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Behold him now: his canopy

Th' impending rock, each shrub, each tree,
That grew upon its shaggy brow,
To their great prince observant bow;
Yield, as in duty bound, their aid,
And bless him with a friendly shade,
On the bare flint, he sits alone,

And, on! would kings this truth but own,
The safer and the nobler throne!
But where do I digress? 'tis time
To check this arrogance of rhyme.
As the judicious monarch view'd
The stripling's air, nor bold nor rude,
With native modesty subdued;
The blush that glow'd in all its pride
Then trembled on his cheeks and dy'd.
He grew inquisitive to trace

What soul dweit in that lovely case:

To every question, serious, gay,
The youth reply'd without delay;
His auswers for the most part right,
And taking, if not apposite:
Unstudy'd, unaffected sense,
Mix d with his native diffidence.

The king was charm'd with such a prize,
And stood with wonder in his eyes;
Commits his treasure to the care
Of the young lord: bids him not spare
For cost, or pains, t' enrich his breast
With all the learning of the East.
He bow'd, obey'd, well-cloath'd, well-fed,
And with his patron's children bred;
Still every day the youth improv'd,
By all admir'd, by all belov'd.

Now the first curling down began

To give the promise of a man;

To court he's call'd, employ'd, and train'd,
In lower posts, yet still he gain'd
By candour, courtesy, and skill,

The subjects' love, the king's good-will.
Employ'd in greater matters now,
No flatteries, no bribes, could bow
His stabborn soul; true to his trust,
Firm, and inexorably just,
In judgment ripe, he soon became
A Walpole, or a Walsingham;
And, wakeful for the public peace,
No dragon guards the golden flecce.
With half that vigilance and care.
His busy eyes kenn'd every where,
In each dark scheme knew how to dive,
Though cunning Dervises contrive
Their plots, disguis'd with shams and lies,
And cloak'd with real perjuries.
Now high in rank the peer is plac'd,
And Alt Beg with titles grac'd;

No bounds his master's bounties know,

His swelling coffers overflow,
And he is puzzled to bestow;
Perplex'd and studious to contrive
To whom, and how, not what to give;
His pions frauds conceal the name,
And skreen the modest man from shame.
Who e'er would heavenly treasures raise,
Must grant the boon, escape the praise.
But his immense and endless gain
No private charities could drain:
On public works he fix'd his mind,

The zealous flend of human kind.

Convenient inns on each great road
At his own proper costs endow'd,
To weary caravans afford
Refreshment, both at bed and board.
From Thames, the Tiber, and the Rhine,
Nations remote with Ali dine;

In various tongues Iris bounty 's blest,
While with surprise the stranger guest
Does here on unbought dainties feast:
See stately palaces arise,

And gilded domes invade the skies.
Say, Muse, what lords inhabit here?
Nor favourite eunuch, prince, nor peer:
The poor, the lame, the blind, the sick,
The ideot, and the lunatic.

He curb'd each river's swelling pride,
O'er the reluctant murmuring tide
From bank to bank his bridges stride.
A thousand gracious deeds were done,
Bury'd in silence and unknown.

At length, worn out with years and care,
Sha Abbas dy'd; left his young heir

Sha Sefi, unexperienc'd, raw,
By his stern father kept in awe;
To the seraglio's walls confin'd,

Barr'd from the converse of mankind.
Strange jealousy! a certain rule,
To breed a tyrant and a fool.
Still Ali was prime minister,
But had not much his master's car;
Walk'd on unfaithful slippery ground,
Till an occasion could be found
To pick a quarrel; then, no doubt,
As is the mode at court-turn out.
Sha Sefi, among eunuchs bred,

With them convers'd, by them was led;
Beardless, half-inen! in whose false breasts,
Nor joy, or love, nor friendship, rests.
Their spite and paning envy dwell,
And rage as in their native Hell;
For, conscions of their own disgrace
Each excellene they would debase,
And vent their spleen on human race.
This Ali found. Strange senseless lies
And inconsistent calunnies

They buz into the monarch's ears,

And he believes all that he hears.

