Cuftom, the world's great idol, we adore;
nd knowing this, we feek to know no more.
What education did at first receive,
Dur ripen'd age confirms us to believe.
The careful nurfe, and prieft, are all we need,
To learn opinions, and our country's creed;
'he parent's precepts early are inftill'd,
And fpoil the man, while they inftruct the child.
To what hard fate is human-kind betray'd,
When thus implicit faith, a virtue made;
When education more than truth prevails,
And nought is current but what custom feals?
Thus, from the time we first began to know,
We live and learn, but not the wifer grow.

We feldom use our liberty aright,
Nor judge of things by univerfal light:
Our prepoffeffions and affections bind

The foul in chains, and lord it o'er the mind;

And if felf-intereft be but in the cafe,

Our unexamin'd principles may pafs!

Good Heavens! that man fhould thus himself deceive,
To learn on credit, and on truft believe!
Better the mind no notions had retain'd,
But ftill a fair, unwritten blank remain'd:
For now, who truth from falfehood would difcern,
Muft firft difrobe the mind, and all unlearn.
Errors, contracted in unmindful youth,

When once remov'd, will smooth the way to truth:
To difpoffefs the child, the mortal lives;
But death approaches ere the man arrives.

Thofe who would learning's glorious kingdom find,
The dear-bought purchase of the trading mind,
From many dangers muft themselves acquit,
And more than Scylla and Charybdis meet.
Oh! what an ocean must be voyag'd o'er,
To gain a profpect of the fhining shore!
Refifting rocks oppofe th' inquiring foul,
And adverfe waves retard it as they roll.

Does not that foolish deference we pay
To men that liv'd long fince, our paffage ftay?
What odd, prepofterous paths at first we tread,
And learn to walk by ftumbling on the dead!
Firft we a bleffing from the grave implore,
Worship old urns, and monuments adore!
The reverend fage, with vast efteem, we prize:
He liv'd long fince, and must be wondrous wife!
Thus are we debtors to the famous dead,
For all thofe errors which their fancy bred;
Errors indeed! for real knowledge stay'd
With those first times, not farther was convey'd;
While light opinions are much lower brought,
For on the waves of ignorance they float:
But folid truth fcarce ever gains the shore,
So foon it finks, and ne'er emerges more.

Suppofe thofe many dreadful dangers paft;
Will knowledge dawn, and blefs the mind, at laft;
Ah! no, 't is now environ'd from our eyes,
Hides all its charms, and undiscover'd lies!
Truth, like a fingle point, efcapes the fight,
And claims attention to perceive it right!
But what refembles truth is foon defcry'd,
Spreads like a furface, and expanded wide!
The first man rarely, very rarely finds

The tedious fearch of long enquiring minds;

But yet what's worfe, we know not what we err;
What mark does truth, what bright diftinction bear?
How do we know that what we know is true?
How fhall we falfehood fly, and truth purfue?
Let none then here his certain knowledge boast;
"T is all but probability at most;

This is the cafy purchase of the mind;
The vulgar's treafure, which we foon may find!
But truth lies hid, and ere we can explore
The glittering gem, our fleeting life is o'er.

DIES NOVISSIMA:

OR, THE

LAST EPIPHANY.

A Pindaric Ode, on Chrift's fecond Appearance, to Judge the World.

DIEU, ye toyish reeds, that once could pleafe

A My fofter lips, and lull my cares to cafe:

Be gone; I'll wafte no more vain hours with you;
And, fmiling Sylvia too, adieu.

A brighter power invokes my Muse,
And loftier thoughts and raptures does infuse.
See, beckoning from yon cloud, he stands,
And promifes affiftance with his hands:
I feel the heavy-rolling God,
Incumbent, revel in his frail abode.

How my breaft heaves, and pulfes beat!
I fink, I fink, beneath the furious heat;
The weighty blifs o'erwhelms my breast,
And over-flowing joys profufely waste.

Some nobler bard, O facred Power, inspire, Or foul more large, th' elapfes to receive:

And, brighter yet, to catch the fire,

And each gay following charm from death to fave!
-In vain the fuit-the God inflames my breast;
I rave, with extafies oppreft:

I rife, the mountains leffen, and retire;
And now I mix, unfing'd, with elemental fire!
The leading deity I have in view;

Nor mortal knows, as yet, what wonders will ensue.

