame demand, Shall men, like figures, pass for high or base, For hcaping up with a laburious hand

Slight or important, only by their place ? A wiggon-load of meanings for one word, Titles are marks of honest men and wise ; While A's depos'd, and B with pomp restor’d. The fool or knare that wears a title, lies.

Some for renown on scraps of learning deat, They that on glorious ancestors enlarge, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

Produce their debt instead of their dilcharge. To patchwork learn'd quotations are allied; Dorfit, let those who proudly boast their line, Both Itrive to make our poverty our pride. Like thee, in worth hereditary thine. On glass how witty is a nobíc Peer!

Vain as false greatness is, the Muse must own Did ever diamond colt a man so dear?

We want not fools to buy that B istol stone. Polite diseases make some idiots vain,

Mean tons of Earth, who on a Suth-Sua tide Which, if unfortunately well, they feign. Of full success fivam into wealth and pride, On death-beds some in conscious glory lie, Knock with a purse of gold at Anstis' gate, Since of the doctor in the mode they die ; And beg to be descended from the great. Whose wondrous skill is, headsman-like, to know When men of infainy to grandeur foar, For better pay to give a surer blow.

They light a torch to shew their shame the more, Of folly, vice, disease, men proud we fee : Those governments which curb not evils, caufc; And (stranger ftill) of block heads fiattery, And a rich knave's a libel on our laws. Whole praile defames; as if a fool thould mean Belus with folid glory will he crown'd; By spitting on your face to make it clean! He buys n phantom, no vain empty suund,

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But builds himself a name ; and, to be great, What bodily fatigue is half so bad
Sinks in a quarry an immenic eftate;

With anxious care they labour to be glad.
In cost and grandeur Chandos he'll outdo; What numbers here would into faine advanc,
And, Burlington, thy taste is not to true. Conscious of merit in the coxcomb's dance!
The pile is finish'd, ev'ry soil is part,

The tavern, paik, assembly, mak, and play, And full perfection is arriv'd at last;

Those dear destroyers of the tedious das! When, lo! my Lord to fome small corner runs, That wheel of fops ! that saunter of the own! And leaves state-rooms to strangers and to duns. Call it diverfion, and the pill gees down:

The man who builds, and wants where with to Fools grin on fools ; and Stoic-like support, Provides a home from which to run away. (pay, Without one figh, the pleatures of a court. In Britain what is many a lordly feat,

Courts can give nothing to the wife and good, But a discharge in full for an estate?

But scorn of pomp, and love of solitude. In smaller compass lics Pygmalion's fame; High stations tumult, but not bliss, create : Not domes, but antique statues, are his tiame. None think the great uphappy, but the great. Not F-t-n's self more Parian charms has known, Fools garc and envy; envy darts a fting, Nor is good Pembroke inore in love with lione. Which makes a rivain as wretched as a king, The bailiffs come (rude men, profanely bold') 1

envy none their

fageantry and thos; And bid him curn his Venus into gold.


enry none the gilding of their woc. “ No, firs,” he cries; “ I'll sooncr rot in jail' Give ine, indulgent gods ! with mind serene, “Shall Grecian arts be truck'd for English bail :" And guiltlefs heart, io range the fyivan scene, Such heads might make their very butios laugh. No splendid poverty, no smiling care, His daughter siarves, but * Cleopatra 's lafe. No well-bred hate, or fervile grandeur there; Men overloaded with a large estate

There pleafing objects useful thoughts fuggest

, May spill their treasure in a nice conceit; The lente is ravishd, and the soul is bieit; The rich may be polite; but, oh! 'tis fau On ev'ry thorn delightful wisdoin grows, Tu say you 're curious, when we firear you're maci. In ev'ry rill a sweet instruction flows: By your revenue measure your expence, But foine untaught o'erhear the whisp'ring til, And to your funds and acres join your fcnse : In spite of sacred leisure block heads ftill; No man is blest by accident or guess,

Nor thocts up folly to a nobler bloom True wisdom is the price of happiness: In her own native soil, the drawing-room. Yet few without long discipline are tage; The 'fquire is proud to see his courser ftraita And our youth only lays up fighs for age. Or well-orcath'd beagles sweep along the plain.