Great prince," said they, "Ah, your slaveWho we acknowledge wise and brave

Yet pardon us--we can't but see

His boundless pride and vanity:
His bridges triumph o'er each tide,

In their own chain is taught to glide.
Lach bongur, and each lazy drone,
!is subiect, more than yours,
is grown:
And for a palace leaves his coll,
Where Nerves might be proud to dwell.
His ians for travellers provide,
Strangers are listed on his side:

In his own house how grand the scene!
Tissues and velvets are too mean,
Gold, jewels, pearls, unheard expense!
Suspected, bold, magnificence!
Whence can this flood of riches flow!
Exam ne his acounts you 'll know :
Your eye on your exchequer cast,

The secret will come out at last."

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Went early to the council-board,
Prostrate on earth, his king ador'd.
The king with countenance severe,
Look'd sternly on his minister:
"Ali," said he, "I have been told,
Great treasures, both in gems and gold,
Were left, and trusted to your care;
"Mong these, one gem exceeding rare,
I long to view; which was (they said)
A present from the sultan made,
The finest that the world e'er saw,
White, large, and fair, without a flaw."
Th' unblemish'd Ali thus reply'd,
"Great sir! it cannot be deny'd,
'Tis brilliant, beautiful and clear,
The great Mogul has not its peer.
Please it your majesty, to go
Into the treasury below,
You'll wonder at its piercing ray,
The Sun gives not a nobler day."
Together now they all descend;
Poor Ali had no other friend,
But a soul faithful to its trust,
The sure asylum of the just.

In proper classes now are seen

The diamonds bright, and emeralds green; Pearls, rubies, sapphires, next appear, Dispos'd in rows with nicest care. The king views all with curious eyes, Applauds with wonder and surprise, Their order and peculiar grace, Each thing adapted to its place; The rest with envious leer behold, And stumble upon bars of gold. Next in an amber box, is shown The noblest jewel of the crown: "This, sir," said he, "believe your slave, Is the fine gem the sultan gave; Around it darts its beams of light, No comet e'er was half so bright." The king with joy the gem admires, Well-pleas'd, and half-convinc'd, retires, "Ali," said he, "with you I dine; Your furniture, I'm told, is fine." Wise Ali, for this favour show'd, Humbly with lowest reverence bow'd. At Ali's house now every hand Is busy at their lord's command; Where at th' appointed hour resort The king and all his splendid court. Ali came forth his prince to meet, And, lowly bowing, kiss'd his fect. On all his compliments bestows, Civil alike to friends and foes. The king, impatient to behold His furniture of gems and gold, From room to room the cha e pursued, With curious eyes each corner view'd, Ransack'd th' apartments o'er and o'er, Each closet search'd, unlock'd each door; But all he found was plain and coarse, The meanest Persian scarce had worse; These Ali for convenience bought, Nor for expensive trifles sought. One door a prying eunuch spy'd, With bars and locks well fortify'd. And now, secure to find the prize, Show'd it the king with joyful eyes.

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'Ali," said he, "that citade!,

Is strong, and baricadoed well,

What have you there?" Ali reply'd, "Oh, sir, there 's lodg'd my greatest pride; There are the gems I value most,

And all the treasures I can boast.”

All now convinc'd of his disgrace,
Triumph appear'd in every face.
The monarch doubted now no more;
The keys are brought, unlock'd the door,
When, lo! upon the wall appear

His shepherd's weeds hung up with care,
Nor crook nor scrip was wanting there;
Nor pipe that tun'd his humble lays,
Sweet solace of his better days!
Then, bowing low, he touch'd his breast,
And thus the wondering king addrest:
"Great Prince! your Ali is your slave,
To you belong whate'er I have;

Goods, house, are yours, nay yours this head,
For speak the word, and I am dead:
These moveables, and these alone,
I may with justice call my own.
Your royal sire, Abbas the Great,
Whom nations prostrate at his feet
On Earth ador'd; whose soul at rest,
In Paradise a welcome guest,
Enjoys its full, and fragrant bowers,
Or wantons upon beds of flowers,
While the pure stream, in living rills,
From rocks of adamant distils,
And black-ey'd nymphs attend his nod,
Fair daughters of that blest abode ;1

By his command, I left the plain,

An humble, but contented swain.

