}
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine!
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine!
Pope - Essay on Man
at the wheels of her triumphal car
Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
Dragged in the dust! his arms hang idly round,
His flag inverted trails along the ground!
Our youth, all liveried o'er with foreign gold,
Before her dance: behind her crawl the old!
See thronging millions to the Pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or son;
Hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim
That not to be corrupted is the shame.
In soldier, Churchman, patriot, man in power,
'Tis avarice all, ambition is no more!
See, all our nobles begging to be slaves!
See, all our fools aspiring to be knaves!
The wit of cheats, the courage of a w***e,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore;
All, all look up, with reverential awe,
At crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law;
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry--
"Nothing is sacred now but villainy. "
Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)
Show there was one who held it in disdain.
DIALOGUE II.
Fr. 'Tis all a libel--Paxton (sir) will say. }
P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow 'faith it may }
And for that very cause I print to-day.
}
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine!
Vice with such giant strides comes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rising genius sins up to my song.
F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash;
Even Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash.
Spare, then, the person, and expose the vice.
P. How, sir? not damn the sharper, but the dice?
Come on, then, satire! general, unconfined,
Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind.
Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all!
Ye tradesmen vile, in army, court, or hall,
Ye reverend atheists--
F. Scandal! name them! who?
P.
Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
Dragged in the dust! his arms hang idly round,
His flag inverted trails along the ground!
Our youth, all liveried o'er with foreign gold,
Before her dance: behind her crawl the old!
See thronging millions to the Pagod run,
And offer country, parent, wife, or son;
Hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim
That not to be corrupted is the shame.
In soldier, Churchman, patriot, man in power,
'Tis avarice all, ambition is no more!
See, all our nobles begging to be slaves!
See, all our fools aspiring to be knaves!
The wit of cheats, the courage of a w***e,
Are what ten thousand envy and adore;
All, all look up, with reverential awe,
At crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law;
While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry--
"Nothing is sacred now but villainy. "
Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)
Show there was one who held it in disdain.
DIALOGUE II.
Fr. 'Tis all a libel--Paxton (sir) will say. }
P. Not yet, my friend! to-morrow 'faith it may }
And for that very cause I print to-day.
}
How should I fret to mangle every line,
In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine!
Vice with such giant strides comes on amain,
Invention strives to be before in vain;
Feign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong,
Some rising genius sins up to my song.
F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash;
Even Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash.
Spare, then, the person, and expose the vice.
P. How, sir? not damn the sharper, but the dice?
Come on, then, satire! general, unconfined,
Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind.
Ye statesmen, priests, of one religion all!
Ye tradesmen vile, in army, court, or hall,
Ye reverend atheists--
F. Scandal! name them! who?
P.