We pafs'd through regions of unfullied light;
Igaz'd, and ficken'd at the blissful fight;
A fhuddering palenefs feiz'd my look:

At laft the pet flew off, and thus I spoke: "Say, Sacred Guide, fhall this bright clime "Survive the fatal teft of time,

"Or perish, with our mortal globe below, "When yon fun no longer fhines?" Straight I finish'dveiling low;

The vifionary power rejoins:

""T is not for you to afk, nor mine to say, "The niceties of that tremendous day.

"Know, when o'er-jaded Time his round has run, "And finish'd are the radiant journeys of the fun, "The great decifive morn fhall rife,

"And Heaven's bright Judge appear in opening skies! "Eternal grace and juftice he 'll beftow

"On all the trembling world below."

Не

32

He faid. I mus'd; and thus return'd: "What ensigns, courtequs ftranger, tell, "Shall the brooding day reveal?" He anfwer'd mild

"Already, ftupid with their crimes, "Blind mortals proftrate to their idols lie: "Such were the boding times,

"Ere ruin blafted from the fuicy sky; "Diffolv'd they lay in fulfome ease,

"And revel'd in luxuriant peace; "In bacchanals they did their hours confume, "And bacchanals led on their swift advancing doom."

Adulterate Chrifts already rife,

And dare t' affurge the angry skies;
Erratic throngs their Saviour's blood deny,

And from the Crofs, alas! he does neglected figh;
The Anti-Chriftian Power has rais'd his Hydra head,
And ruin, only less than Jefus' health, does spread.
So long the gore through poison'd veins has flow'd,
That scarcely ranker is a fury's blood;
Yet fpecious artifice, and fair difguife,

The monster's fhape, and curft defign, belies:
A fiend's black venom, in an angel's mien,
He quaffs, and featters, the contagious spleen
Straight, when he finishes his lawless reign,

Nature fhall paint the fhining scene,
Quick as the lightning which infpires the train.

Forward confufion fhall provoke the fray,
And nature from her ancient order stray;

Black tempefts gathering from the feas around,
In horrid ranges fhall advance;
And, as they march, in thickeft fables drown'd,
The rival thunder from the clouds fhall found,
And lightnings join the fearful dance:
The bluftering armies o'er the skies shall spread,
And univerfal terror shed;
Loud iffuing peals, and rifing fheets of smoke,

'Th' encumber'd region of the air fhall choke; The noify main fhall lafh the fuffering shore,

And from the rocks the breaking billows roar! Black thunder burfts, blue lightning burns, And melting worlds to heaps of afhes turns! The forests fhall beneath the tempest bend,

And rugged winds the nodding cedars rend.

Reverfe all Nature's web fhall run,

And fpotlefs mifrule all around,

Whilft backward all the threads fhall hafte to be unspun. Order, its flying foe, confound;

Triumphant Chaos, with his oblique wand, (The wand with which, ere time begun,

His wandering lives he did command,

And made them fcamper right, and in rude ranges run) The hoftile harmony fhall chace;

And as the nymph refigns her place,

And panting to the neighbouring refuge flies,
The formless ruffian flaughters with his eyes,
And following ftorms the pearching dame's retreat,
Adding the terror of his threat;

The globe fhall faintly tremble round,
And backward jolt, diftorted with the wound.

Swath'd in fubftantial fhrowds of night, The fickening fun fhall from the world retire,

Stripp'd of his dazzling robes of fire;

Which dangling, once, fhed round a lavish flood of light!
No frail eclipfe, but all effential fhade,
Not yielding to primeval gloom,

Whilft day was yet an embryo in the womb; Nor glimmering in its fource, with filver ftreamers play'd,

A jetty mixture of the darkness spread
O'er murmuring Ægypt's head;
And that which angels drew
O'er Nature's face, when Jefus died;
Which fleeping ghosts for this mistook,

And, rifing, off their hanging funerals fhook,
And fleeting pass'd expos'd their bloodless brea tə
view,

Yet find it not fo dark, and to their dormitories giide. Now bolder fires appear,

And o'er the palpable obscurement sport, Glaring and gay as falling Lucifer,

Yet mark'd with fate, as when he fled th'atherial court,

And plung'd into the opening gulph of night;
A fabre of immortal flame I bore,
And, with this arm, his flourishing plume I tort,
And straight the fiend retreated from the fight.