Nor sought I wealth, nor power, nor place;
All these were owing to his grace!
'Twas his mere bounty made me great,
And fixed me here, in this high seat,
The mark of envy. Much he gave,
But yet of nought depriv'd his slave:
He touch'd not these. Alas' whose spite,
Whose avarice, would these excite?
My old, hereditary right!

Grant me but these, great prince, once more,
Grant me the pleasure to be poor,

This serip, these homely weeds, I'll wear,
The bleating flocks shall be my care;

Th' employ that did my youth engage,
Shall be the comfort of my age."

The king, amaz'd at such a scorn
Of riches, in a shepherd born;
"How sours that soul," said he," above

The courtiers hate, or monarch's love!

No power such virtue can efface,

No jca'ous malice shall disgrace.

Wealth, grandeur, pomp, are a mere cheat,
But this is to be truly great."

Winle tears ran trickling down his face,
He clasp'd him in a close embrace;
Then caus'd himself to be undrest,
And cloath'd him in his royal vest:
The greatest honour he could give,
Or Persian subjects can receive.

1 Such is the Paradise the Turks expect.

THE SWEET-SCENTED MISER.
TELL me, my noble generous friend,
With what design, and to what end,
Do greedy fools heap up with care

That pelf, which they want heart to share?
What other pleasure can they know,
But to enjoy, or to bestow?
Acts of benevolence and love
Give us a taste of Heaven above;

We imitate th' immortal powers,

Whose sun-shine, and whose kindly showers,
Refresh the poor and barren ground,
And plant a Paradise around:
But this mean, sneaking avarice,
Is a collection of all vice.

Where this foul weed but taints the place,
Nor virtue grows, nor worth, nor grace;
The soul a desert waste remains,
And ghastly desolation reigns.
But where will these grave morals tend?
Pardon my zeal, dear courteous friend;
The province of my humbler vein,
Is not to preach, but entertain.

Gripe, from the cradle to the grave,
Was good for nothing, but to save;
Mammon his god, to him alone

He bow'd, and his short creed was known:
On his thumb nail it might be wrote,
A penny sav'd 's a penny got."
The rich poor man was jogging down,
Once on a time, from London town;
With him his son, a handy lad,
To dress his daddy--or his pad :
Among his dealers he had been,
And all their ready cash swept clean.
Gripe, to save charges on the road,

At each good house cramm'd in a load;
With boil'd and roast his belly fill'd,
And greedily each tankard swill'd :
How savoury, how sweet the meat!
How good the drink when others treat!
Now on the road Gripe trots behind,
For weighty reasons (as you " find):
The boy soon long'd to take a whet,
His horse at each sign made a set,
And he spurr'd on with great regret.
This the old man observ'd with pain,

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Ah! son," said he, "the way to gain Wealth (our chief good) is to abstain; Check each expensive appetite, And make the most of every niite; Consider well, my child, O think What numbers are undone by drink! Hopeful young men! who might be great, Die well, and leave a large estate; But, by lewd comrades led astray, Guzzling, throw all their means away. Tom Dash, of parts acute and rare. Can split a fraction to a hair; Knows Wingate better than his creed, Can draw strong ale, or a weak deed; By precedents a bond can write, Or an indenture tripartite; Can measure land, pasture, or wood, Yet never purchas'd half a rood. Whom all these liberal arts adorn, Is he not rich? as sheep new shorn!

