Imatges de pàgina
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That with its hoary head incurv'd salutes
The passing wave, must be the tyrant's fort,
And dread abode. How these impatient climb,
While others at the root incessant bay!
They put him down. See, there he drives along!
Th' ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way.
Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat
Into the sheltering deeps. Ah! there he vents!
The pack plunge headlong, and protended spears
Menace destruction: while the troubled surge
Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind,
Affrighted, hide their heads.
And loud uproar.

Wild tumult reigns,
Ah, there once more he vents!
See, that bold hound has seiz'd him! down they sink
Together lost but soon shall he repent

His rash assault. See, there escap'd, he flies
Half-drown'd, and clambers up the slippery bank
With ouze and blood distain'd. Of all the brutes,
Whether by Nature form'd, or by long use,
This artful diver best can bear the want
Of vital air. Unequal is the fight,
Beneath the whelming element. Yet there
He lives not long; but respiration needs
At proper intervals. Again he vents;
Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierc'd
His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound.
Fix'd is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest,
Where'er he flies; with him it sinks beneath,
With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe.
Inly he groans; nor can his tender wound
Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank
He creeps disconsolate: his numerous foes

Through all his wide domain; the planted grove,
The shrubby wilderness, with its gay choir
Of warbling birds, can't lull to soft repose
Th' ambitious wretch, whose discontented soul
Is harrow'd day and night; he mourns, he pines,
Until his prince's favour makes him great.
See, there he comes, th' exalted idol comes!
The circle 's form'd, and all his fawning slaves
Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth
The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns
With promises, that die as soon as born.
Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place.
Frown but the monarch; all his glories fade;
| He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone,
The pageant of a day; without one friend
To soothe his tortur'd mind; all, all are fled.
For, though they bask'd in his meridian ray,
The insects vanish, as his beams decline.

Not such our friends; for here no dark design,
No wicked interest, bribes the venal heart;
But inclination to our bosom leads,

1

And weds them there for life; our social cups
Smile, as we smile; open, and unreserv'd,
We speak our inmost souls; good-humour, mirth,
Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free,
Smooth every brow, and glow on every cheek.

O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan
Beneath the galling load of power, or walk
Upon the slippery pavements of the great,
Who thus could reign, unenvy'd and secure?

Ye guardian powers who make mankind your care,
Give me to know wise Nature's hidden depths

Surround him, hounds, and men. Pierc'd thro' and Trace each mysterous cause, with judgment read

thro',

On pointed spears they lift him high in air;
Wriggling he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain :
Bid the loud horns, in gayly-warbling strains,
Proclaim the felon's fate; he dies, he dies.

Rejoice, ye scaly tribes, and leaping dance
Above the wave, in sign of liberty
Restor'd; the cruel tyrant is no more.
Rejoice secure and bless'd; did not as yet
Kemain, some of your own rapacious kind;
And man, fierce man, with all his various wiles.
O happy! if ye knew your happy state,
Ye rangers of the fields; whom Nature boon
Cheers with her smiles, and every element
Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown
From marble pedestals; nor Raphael's works,
Nor Titian's lively tints, adorn our walls?
Yet these the meanest of us may behold;
And at another's cost may feast at will

Our wondering eyes; what can the owner more?
But vain, alas! is wealth, not grac'd with power.
The flowery landscape, and the gilded dome,
And vistas opening to the wearied eye,

Th' expanded volume, and submiss adore
That great creative Will, who at a word
Spoke forth the wondrous scene. But if my soul
To this gross clay confin'd flutters on Earth
With less ambitious wing; unskill'd to range
From orb to orb, where Newton leads the way;
And view with piercing eyes the grand machine,
Worlds above worlds; subservient to his voice,
Who, veil'd in clouded majesty, alone
Gives light to all; bids the great system move,
And changeful seasons in their turns advance,
Unmov'd, unchang'd, himself: yet this at least
Grant me propitious, an inglorious life,
Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits
Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise
My drooping friends, preventing modest Want
That dares not ask. And if, to crown my joys,
Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks,
Blooms in my life's decline; fields, woods, and
streams,

Each towering hill, each humble vale below,
Shall hear my chearing voice, my hounds shall wak✪
The lazy Morn, and glad th' horizon round.

