Ye G.o.ds! shall Gibber's son, without rebuke, Swear like a lord, or Rich out-wh.o.r.e a duke?

A favourite's porter with his master vie, Be bribed as often, and as often lie?

Shall Ward draw contracts with a statesman's skill?

Or j.a.phet pocket, like his grace, a will?

Is it for Bond, or Peter (paltry things), To pay their debts, or keep their faith, like kings?

If Blount dispatched himself, he played the man, And so mayest thou, ill.u.s.trious Pa.s.seran!

But shall a printer, weary of his life, Learn, from their books, to hang himself and wife?

This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear; Vice thus abused, demands a nation's care; This calls the Church to deprecate our sin, And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin.

Let modest Foster, if he will, excel Ten metropolitans in preaching well; A simple Quaker, or a Quaker's wife, Outdo Llandaff in doctrine,--yea in life: Let humble Allen, with an awkward shame, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

Virtue may choose the high or low degree, 'Tis just alike to virtue, and to me; Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king, She's still the same, beloved, contented thing.

Vice is undone, if she forgets her birth, And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth: But 'tis the fall degrades her to a wh.o.r.e; Let greatness own her, and she's mean no more; Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess; Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless; In golden chains the willing world she draws, And hers the gospel is, and hers the laws, Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, And sees pale virtue carted in her stead.

Lo! 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 PaG.o.d 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 n.o.bles begging to be slaves!

See, all our fools aspiring to be knaves!

The wit of cheats, the courage of a wh.o.r.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.

[Footnote 207: Cardinal: and Minister to Louis XV.]

[Footnote 208: This couplet alludes to the preachers of some recent Court Sermons of a florid panegyrical character; also to some speeches of a like kind, some parts of both of which were afterwards incorporated in an address to the monarch.]

[Footnote 209: Dr. Conyers Middleton, author of the _Life of Cicero_.]

[Footnote 210: Queen Consort to King George II. She died in 1737.]

[Footnote 211: A t.i.tle given to Lord Selkirk by King James II. He was Gentleman of the Bed-chamber to William III., to George I., and to George II. He was proficient in all the forms of the House, in which he comported himself with great dignity.]

[Footnote 212: Referring to Lady M.W. Montagu and her sister, the Countess of Mar.]

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

(1709-1784.)

x.x.xIX. THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.

Published in January, 1749, in order, as was reported, to excite interest in the author's tragedy of _Irene_. The poem is written in imitation of the Tenth Satire of Juvenal.

Let observation, with extensive view, Survey mankind from China to Peru; Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, And watch the busy scenes of crowded life; Then say, how hope and fear, desire and hate, O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate, Where way'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride, To tread the dreary paths without a guide, As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude, Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good; How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice, Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice; How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd, When Vengeance listens to the fool's request.

Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart, Each gift of nature, and each grace of art; With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, With fatal sweetness elocution flows; Impeachment stops the speaker's pow'rful breath, And restless fire precipitates on death.

But, scarce observ'd, the knowing and the bold Fall in the gen'ral ma.s.sacre of gold; Wide wasting pest! that rages unconfin'd, And crowds with crimes the records of mankind: For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws, For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws: Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys, The dangers gather as the treasures rise.

Let Hist'ry tell where rival kings command, And dubious t.i.tle shakes the madded land.

When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, How much more safe the va.s.sal than the lord; Low skulks the hind beneath the rage of power, And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower, Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, Though Confiscation's vultures hover round.

The needy traveller, serene and gay, Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.

Does envy seize thee? crush th' upbraiding joy; Increase his riches, and his peace destroy; Now fears in dire vicissitude invade, The rustling brake alarms, and quiv'ring shade; Nor light nor darkness bring his pain relief, One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief.

Yet still one gen'ral cry the skies a.s.sails, And pain and grandeur load the tainted gales; Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, Th' insidious rival and the gaping heir.

Once more, Democritus, arise on earth, With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth, See motley life in modern trappings dress'd, And feed with varied fools th' eternal jest: Thou who could'st laugh where want enchain'd caprice, Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece; Where wealth, unlov'd, without a mourner dy'd; And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; Where change of fav'rites made no change of laws, And senates heard before they judg'd a cause; How would'st thou shake at Britain's modish tribe, Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe?

Attentive truth and nature to descry, And pierce each scene with philosophic eye, To thee were solemn toys, or empty show, The robes of pleasure and the veils of woe: All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, Whose joys are causeless, and whose griefs are vain.

Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind, Renew'd at ev'ry glance on human kind; How just that scorn ere yet thy voice declare, Search ev'ry state, and canva.s.s ev'ry pray'r: Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's gate, A thirst for wealth, and burning to be great; Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant call, They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall.

On ev'ry stage the foes of peace attend, Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end.

Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door Pours in the morning worshipper no more; For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, To growing wealth the dedicator flies, From ev'ry room descends the painted face, That hung the bright palladium of the place: And, smok'd in kitchens, or in auctions sold, To better features yields the frame of gold; For now no more we trace in ev'ry line Heroic worth, benevolence divine: The form distorted, justifies the fall, And detestation rides th' indignant wall.

But will not Britain hear the last appeal, Sign her foes' doom, or guard her fav'rites' zeal?

Through Freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings, Degrading n.o.bles, and controlling kings; Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, And ask no questions but the price of votes; With weekly libels and septennial ale, Their wish is full to riot and to rail.

In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand, Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand: To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign.

Through him the rays of regal bounty shine, Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows, His smile alone security bestows: Still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r, Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r: Till conquest unresisted ceas'd to please, And rights submitted, left him none to seize.

At length his sov'reign frowns--the train of state Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate.

Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; Now drops at once the pride of awful state, The golden canopy, the glitt'ring plate, The regal palace, the luxurious board, The liv'ried army, and the menial lord.

With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.

Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine?

Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, The wisest justice on the banks of Trent?

For, why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate, On weak foundations raise th' enormous weight?

Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow, With louder ruin to the gulfs below?

What gave great Villiers to th' a.s.sa.s.sin's knife, And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life?

What murder'd Wentworth, and what exil'd Hyde, By kings protected, and to kings ally'd?

What but their wish indulg'd in courts to shine, And pow'r too great to keep, or to resign?

When first the college rolls receive his name, The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame; Resistless burns the fever of renown, Caught from the strong contagion of the gown: O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread, And Bacon's mansion[213] trembles o'er his head.

Are these thy views? Proceed, ill.u.s.trious youth, And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth!

Yet, should thy soul indulge the gen'rous heat Till captive Science yields her last retreat; Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray, And pour on misty Doubt resistless day; Should no false kindness lure to loose delight, Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright; Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain, And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain; Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; Should no disease thy torpid veins invade, Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, Nor think the doom of man revers'd for thee: Deign on the pa.s.sing world to turn thine eyes, And pause awhile from Letters, to be wise; There mark what ills the scholar's life a.s.sail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.

See nations, slowly wise, and meanly just, To buried merit raise the tardy bust.

If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end.

Nor deem, when Learning her last prize bestows, The glitt'ring eminence exempt from woes; See, when the vulgar 'scape, despis'd or aw'd, Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud.

From meaner minds though smaller fines content, The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent; Mark'd out by dang'rous parts, he meets the shock, And fatal Learning leads him to the block: Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep, But hear his death, ye blockheads, hear and sleep.

The festal blazes, the triumphal show, The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale, With force resistless o'er the brave prevail.

Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd, For such the steady Romans shook the world; For such in distant lands the Britons shine, And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine; This pow'r has praise that virtue scarce can warm, Till fame supplies the universal charm.

Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game, Where wasted nations raise a single name; And mortgag'd states their grandsires' wreaths regret, From age to age in everlasting debt; Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey, To rust on medals, or on stones decay.

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; Behold surrounding kings their pow'r combine, And one capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; "Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain, On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, And all be mine beneath the polar sky".

The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait; Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realm of Frost; He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day: The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.

But did not Chance at length her error mend?

Did no subverted empire mark his end?

Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?

Or hostile millions press him to the ground?

His fall was destin'd to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; He left the name, at which the world grew pale To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

All times their scenes of pompous woes afford, From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord.

In gay hostility and barb'rous pride, With half mankind embattled at his side, Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey And starves exhausted regions in his way; Attendant Flatt'ry counts his myriads o'er, Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more; Fresh praise is try'd till madness fires his mind, The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind, New pow'rs are claim'd, new pow'rs are still bestow'd, Till rude Resistance lops the spreading G.o.d; The daring Greeks deride the martial show, And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; Th' insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains, A single skiff to speed his flight remains; Th' inc.u.mber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast, Through purple billows and a floating host.

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour, Tries the dread summits of Caesarian pow'r, With unexpected legions bursts away, And sees defenceless realms receive his sway; Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms, The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms; From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, With all the sons of ravage crowd the war; The baffled prince, in honour's flatt'ring bloom Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom; His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, And steals to death from anguish and from shame.

Enlarge my life with mult.i.tude of days!

In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays: Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, That life protracted is protracted woe.

Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the pa.s.sages of joy: In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r; With listless eyes the dotard views the store, He views, and wonders that they please no more: Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns.

Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain, Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: No sounds, alas! would touch th' impervious ear, Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near; Nor lute nor lyre his feeble pow'rs attend, Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend; But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, Perversely grave, or positively wrong.

The still returning tale, and ling'ring jest, Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest.

While growing hopes scarce awe the gath'ring sneer, And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; The watchful guests still hint the last offence; The daughter's petulance the son's expense, Improve his heady rage with treach'rous skill, And mould his pa.s.sions till they make his will.