PR TChitehead A Charge to the Poets [ornia rial ty THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD ENDOWMENT FUND CHARGE T O T H E P O E T S. [ Price One Shilling. ] CHARGE T O T H E POETS. By WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, E% POET LAUREAT. Quafi ex Cathedra loquitur. L ON DON: Printed for R. and J. DODSLEY, at TullyVHead, PaUmalL And Sold by J. HINXMAN, at the Globe in Pater Noiler Row. M DCC LXII. PR A CHARGE T O T H E POETS. TTJ^ULL twenty years have roll'd, ye rhiming band, Since firft I dipp'd in ink my trembling hand, For much it trembled, tho' th' obliging few, Who judge with candour, prais'd the * fketch I drew ; And Echo, anfwering from the public voice, Indulg'd as genius, what I fear'd was choice. At length, arriv'd at thofe maturer years So rarely rais'd by hope, or funk by fears, I reft in peace ; or (cribble if I pleafe : In point of wealth not affluent, but at eafe ; * " The danger of writing Verfe." Firft printed in the year 1741 to which this Pcem may be confidered as a fequel. 881319 I [ 6 I ' In point of what the world and you call fame, (I judge but by conjecture) much the fame. r*\ But whether right or wrong I judge, to you It matters not : the following faft is true. From nobler names, and great in each degree, The penfion'd Laurel has devolv'd to me. To me, ye Bards ; end, what you'll fcarce conceive,, c Or, at the beft, unwillingly believe, Howe'er unworthily I wear the crown,. Unafk'd it came, and from a hand unknown. t ^ C~~ Then, fmce rny King, and Patron have thought fit To place me on the throne of modern wit, My grave advice, my brethren, hear at large ; As Bifhops to their Clergy give their charge, Tho' many a Prieft, who liftens, might afford Perhaps more fblid counfel to my Lord- To YOU, ye guardians of the facred fount* Deans and Archdeacons of the double mount, I 7 1 That thro' our realms inteftine broils may ceafe, My firft, and laft advice is, " Keep the peace!" What is't to you, that half the town admire Falfe fenfe, falfe ftrength, falfe fbftnefs, or falfe fire ? Through heav'n's void concave let the meteors blaze, He hurts his own, who wounds another's bays. What is't to you that numbers place your name Firft, fifth, or twentieth, in the lifts of fame ? Old Time will fettle all your claims at once, Record the Genius, and forget the Dunce. It boots us much to know, obfervers lay, Of what materials Nature form'd our clay ; From what ftrange beaft Prometheus' plaftic art Purloin'd the particle which rules the heart. If milky fbftnefs, gliding through the veins, Incline the Mufe to panegyric ftrains, Infipid lays our kindeft friends may lull, Be very moral, yet be very dull. If [ 8 1 If bile prevails, and temper dictates fatire, Our wit is fpleen, our virtue is ill-nature ; With it's own malice arm'd we combat evil, As zeal for God's fake fbmetimes plays the deviL s O mark it well ! does Pride afFeft to reign The fblitary tyrant of the brain ? Or Vanity exert her quick'ning flame, Stuck round with ears that liften after fame ? O to thefe points let ftrift regard be given, Nor*" KNOW THYSELF" in vain defcend from Heaven. Do Critics teize you ?- with a fmile I fpeak, Nor would fuppofe my brethren were fb weak* 'Tis on ourfelves and not our foes, or friends, Our future fame, or infamy depends. Let envy point, or malice wing the darts, They only wound us in our mortal parts. Bel ides, 'tis much too late to go to fchool, Grown men will judge by Nature's nobleft rule, Admire * E ccelo defcendit, yvu^i ata,v.ov. Juv. [ 9 Admire true beauties, and flight faults excufe, Not learn to dance from * Journals and Reviews. If fools traduce you, and your works decry, As many fools will rate your worth too high ; Then ballance the account, and fairly take The cool report which men of judgment make. In writing, as in life, he foils the foe, Who, confcious of his ftrength, forgives the blow. They court the infult who but feem afraid : And then, by anfwering, you promote the trade, And give them, what their own weak claims deny, A chance for future laughter, or a figh. You, who as yet, unfullied by the Prefs, Hang o'er your labours in their virgin drefs ; And YOU, who late the public taftehave hit, And ftill enjoy the honey-moon of wit, * This is not intended as a reflection on either the Journals or the Reviews. They are not the Matters but the Scholars, the Grown Gen- tlemen, at whom the Author fmiles j and who, he thinks, had much better rrot pretend to judge at all, than borrow opinions which never fit eafy upon them. B Attentive hear me : grace may ftill abound, Whoever preaches, if the doctrine's found. If Nature prompts you, or if friends perfuade,. Why write ; but ne'er purfue it as a trade. And feldom publifli: manufcripts difarm The cenfbr's frown, and boafl an