But how, my Muse, canst thou refute 1o long Say, dear Hippolitus (whose drink is ale, The bright temptation of thic courtly throng Whofe erudition is a Christmas-tale,

Thy most inviting theme? The court allords Whole mistress is faluted with a smack, Much food for satire ; it atounds in lords. And friend receiv'd with thumps upon the back), • What lords are those faluting with a grin?" When thy scek gelding nimbly leaps the mouse, One is just out, and one is lately in.

And Ringwood opens on the tainted ground, “ How comes it then to pass we fee preside Is that thy praise? Let Ringwood's fame aluse, “ On both their brows an equal share of pride :" | Just Ringwond leaves each animal his own; Pride, that impartial paflion, ruigns thro' all; Nor envics when a gypsy you coinmit, Attends our glory, nor deferts our fall : And thake the clumly bench with country wit; As in its home, it triumphs in hig'a place, When you the dutlet of dull things have said, And frowns a haughty exile in disgrace. And then ask pardon for the jest you made. Some lords it bids admire their wands so white, Here breathe, my Muse! and then thytask renew, Which bloom, like Aaron's, to their ravish'd light: Ten thousand fools unsung are still in view. Some lords it bids refign, and turns their wands, Fewer lay atheists made by church-debates; Like Mosca', into serpents in their hands. Fewer great beggars fam'd for large estates; These sink, as divers, for renown! and boast Ladies, whole love is constant as the wind; With pride inverted of their honours lost. Cits, who prefer a guinea to mankind; But against reason fure 'tis equal fin

Fewer grave lords to Scroope discreetly berd; Toloaft of mcrcly being out or in.

And friver shocks a statesman gives his frichu What numbers hcre, thro'odd ambition, strive Is there a man of an eternal vein, To fcem the most transported things alive! Who lulls the town in winter with his strain, As if by joy desert was understood,

At Bath in summer chants the reigning lals, And all the fortunate were wise or good. And sweetly whitiles as the waters pats? Hence achirg bolumns wear a visage gay, Is there a tongue, like Delia's o'er her cup, And stifled groans frequent the ball and play. That runs for ages without winding up Completely dress’d by + Monteuel, and grimace, Is there whom his tenth Epic mounts to fame? They take their birth-day suit, and public face; Such, and such only, might exhauf my themes Treir smiles are only part of what they wear, Nor would these heroes of the task be glad; Put off at night with lady B's hair. For who can write to fast as men run mad? A famous ftatut,

† A famous taylor.




-Tanto major Fam2c fitis eft, quam

JUY. SAT.10.



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With whar, o Codrus! is thy fancy smit?

The fow'r of learning, and the bloom of wit. To the Right Honourable the Earl of Scarborough. Thy gaudy shelves with crimson bindings glow,

And Epictetus is a perfect beau.

How fit for thee bound up in crimson too, MY Muse, proceed, and reach thy destin'd end, Gilt, and like them devoted to the view! Tho' toil and danger the bold talk attende Thy books are furniture. Methinks 'tis hard Heroes and gods make other poems fine,

That science should be purchas'd by the yard; Plain Satire calls for sense in ev'ry line : And Tonton, turn'd upholsterer, send home Then, to what swarms thy faults I dare expose ! The gilded leather to fit up thy room. All friends to vice and folly are thy focs;

I: not to fome peculiar end allign'd, When such the foe, a war eternal wage, Study 's the specious trifling of the mind; 'Tis moft ill-nature to repress thy rage;

Or is at best a secondary aim,
And if these strains fome nobler Muse excite, A chace for sport alone, and not for game :
I'll glory in the verte I did not write.