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PERMIT me, sir, to make choice of you for my patron, being the greatest master in the burlesque way. In this indeed you have some advantage of your poetical brethren, that you paint to the eye; yet remember, sir, that we give speech and motion, and a greater variety to our figures. Your province is the town; leave me a small outride in the country, and I shall be content. In this, at least, let us both agree, to make vice and folly the object of our ridicule; and we cannot fail to be of some service to mankind. I am,

sir,

your admirer, and

most humble servant,

W. S.

PREFACE.

NOT TOTHING is more common than for us poor bards, when we have acquired a little reputation, to print ourselves into disgrace. We climb the Aonian mount with difficulty and toil; we receive the bays for which we languished; till, grasping still at more, we lose our hold, and fall at once to the bottom.

known.

The author of this piece would not thus be felo de se, nor would he be murdered by persons unBut as he is satisfied, that there are many imperfect copies of this trifle dispersed abroad, and as he is credibly informed, that he shall soon be exposed to view in such an attitude, as he would not care to appear in; he thinks it most prudent in this desperate case to throw himself on the mercy of the public, and offer this whimsical work a voluntary sacrifice, in hope that he stands a better chance for their indulgence, now it has received his last hand, than when curtailed and mangled by others.

The poets of almost all nations have celebrated the games of their several countries. Homer began, and all the mimic tribe followed the example of that great father of poetry. Even our own Milton, who laid his scene beyond the limits of this sublunary world, has found room for descriptions of this sort, and has performed it in a more sublime manner than any who went before him. His, indeed, are sports; but they are the sports of angels. This gentleman has endeavoured to do justice to his countrymen, the British freeholders, who, when dressed in their holiday clothes, are by no means persons of a despicable figure; but eat and drink as plentifully, and fight as heartily, as the greatest hero in the Iliad. There is also some use in descriptions of this nature, since nothing gives us a clearer idea of the genius of a nation, than their sports and diversions. If we see people dancing, even in wooden shoes, and a fiddle always at their heels, we are soon convinced of the levity and volatile spirit of those merry slaves. The famous bull-feasts are an evident token of the Quixotism and romantic taste of the Spaniards. And a country-wake is too sad an image of the infirmities of our own people: we see nothing but broken heads, bottles flying about, tables overturned, outrageous drunkenness, and eternal squabble.

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Thus much of the subject; it may not be improper to touch a little upon the style. One of the greatest poets and most candid critics of this age has informed us, that there are two sorts of burlesque. Be pleased to take it in his own words, Spectator, Numb. 242. Burlesque (says he) is of two kinds. The first represents mean persons in the accoutrements of heroes; the other, great persons acting and speakjug like the basest among the people. Don Quixote is an instance of the first, and Lucian's gods of the second. It is a dispute among the critics, whether burlesque runs best in heroic, like the Dispensary; or in doggrel, like that of Hudibras. I think, where the low character is to be raised, the heroic is the most proper measure; but when an hero is to be pulled down and degraded, it is best done in doggrel." Thus far Mr. Addison. If therefore the heroic is the proper measure where the low character is to be raised, Milton's style must be very proper in the subject here treated of; because it raises the low character more than is possible to be done under the restraint of rhyme; and the ridicule chiefly consists in raising that low character. I beg leave to refer to the authority of Mr. Smith, in his poem upon the death of Mr. John Philips. The whole passage is so very fine, and gives so clear au idea of his manner of writing, that the reader will not think his labour lost in running it over. But here it may be objected, that this manner of writing contradicts the rule in Horace :

Versibus exponi tragicis res comica non vult.

