True; we may thank the perfidy of France,
That picked the jewel out of England's crown,
With all the cunning of an envious fhrew.
And let that pafs-'twas but a trick of state!
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,
And gives his direft foe a friend's embrace.
And, fhamed as we have been, to the very beard
Braved and defied, and in our own fea proved
Too weak for thofe decifive blows, that once
Enfured us maftery there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast
At least fuperior jockeyship, and claim
The honours of the turf as all our own!
Go then, well worthy of the praise ye feek,
And fhow the fhame, ye might conceal at home,
In foreign eyes! be grooms and win the plate, Where once your nobler fathers won a crown!"Tis generous to communicate your fkill
To thofe that need it. Folly is foon learned:
And under fuch preceptors who can fail!
There is a pleasure in poetic pains,
Which only poets know. The fhifts and turns,
The expedients and inventions multiform,
To which the mind reforts, in chafe of terms
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win-
To arreft the fleeting images, that fill
The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast,
And force them fit, till he has penciled off
A faithful likeness of the forms he views;
Then to dispose his copies with such art,
That each may find its most propitious light,
And shine by fituation, hardly lefs
Than by the labour and the skill it cost;
Are occupations of the poet's mind
So pleafing, and that fteal away the thought
With fuch addrefs from themes of fad import,
That, loft in his own mufings, happy man!
He feels the anxieties of life, denied
Their wonted entertainment, all retire.
Such joys has he that fings. But ah! not fuch,
Or feldom fuch, the hearers of his song.
Faftidious, or elfe liftlefs, or perhaps
Aware of nothing arduous in a task
They never undertook, they little note
His dangers or escapes, and haply find
Their leaft amufement where he found the most.
But is amusement all? ftudious of song,
And yet ambitious not to fing in vain,
I would not trifle merely, though the world
Be loudest in their praise, who do no more.
Yet what can fatire, whether grave or gay?
It correct a foible, may
may
chaftife
The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,
Retrench a fword-blade, or difplace a patch;
But where are its fublimer trophies found?
What vice has it fubdued? whofe heart reclaimed
By rigour, or whom laughed into reform?
Alas! Leviathan is not fo tamed:
Laughed at he laughs again; and stricken hard
Turns to the ftroke his adamantine fcales,
That fear no discipline of human hands.
The pulpit, therefore (and I name it filled
With folemn awe, that bids me well beware
With what intent I touch that holy thing)-
The pulpit (when the fatyrist has at last,
Strutting and vapouring in an empty school,
Spent all his force and made no profelyte)-
I fay the pulpit (in the fober ufe
Of its legitimate, peculiar powers)
Muft ftand acknowledged, while the world fall
The most important and effectual guard,
Support, and ornament, of virtue's caufe.
There ftands the meffenger of truth: there ftands
The legate of the fkies!-His theme divine,
His office facred, his credentials clear.
By him the violated law speaks out
Its thunders; and by him, in strains as sweet
As angels ufe, the gofpel whifpers peace.
He stablishes the ftrong, reftores the weak,
Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart,
And, armed himself in panoply complete
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms,
Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,
The facramental hoft of God's ele&t!
Are all fuch teachers?—would to heaven all were!
But hark-the doctor's voice!-faft wedged between
Two empirics he ftands, and with fwoln cheeks.
Infpires the news, his trumpet. Keener far
Than all invective is his bold harangue,
While through that public organ of report
He hails the clergy; and, defying fhame,
Announces to the world his own and their's!
He teaches those to read, whom schools dismissed,
And colleges, untaught; fells accent, tone,
And emphasis in fcore, and gives to prayer.
The adagio and andante it demands.
He grinds divinity of other days
Down into modern ufe; transforms old print
To zig-zag manuscript, and cheats the eyes
Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.
Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware?
Oh, name it not in Gath!—it cannot bẹ,
That grave and learned clerks fhould need fuch aid.
He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll,
Affuming thus a rank unknown before—
Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church!
I venerate the man, whofe heart is warm, Whofe hands are pure, whofe doctrine and whose life
Coincident exhibit lucid proof
That he is honeft in the facred caufe.
To fuch I render more than mere respect,
Whose actions say that they respect themselves.
But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
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