The reason need not far be sought,
For three pence gain'd he spends a groat.
There's Billy Blouse, that merry fellow,
So wondrous witty when he 's mellow;
Ale and mundungus, in despite

Of nature, make the clown polite.
When those rich streams chafe his dull head,
What flowers shoot up in that hot-bed!
His jests, when fogs his temples shrowd,
Like the Sun bursting through a cloud:
Blaze out, and dazzle all the crowd:
They laugh, each wag's exceeding gay,
While he, poor ninny! jokes away
By night, whate'er he gets by day.
To these examples I might add
A squire or two, troth full as bad;
Who, doom'd by Heaven for their sins,
Mind nothing but their nipperkins:
But these, at this time, shall suffice;
Be saving, boy, that is, be wise."

Now, Muse, come hold thy nose, and tell What doleful accident befel;

His horse set hard, an ancient hack,
That twice ten years carry'd a pack,
But such a cargo ne'er before;

He had him cheap, and kept him poor;
His bowels stuft with too much meat,
He sat uneasy in his seat,

And riggled often to and fro,
With painful gripings gnaw'd below.
His distance yet in hope to gain,
For the next inn he spurs amain;
In haste alights, and skuds away,
But time and tide for no man stay.

No means can save whom Heaven has curs'd
For out th' impetuous torrent burst.
Struck dumb, aghast at first he stood,
And scratch'd his head in pensive mood:
But, wisely judging 'twas in vain
To make an outcry, and complain,
Of a bad bargain made the best,
And lull'd his troubled soul to rest.
Back he return'd with rueful face,
And shuffled through the house apace;
My landlady screams cut in haste,

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Old gentleman, ho!-where so fast? Before you go, pray pay your shot, This young man here has drunk a pot. "A pot ;" said Gripe; "oh, the young rogue! Ah, ruinous, expensive dog!

And, muttering curses in his ear,

Look'd like a witch with hellish leer;

But, finding 'twas in vain to fret,
Pull'd out his catskin, paid the debt.
This point adjusted, on they fare,
Ambrosial sweets perfume the air:
The younker, by the fragrant scent,
Perceiving now how matters went,
Laugh'd inwardly, could scarce contain,
And kept his countenance with pain.
At last he cries, " Now, sir, an't please,
I hope you're better and at ease.'
Better; you booby!-'tis all out"-

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What 's out!" said he, You drunken lout! All in my trowsers-well-no matter

Not great-th' expense of soap and water;

This charge-if times are not too hard,

By management may be repair'd:

But ob that damn'd confounded pot!
Extravagant, audacious sot;

This, this indeed, my soul does grieve,
There 's two-pence lost without retrieve!"

THE

INCURIOUS BENCHER.

Ar Jenny Mann's, where heroes meet,
And lay their laurels at her feet;
The modern Pallas, at whose shrine
They bow, and by whose aid they dine:
Colonel Brocade among the rest
Was every day a welcome guest.
One night as carelessly he stood,

Chearing his reins before the fire, (So every true-born Briton should)

Like that, he chaf d, and fum'd, with ire.
"Jenny," said he, "'tis very hard,
That no man's honour can be spar'd;
If I but sup with lady dutchess,
Or play a game at ombre, such is
The malice of the world, 'tis said,
Although his grace lay drunk in bed,
"Twas I that caus'd his aching head.
If madam Doodle would be witty,
And I am summon'd to the city,
To play at blind-man's-bul, or so,
What won't such hellish malice do?
If I but catch her in a corner,

Hump-'tis, Your servant, colonel Horner :'
But rot the sneering fops, if e'er
I prove it, it shall cost them dear;
I swear by this dead-doing blade,
Dreadful examples shall be made:
What-can't they drink bohea and cream,
But (d-n them) I must be their theme?
Other mens business let alone,

Why should not coxcombs mind their own?"
And thus he rav'd with all his might
(How insecure from Fortune's spite
Alas! is every mortal wight!)
To show his antient spleen to Mars,
Fierce Vulcan caught him by the a—,
Stuck to his skirts, insatiate varlet!
And fed with pleasure on the scarict.
Hard by, and in the corner, sate
A Bencher grave, with look sedate,
Smoaking his pipe, war'a as a toast,
And reading over last week's post;
He saw the foe the fort invade,