Monsieur Boileau, in his dissertation upon the Joconde of de la Fontaine, quotes this passage in Horace, and observes, Que comme il n'y a rien de plus froid, que de conter une chose grande en stile bas, aussi n'y a-t-il de plus ridicule, que de raconter une histoire comique et absurde en termes graves et serieux. But then he justly adds this exception to the general rule in Horace; à moins que ce serieux ne soit affecté tout exprés pour rendre la chose encore plus burlesque. If the observation of that celebrated critic, Monsieur Dacier, is true, Horace himself, in the same Epistle to the Pisos, and

not far distant from the rule here mentioned, has aimed to improve the burlesque by the help of the sublime, in his note upon this verse:

Debemur morti nos nostraque; sive receptus
Terrâ Neptunus——

And upon the five following verses has this general remark: Toutes ces expressions nobles qu' Horace entasse dans ces six vers servent a rendre plus plaisante celte chute :

Ne dum verborum stet honos.

Car rien ne contribue tant au ridicule que le grand.. He indeed would be severe upon himself alone, who should censure this way of writing, when he must plainly see, that it is affected on purpose, only to raise the ridicule, and give the reader a more agreeable entertainment. Nothing can improve a merry tale so much, as its being delivered with a grave and serious air. Our imaginations are agreeably surprised, and fond of a pleasure so little expected. Whereas he, who would bespeak our laughter by an affected grimace and ridiculous gestures, must play his part very well indeed, or he will fall short of the idea he has raised. It is true, Virgil was very sensible that it was difficult thus to elevate a low and mean subject:

Nec sum animi dubius, verbis ea vincere magnum
Quam sit, et angustis hunc addere rebus honorem.

But tells us for our encouragement in another place,

In tenui labor, at tenuis non gloria, si quem
Numina læva sinunt, auditque vocatus Apollo.

Mr. Addison is of the same opinion, and adds, that the difficulty is very much increased by writing in blank verse. "The English and French (says he) who always use the same words in verse as in ordinary conversation, are forced to raise their language with metaphors and figures, or by the pompousness of the whole phrase to wear off any littleness, that appears in the particular parts that compose it. This makes our blank verse, where there is no rhyme to support the expression, extremely difficult to such as are not masters of the tongue; especially when they write upon low subjects." Remarks upon Italy, p. 99. But there is even yet a greater difficulty behind: the writer in this kind of burlesque must not only keep up the pomp and dignity of the style, but an artful sneer should appear through the whole work; and every man will judge, that it is no easy matter to blend together the hero and the harlequin.

If any person should want a key to this poem, his curiosity shall be gratified: I shall, in plain words, tell him, "It is a satire against the luxury, the pride, the wantonness, and quarrelsome temper, of the middling sort of people." As these are the proper and genuine cause of that bare-faced knavery, and almost universal poverty, which reign without control in every place; and as to these we owe our many bankrupt farmers, our trade decayed, and lands uncultivated; the author has reason to hope, that no honest man, who loves his country, will think this short reproof out of season: for, perhaps, this merry way of bantering men into virtue may have a better effect than the most serious admonitions; since many, who are proud to be thought immoral, are not very fond of being ridiculous.

Proposition.

CANTO 1.

THE ARGUMENT.

HOBBINOL.

Invocation addressed to Mr. John

Th' obsequious villagers, with looks submiss
Observant of his eye, or when with seed
T'impregnate Earth's fat womb, or when to bring
With clamorous joy the bearded harvest home.

Phillips, author of the Cider Poem and Splendid When the keen frosts the shivering farmer warn Here, when the distant Sun lengthens the nights, Shilling. Description of the Vale of Evesham. To broach his mellow cask, and frequent blasts The seat of Hobbinol; Hobbinol a great man in Instruct the crackling billets how to blaze, his village, seated in his wicker smoking his pipe. In his warm wicker-chair, whose pliant twigs has one only son. Young Hobbinol's education, In close embraces join'd, with spacious arch bred up with Ganderetta his near relation. Young Vault his thick-woven roof, the bloated churl Hobbinol and Ganderetta chosen king and queen Loiters in state, each arm reclin'd is prop'd of May. Her dress and attendants. The May-With yielding pillows of the softest down. games. Twangdillo the fiddler, his character. In mind compos'd, from short coeval tube The dancing. Ganderetta's extraordinary per-He sucks the vapours bland, thick curling clouds formance. Bagpipes good music in the Highlands. Of smoke around his reeking temples play; Milonides, master of the ring, disciplines the Joyous he sits, and, impotent of thought, mob; proclaims the several prizes. His speech. Puffs away care and sorrow from his heart. Pastorel takes up the belt. His character, his heroic figure, his confidence. Hobbinol, by per- And view with envious eye the downy nest, How vain the pomp of kings' Look down, ye great, mission of Ganderetta, accepts the challenge Where soft Repose, and calm Contentment dwell, vaults into the ring. His honourable behaviour, Unbrib'd by wealth, and unrestrain'd by power. escapes a scowering. Ganderetta's agony. Pas torel foiled. Ganderetta not a little pleased. WHAT old Menalees at his feast reveal'd

