'Twas watching others fhifting Will, "And veering to and fro with Skill: "These were the means that made him rise, "Mind your connections, and be wife."
Methinks I hear fon Tom reply, I'll be a Bishop by and by.
Connections at a public School
Will often ferve a wealthy Fool,
By lending him a letter'd Knave
To bring him Credit, or to fave;
And Knavery gets a profit real,
By giving parts and worth ideal.
The child that marks this flavish Plan,
Will make his Fortune when a Man.
While honeft Wit's ingenuous Merit
Enjoys his pittance, and his Spirit.
The Strength of public Education
Is quick'ning Parts by EMULATION;
And Emulation will create
In narrow minds a jealous state,
Which ftifled for a courfe of Years,
From want of Skill or mutual Fears,
Breaks out in manhood with a zeal,
Which none but rival Wits can feel.
For when good people Wits commence,
They lofe all other kind of sense;
(The maxim makes you fmile, I see,
Retort it when you please on me)
One writer always hates another,
As Emperors would kill a brother,
Or Emprefs Queen to rule alone,
Pluck down a Husband from the throne.
When tir'd of Friendship and alliance,
Each fide springs forward to defiance,
Inveterate Hate and Refolution,
Faggot and Fire and Perfecution,
Is all their aim, and all their Cry,
Though neither fide can tell
you why.
To it they run like valiant Men,
And flash about them with their Pen.
What Inkshed springs from Altercation!
What loppings off of Reputation!
You might as foon hufh ftormy Weather,
And bring the North and South together,
As reconcile your letter'd foes,
Who come to all things but dry blows.
Your defparate lovers wan and pale;
As needy culprits in a jail,
Who mufe and doat, and pine, and die,
Scorch'd by the light'ning of an eye,
(For ladies' eyes, with fatal stroke,
Will blaft the verieft heart of oak)
Will wrangle, bicker, and complain,
Merely to make it up again.
Though swain look glum, and miss look fiery,
'Tis nothing but amantium iræ,
And all the progrefs purely this-
A frown, a pout, a tear, a kifs.
Thus love and quarrels (April weather)
Like vinegar and oil together,
Join in an easy mingled strife,
To make the fallad up of life.
Love fettles beft from altercation,
As liquors after fermentation.
In a stage-coach, with lumber cramm❜d,
Between two bulky bodies jamm'd,
Did you ne'er writhe yourself about,
To find the feat and cufhion out?
How difagreeably you fit,
With b-m awry, and place unfit,
Till fome kind jolt o'er ill-pav'd town,
Shall wedge you close, and nail you down,
So fares it with your fondling dolts,
And all love's quarrels are but jolts.
When tiffs arife, and words of strife
Turn one to two in man and wife,
(For that's a matrimonial courfe
Which yoke-mates must go through perforce,
And ev'ry married man is certain
T'attend the lecture call'd the curtain)
Tho' not another word is faid,
When once the couple are in bed:
There things their proper channel keep,
(They make it up, and go to fleep)
These fallings in and fallings out,
Sometimes with caufe, but most without,
Are but the common modes of strife,
Which oil the springs of married life,
Where fameness would create the spleen,
For ever ftupidly ferene.
Obferve yon downy bed-to make it,
You tofs the feathers up, and shake it.
So fondness springs from words and fcuffing,
As beds lie fmootheft after fhuffling.
But authors wranglings will create The very quinteffence of hate;
Peace is a fruitlefs vain endeavour,
Sworn foes for once, they're foes for ever.
-Oh! had it pleas'd my wifer betters
That I had never tafted letters,
Then no Parnaffian maggots bred,
Like fancies in a madman's head,
No grafpings at an idle name,
No childish hope of future fame,
No impotence of wit had ta'en
Poffeffion of my mufe-ftruck brain.
Or had my birth, with fortune fit,
Varnish'd the dunce, or made the wit;
I had not held a fhameful place,
Nor letters paid me with disgrace.
-O! for a pittance of my own,
That I might live unfought, unknown!
Retir'd from all this pedant ftrife,
Far from the cares of buft'ling life;
Far from the wits, the fools, the great,
And all the little world I hate.
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