And soon smelt out the breach he made:
But not a word-a little sly

He look'd, 'tis true, and from each eye
A side long glance sometimes he sent,
To bring him news, and watch th' event.
At length, upon that tender part

Where Honour lodges (as of old
Authentic Hudibras has told)
The blustering colonel felt a smart,
Sore griev'd for his affronted bum,
Frisk'd, skip'd, and boune'd about the room;
Then turning short, "Zounds, sir!
"Pox on hian, had the fool no e
eyes?
What! let a man be burnt alive!"

"I am not, Sir, inquisitive”
(Reply'd sir Greaty )“ to know

" he cries

Whate'er you honour `s pleas'd to do;

If you will burn your tail to tinder,
Pray what have I to do to hinder?
Other mens business let alone,
Why should not coxcombs mind their own:"
Then, knocking out his pipe with care,
Laid down his penny at the bar;
And, wrapping round his frieze surtout,
Took up his crab-tree, and walk'd out.

THE

BUSY INDOLENT:

A TALE.

JACK CARELESS was a man of parts,
Well skill'd in the politer arts,
With judgment read, with humour writ:
Among his friends past for a wit:

But lov'd his ease more than his meat,
And wonder'd knaves could toil and cheat,
T expose themselves by being great.
At no levees the suppliant bow'd,

Nor courted for their votes the crow'd:
Nor riches nor preferment sought,

Did what he pleas'd, spoke what he thought.
Content within due bounds to live,
And what he could not spend, to give:
Would whit his pipe o'er nappy ale,
And joke, and pun, and tell his tale;
Reform the state, lay down the law,
And talk of lords he never saw;
Fight Marlborough's battles o'er again,
And push the French on Blenheim's plain;
Discourse of Paris, Naples, Rome,
Though he had never stirr'd from home:
'Tis true he travell'd with great care,
The tour of Europe-in his chair.
Was loth to part without his load,
Or move till morning peep'd abroad.
One day this honest, idle rake,
Nor quite asleep, nor well awake,
Was lolling in his elbow-chair,
And building castles in the air,
His nipperkin (the port was good)
Half empty at his elbow stood,
When a strange noise offends his ear,
The din increas'd as it came near,
And in his yard at last he view'd
of farmers a great multitude;
Who that day, walking of their rounds,
Had disagreed about their bounds;
And sure the difference must be wide,
Where each does, for hims. If decide.
Vollies of oaths in rain they swear,

Which burst like quiltless bombs in air;

And, “Thou'rt a knave!" and, "Thou'rt an oaf!"
Is banded round with truth enough.
At length they mutually agree,

His worship should be referee,

Which courteous Jack consents to be:
Though for himself he would not budge,
Yet for his friends an arrant drudge;
A conscience of this point he made,
With pleasure readily obey'd,
And shot Eke lightning to their aid.
The farmers, sumon'd to his room,
Bowing with award reverence come.
In his great chair his worship sate,

A grave and able magistrate:

Silence proclaim'd, each clack was laid,
And flippant tongues with pain obey'd.
In a short speech, he first computes
The vast expense of law-disputes,
And everlasting chancery-suits.

With zeal and warmth he rally'd then
Pack'd juries, sheriffs, tales-men;
And recommended in the close,
Good-neighbourhood, peace, and repose.
Next weigh'd with care each man's pretence,
Perus'd records, heard evidence,
Observ'd, reply'd, hit every blot,
Unravell'd every Gordian knot;
With great activity and parts,

Inform'd their judgments, won their hearts:
And, without fees, or time mispent,
By strength of ale and argument,
Dispatch'd them home, friends and content.
Trusty, who at his elbow sate,
And with surprise heard the debate,
Astonish'd, could not but admire
His strange dexterity and fire;

His wise discernment and good sense,
His quickness, ease, and eloquence.
"Lord! sir," said he, "I can't but chide:
What useful talents do you hide!
In half an hour you have done more
Than Puzzle can in half a score,
With all the practice of the counts,
His cases, precedents, reports."