Mean time the lambient prodigies on high

Take gamefome measures in the sky; Joy'd with his future feaft, the thunder roars In chorus to th' enormous harmony; And halloo's to his offspring from fulphureous fore:1 Applauding how they tilt, and how they fly,

And their each nimble turn, and radiant embaffy.

The moon turns pale at the fight,

And all the blazing orbs deny their light;
The lightning with its livid tail,
A train of glittering terrors draws behind,

Which o'er the trembling world prevail;
Wing'd and blown on by storms of wind,
They fhow the hideous leaps on either hand,

Of Night, that spreads her ebon curtains round, And there erects her royal ftand,

In seven-fold winding jet her confcious temples bound,

The stars, next starting from their spheres, In giddy revolutions leap and bound; Whilft this with doubtful fury glares,

And meditate new wars,
And wheels in fportive gyres around,
Its neighbour fhall advance to fight;
And while each offers to enlarge its right,

The general ruin thall increase,
And banish all the votaries of peace.
No more the stars, with paler beams,
Shall tremble o'er the midnight streams,
But travel downward to behold

What mimics them fo twinkling there: And, like Narciffus, as they gain more near, For the lov'd image ftraight expire,

And agonize in warm defire,

Or flake their luft, as in the stream they roll.

They fink, and unsupported leave the skies,
Which fall abrupt, and tell their torment in the
noise.

Then fee th' Almighty Judge, fedate and bright,
Cloath'd in imperial robes of light!

His wings the wind, rough ftorms the chariot bear, And nimble harbingers before him fly,

And with officious rudeness brush the air; Halt as he halts, then doubling in their flight,

In horrid sport with one another vie,

And leave behind quick-winding tracts of light; Then urging, to their ranks they close, And shivering, left they start, a failing caravan compofe

The Mighty Judge rides in tempestuous state, Whilft mighty guards his orders wait:

His waving veftments shine

Bright as the fun, which lately did its beam refign, And burnish'd wreaths of light fhall make his form divine.

Strong beams of majefty around his temples play, And the tranfcendent gaiety of his face allay: His Father's reverend characters he 'll wear,

And both o'erwhelm with light, and over-awe with fear.

Myriads of angels fhall be there,

And I, perhaps, close the tremendous rear; Angels, the firft and fairest fons of day, Clad with eternal youth, and as their vestments gay.

Nor for magnificence alone,

To brighten and enlarge the pageant scene, Shall we encircle his more dazzling throne, And fwell the luftre of his pompous train ; The nimble minifters of blifs or woe

We fhall attend, and fave, or deal the blow, As he admits to joy, or bids to pain.

The welcome news

Through every Angel's breast fresh rapture shall diffufe.
The day is come,

When Satan with his powers hall fink to endless doom.
No more fhall we his hoftile troops pursue
From cloud to cloud, nor the long fight renew.
Then Raphael, big with life, the trump fhall found,
From falling fpheres the joyful mufic shall rebound,
And feas and fhores fhall catch and propagate it round:
Louder he 'll blow, and it shall speak more fhrill,
Than when from Sinai's hill

In thunder through the horrid reddening smoke,
Th' Almighty spoke,

We'll fhout around with martial joy,

And thrice the vaulted fkies fhall rend, and thrice our fhouts reply.

Then first th' Archangel's voice, aloud,
Shall chearfully falute the day and throng,
And Hallelujah fill the croud;

And I, perhaps, fhall close the song.

From its long sleep all human race shall rife,
And fee the morn and Judge advancing in the skies:
To their old tenements the fouls return,
Whilft down the steep of Heaven as swift the Judge
defcends!

These look illuftrious bright, no more to mourn:
Whilft, fee, distracted looks yon stalking shades attend.
The faints no more shall conflict on the deep,
Nor rugged waves infult the labouring ship;
But from the wreck in triumph they arife,
And borne to blifs shall tread empyreal skies.

VOL. II.

6 [F]

THE

James, on whofe reign all peaceful stars did smile,
Sid but attempt th' uniting of our isle.
What kings, and Nature, only could defign,
hall be accomplish'd by this work of thine.
for, who is fuch a Cockney in his heart,
Proud of the plenty of the fouthern part,
To fcorn that union, by which we may
Boaft 'twas his countryman that writ this play?