I sing, strange feats of ancient prowess, deeds,
Of high renown, while all his listening guests
With eager joy receiv'd the pleasing tale.

O thou! who late on Vaga's flowery banks
Slumbering secure, with Stirom 2 well bedew'd,
Fallacious cask, in sacred dreams were taught
By antient seers, and Merlin prophet old,
To raise ignoble themes with strains sublime,
Be thou my guide; while I thy track pursue
With wing unequal, through the wide expanse
Adventurous range, and emulate thy flights.

In that rich vale 3 where with Dobunian 4 fields
Cornavian 5 borders meet, far fam'd of old
For Montfort's hapless fate, undaunted earl;
Where from her fruitful urn Avona pours
Her kindly torrent on the thirsty glebe,
And pillages the hills t'enrich the plains;
On whose luxuriant banks flowers of all hues
Start up spontaneous; and the teeming soil
With hasty shoots prevents its owner's prayer:
The pamper'd wanton steer, of the sharp axe
Regardless, that o'er his devoted head
Hangs menacing, crops his delicious bane,
Nor knows the price is life; with envious eye
His labouring yoke-fellow beholds his plight,
And deems him blest, while on his languid neck
In solemn sloth he tugs the lingering plough.
So blind are mortals, of each other's state
Mis-judging, self-deceiv'd. Here, as supreme,
Stern Hobbinol in rural plenty reigns
O'er wide-extended fields, his large domain.

1 Mr. John Philips. 2 Strong Herefordshire cider.
Vale of Evesham. 4 Gloucestershire.
5 Worcestershire.

Tham. • Simon de Montfort, killed at the battle of Eves

One son alone had blest his bridal bed,
Whom go d Calista bore, nor long surviv'd
To share a mother's joy, but left the babe
To his paternal care. An orphan niece
Near the same time his dying brother sent,
To claim his kind support. The helpless pair
In the same cradle slept, nurs'd up with care
By the same tender hand, on the same breasts
Alternate hung with joy; till reason dawn'd,
And a new light broke out by slow degrees:
Then on the floor the pretty wantons play'd,
Gladding the farmer's heart with growing hopes,
And pleasures erst unfelt. Whene'er with cares
Oppress'd, when wearied, or alone he doz'd,
Their harmless prattle sooth'd his troubled soul.
Say, Hobbinol, what extasies of joy

Thrill'd through thy veins, when, climbing for a kiss,
With little palms they strok'd thy grizly beard,
Or round thy wicker whirl'd their rattling cars?
Thus from their earliest days bred up, and train'd,
To mutual fondness, with their stature grew
The thriving passion.
What love can decay
That roots so deep! Now ripening manhood curl'd
On the gay stripling's chin: her pant ng breasts,
And trembling blushes glowing on her cheeks,
Her secret wish betray'd. She at each mart
All eyes attracted; but her faithful shade,
Young Hobbinol, ne'er wander'd from her side.
A frown from him dash'd every rival's hopes.
For he, like Peleus' son, was prone to rage,
Inexorable, swift like him of foot

With ease could overtake his dastard foe,
Norspar'd the suppliant wretch. And now approach'd
Those merry days, when all the nymphs and swains
In solemn festivals and rural sports,
Pay their glad homage to the blooming Spring.
Young Hobbinol by joint consent is rais'd
T' imperial dignity, and in his hand
Bright Ganderetta tripp'd the jovial queen
Of Maia's gandy month, profuse of flowers.

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