Jack with a smile reply'd, “"Tis true,
This may seem odd, my friend, to you
But give me not more than my due.
No hungry judge nods o'er the laws,
But hastens to decide the cause:
Who hands the oar, and drags the chain,
Will struggle to be free again.
So lazy men and indolent,

With cares oppress'd, and business spent,
Exert their utmost powers and skill,
Work hard for what? Why, to sit still.
They toil, they sweat, they want no fee,
For ev'n sloth prompts to industry.
Therefore, my friend, I freely own
All this address I now have shown,
Is mere impatience, and no more,
To lounge and loiter as before :
Life is a span, the world an inn-
Here, sirrab, t'other nipperkin."

THE YEOMAN OF KENT:

A TALE.

AYEOMAN bold (suppose of Kent)
Liv'd on his own, and paid no rent ;
Manur'd his own paternal land,
Had always money at command,
To purchase bargains, or to lend,
T'improve his stock, or help a friend :
At Cressy and Poictiers of old,
His ancestors were bow-men bold;
Whose good yew-bows, and sinews strong,
Drew arrows of a cloth-yard long;
For England's glory, strew'd the plain
With barons, counts, and princes slain.
Belov'd by all the neighbourhood,
For his delight was doing good :

At every mart his word a law,
Kept all the shuffling knaves in awe.
How just is Heaven, and how true,
To give to such desert its due!
'Tis in authentic legends said,
Two twins at once had bless'd his bed;
Frank was the eldest, but the other
Was honest Numps, his younger brother;
That, with a face effeminate,

And shape too fine and delicate,
Took after his fond mother Kate,

A franklin's daughter. Numps was rough,
No heart of oak was half so tough,
And true as steel, to cuff, or kick,

Or play a bout at double-stick,

Who but friend Numps? While Frank's delight
Was more (they say) to dance, than fight;
At Whitson-ales king of the May,
Among the maids, brisk, frolic, gay,

He tript it on each holyday.

Their genius different, Frank would roam
To town; but Numps, he staid at home.
The youth was forward, apt to learn,
Could soon an honest living earn;
Good company would always keep,
Was knowu to Falstaff in East-cheap;
Threw many a merry main, could bully,
And put the doctor on his cully;
Ply'd hard his work, and learnt the way,
To watch all night, and sleep all day.
Flush'd with success, new rigg'd, and clean,
Polite his air, genteel his mien:
Accomplish'd thus in every part,
He won a buxom widow's heart.
Her fortune narrow; and too wide,
Alas! lay her concerns, her pride :
Great as a dutchess, she would scorn
Mean fare, a gentlewoman born;
Poor and expensive on my life
'Twas but the devil of a wife.

Yet Frank, with what he won by night,

A while liv'd tolerably tight!

And spouse, who some times sate till morn

At cribbage, made a good return.

While thus they liv'd from hand to mouth,
She laid a bantling to the youth;
But whether 'twas his own or no,
My authors don't pretend to know.
His charge enhanc'd, 'tis also true
A lying-in 's expensive too,

In cradles, whittles, spice-bowls, sack,
Whate'er the wanton gossips lack;
While scandal thick as hail-shot flies,
Till peaceful bumpers seal their eyes.
Frank deem'd it prudent to retire,
And vi it the good man his sire;
In the stage-coach he scats himself,
Loaded with madam and her elf;
In her right hand the coral plac'd,
Her lap a China orange grac'd:
Pap for the babe was not forgot;
And lullaby's melodious note,
That warbled in his ears all day,
Shorten'd the rugged, tedious way.

Frank to the mansion-house now come,
Rejoic'd to find himself at home;
Neighbours around, and cousins weut
By scores, to pay their compliment.
The good old man was kind, 'tis true,
But yet a little shock'd to view

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