If so, sure they who the inere volume prize, So weak are human kind by nature made,

But love the thicket where the quarry lies. Or to such weakness by their vice betray'd, On buying books Lorenzo long was bent, Almighty Vanity! to thee they owe

But found at length that it reduc'd his rent. Their zeit of pleasure, and their balın of woe. His farms were foun; u hen, lo ! a sale comes on, Thou, like the sun, all colours doft contain, A choice collcction! What is to be done? Varying like rays of light on drops of rain; He lells his last, for he the whole will buy; For ev'ry foul finds realons to be proud, Sells c'en his house, nay wants wherсon to lie; Tho' hiis'd and hooted by the pointirg crowd. So high the gen'rous ardour of the man Warm in pursuit of foxes and renown,

For Romans, Greeks, and Oricntals ran. Hippolicus demands the sylvan crown ** To make the purchase, he gives all his store, But Florio's fame, the product of a show'r, Except one darling diamond that he wore : Grows in his garden, an illustrious fou'r! For what a mistrets gave, 'tis death to pawn. Why teems the earth? why melt the vernal skies: Yet when the terms were fix'd, and writivgs Why shines the sun? To niake Paul Diack trile. drawn, From morn to night has Florio gazing ftood, The fight fo ravith'd him, he gave the clerk And wonder'd how the gods could be to good. Love's facred pledge, and sign’d them with his What hape! what hue! was ever nymph io fair? Unlearned men of books aflume the care, (mark. He doats ! he dies ! he too is rooted there. As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair. O folid bliss! which nothing can destroy

Not in his authors' liveries alone
Except a cat, bird, snail, or idle boy.

Is Codrus' erudite ambition shewn.
In fame's full bloom lies Florio at night, Editions various, at high prices bought,
And wakes next day a most inglorious wight;

Inform the world what Codrus would be thought;
The tulip's dead! See thy fair hitter's fate, And to this cost another must succeed,
OC! and be kind cre 'tis too late. To pay a fage who says that he can read, ·

Nor are those enemies I mention'd all; Who titles knows, and indexes has seen, Beware, O Florist, thy ambition's fall.

But leares to - what lies between ; A friend of mind indulg'd this noble flame; Of pompous books who fhuns the proud expence, A quaker serv'd him, Adam was his name. And humbly is contented with their sense. To one lov'd tulip oft the master went,

O Lumlcy, whcle accomplishments make good Hung o'er it, and whole days in rapture spent ; The promise of a long illustrious blood; But came and miss'd it one ill-fated hour. In arts and manners eminently grac'd, He rag'd! he roar'd—– What dæmon cropp'd my The strictest honour, and the fuest talte ! “ Pow'r?"

Accept this verle ; if Satire can agree Serene quoth Adam, · Lo! 'twas cruth'd by me ; With so consummate an humanity. • Fallen is the Baal zo which thou bow dit thy But know, my Lord, if you refent the wrong, • knee.'

That on your canduur I obtrude my song ; Butallmen want amusement, and what crime 'Tis Satire's just revenge on that fair name, " In such a Paradise to fool their time? Which all their malice cannot make her theme. None; but why proud of this? To Fame they ivar. By your example would Hilario mend, We grant they're idle, if they 'll alk no more. How would it grace the talents of my friend,

We smile at Florists; we despite their joy, Who, with the charms of his own genius smit, And think their hearts enamour'd of a toy; Conceives all virtues are compriz'd in wit i But are those wiser whom we most adınire, But time his forvent pctulance may cool; Survey with envy, and pursue with fire ? For, though he is a wit, he is no fool. What's he who fighs for wealth,orfame, or pow'r: In time he 'll learn to use, not waste, his sense ; Another Florio doting on a fow'r!

Nor make a frailty of an exceller.ce. A short-liv'd dow's, and which has often sprung His brisk attack on block heads we should prize, From fordid arts, as Florio's out of dung. Were not his jest as flippant with the wise. • This refers to the first Satire,

+ The name of a tulip. Pa 3


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