Phoebus himself, indulgent to my Mufe,
Has to the country fent this kind excufe;
Fair Northern Lafs, it is not through neglect
I court thee at a distance, but refpect;
I cannot act, my paffion is fo great,

But I'll make up in light what wants in heat;
On thee I will bestow my longest days,
And crown thy fons with everlafting bays:

My beams that reach thee fhall employ their powers
To ripen fouls of men, not fruits or flowers.
Let warmer climes my fading favours boast,
Poets and stars thine brightest in the frost.

EPILOGUE TO MOLIERE'S TARTUFFE,

M

Tranflated by Mr. Medburne.

Spoken by Tartuffe.

ANY have been the vain attempts of wit,
Against the still prevailing hypocrite:
Once, and but once, a poet got the day,
And vanquish'd Bufy in a puppet-play;
And Bufy, rallying, arm'd with zeal and rage,
Poffefs'd the pulpit, and pull'd down the stage.
To laugh at English knaves is dangerous then,
While English fools will think them honeft men:
But fure no zealous brother can deny us
Free leave with this our Monfieur Ananias:
A man may fay, without being call'd an Atheist,
There are damn'd rogues among the French and Papift,

That fix falvation to fhort band and hair,
That belch and fnuffle to prolong a prayer;
That ufe "enjoy the Creature," to exprefs
Plain whoring, gluttony, and drunkenness;
And, in a decent way, perform them too
As well, nay better far, perhaps, than you.
Whofe fleshly failings are but fornication,
We godly phrafe it "gofpel-propagation,"
Juft as rebellion was call'd reformation.
Zeal ftands but fentry at the gate of fin,
Whilst all that have the word pass freely in:
Silent, and in the dark, for fear of fpies,
We march, and take Damnation by furprize.
There's not a roaring blade in all this town
Can go fo far tow'ards hell for half a crown
As I for fix-pence, for I know the way;
For want of guides, men are too apt to stray:
Therefore give ear to what I fhall advise,
Let every marry'd man that's grave and wife
Take a Tartuffe of known ability,
To teach and to increase his family;
Who shall fo fettle lafting reformation,
First get his fon, then give him education.

EPILOGUE,

ΟΝ ΤΗΣ

REVIVAL OF BEN JONSON'S PLAY, CALLED "EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR."

I

NTREATY shall not ferve, nor violence,
To make me speak in such a play's defence;
A play, where wit and humour do agree
To break all practis'd laws of Comedy.
The scene (what more abfurd!) in England lies,
No gods defcend, nor dancing devils rife ;
No captive prince from unknown country brought,
No battle, nay, there's fearce a duel fought :
And fomething yet more sharply might be said,
But I confider the poor author's dead :

Let that be his excufe-now for our own,
Why, faith, in my opinion, we need none.
The parts were fitted well; but fome will fay,
Pox on them, rogues, what made them choose this play?
I do not doubt but you will credit me,
It was not choice but mere neceffity:
To all our writing friends, in town, we fent,
But not a wit durft venture out in Lent:
Have patience but till Eafter-term, and then,
You fhall have Jigg and hobby-horse again.
Here's Mr. Matthew, our domeftic wit*,
Does promife one o' th' ten plays he has writ:
But fince great bribes weigh nothing with the juft,
Know, we have merits, and to them we trust
When any fafts, or holidays, defer
The public labours of the theatre,
We ride not forth, although the day be fair,
On ambling tit, to take the fuburb air;
But with our authors meet, and spend that time
To make up quarrels between fenfe and rhyme.
Wednesdays and Fridays conftantly we fate,
Till after many a long and free debate,
For diverse weighty reafons 't was thought fit,
Unruly fenfe should still to rhyme fubmit :
This, the most whole fome law we ever made,
So ftrictly in his epilogue obey'd,

Sure no man here will ever dare to break-
[Enter JONSON's Ghoft.]
Hold, and give way, for I myself will speak;
Can you encourage fo much infolence,
And add new faults ftill to the great offence,
Your ancestors fo rafhly did commit,
Against the mighty powers of art and wit?
When they condemn'd thofe noble works of mine,
Sejanus, and my beft-lov'd Catiline.
Repent, or on your guilty heads fhall fall
The curfe of many a rhyming paftoral.
The three bold Beauchamps fhall revive again,
And with the London 'prentice conquer Spain,
All the dull follies of the former age
Shall find applaufe on this corrupted stage,
But if you pay the great arrears of praife,
So long fince due to my much-injur'd plays,
From all paft crimes I firft will fet you free,
And then infpire fome one to write like me.

* Matthew Medburn, an eminent actor.

SONG