added charm, Enhance their worth by feeming to retire, For what but few can prate of, all admire. Who trade in verfe, alas, as rarely find, The public grateful, as the Mufes kind* From conftant feafts like fated guefts we fteal* And tir'd of tickling loie all power to feeL 5 Tis novelty we want ; with that in view We praife ftale matter, fb the Bard be new ; Or from known Bards with exftacy receive Each pert new whim they almoft blufh to give* A life of writing, unlefs wond'rous fhort, No wit can brave, no genius can liipporu Some Some fbberer province for your bufmefs chufe, Be that your helmet, and your plume the Mufe. Through Fame's long rubric, down from Chaucer's time, Few fortunes have been rais'd by lofty rhime. And, when our toils fuccefs no longer crowns, What fhelter find we from a world in frowns ? O'er each diftrefs, which vice or folly brings, Tho' Charity extend her healing wings, No Maudlin Hospitals are yet aflign'd For flip-fhod Mufes of the vagrant kind ; Where anthems might fucceed to fatires keen, And hymns of penitence to fbngs obfcene. What refuge then remains ? with gracious grin Some pra&is'd Bookfeller invites you in. Where lucklefs Bards, condemn'd to court the town, (Not for their parents' vices, but their own !) Write gay conundrums with an aching head, Or earn by defamation daily bread, B 2 Or [ i* 3 Or friendlefsj fhirtlefs, pennylefs complain, Not of the world's, but " Caelia's- cold difHain."* Lords of their workhoufe fee the tyrants fit Brokers in books, and ftock-jobbers in wit, Beneath whofe lafh, oblig'd to write or faft,. Our confeflbrs and martyrs breathe their laft! And can ye bear iuch iniblence ? away, For fhame; plough, dig,, turn pedlars, drive the dray * With minds indignant each employment fuits^ .. :> Our fleets want. failors, and our troops recruits; And many a dirty ftreet, on Thames's fide, Is yet by ftool and bruih unoccupied.. 1 JF,r Time was when Poets play'd the thorough game, Swoce, drank, and blufter'd, and blafphem'd for fame.- The firft in brothels with their punk and Mule ; Your toaft, ye Bards? " ParnaiTus and the ftews V Thank Heaven the times are ciiang'd ; no Poet now Need roar for Bacchus, or to Venus bom. *Tis our own fault if Fielding's lafh we feel, Or, like French wits, begin with the Baftile* Ev'n in thofe days fbme few efcap'd their fate, By better judgment, or a longer date, And rode, like buoys, triumphant o'er the tide. Poor Ocway in an ale-houfe dos'd, and died ! While happier Southern, tho' with Ipots of yore,. Like Plato's hovering fpirits, crufted o'er, Liv'd every mortal vapour to remove, And to our admiration join'd our love. Light lie his funeral turf! for you, who join His decent manners to his art divine, Would ye (whilft, round you, tofs the proud and vain. Convuls'd with feeling, or with giving pain) Indulge the Mufe in innocence and eale, And tread the flowery path of life in peace ? Avoid all authors. What! th' illuftrious few, Who fhunning Fame have taught her to purfue Fai I '4 ] Fair Virtue's heralds ? yes, I fay again, Avoid all authors, 'till you've read the men. Full many a peeviih, envious, flandering elf, Is, in his works, , Benevolence itfelf. For all mankind unknown, his bofbm heaves, He only injures thofe with whom he lives. Read then the Man : Does truth his aftions guide, Exempt from petulance, exempt from pride ? To fbcial duties does his heart attend, As Son, as Father, Hufband, Brother, Friend ? Do thofe who know him love him? if they do, You've my permiffion, yo*\ may love him too. But chief avoid the boift'rous roaring fparks, The fbns of fire ! you'll know them by their marks. Fond to be heard they always court a croud, And, tho' 'tis borrow'd nonfenfe, talk it loud. One epithet fupplies their conftant chime, ^^ i But [ '5 3 But moft in quick fhort repartee they flhine Of local humour ; or from plays purloin Each quaint ftale (crap which every fubjel hits, 'Till fools almoft imagine, they are wits. Hear them on Shakefpear ! there they foam, they rage! Yet tafte not half the beauties of HIS page, Nor fee that Art, as well as Nature, (trove To place HiMforemoft in th' Aonian grove. For there, there only, where the fitters meet, . \ His Genius triumphs, and the work's compleat, Or would ye fift more near thefe Ions of fire, 'Tis Garrick, and not Shakefpear they admire. Without his breath, infpiring every thought, They ne'er perhaps had known what Shakefpear wrote $ Without his eager, his becoming zeal, To teach them, tho' they fcarce know why, to feel, A crude unmeaning mats had Johnfbn been. And a dead letter Shakefpear's BQblefFlfcbne, O corns O come the time, when diffidence again Shall bind our youth in Nature's modeft chain ! Born in a happier age, and happier clime, Old Sophocles bad merit, in his time ; And fb, no doubt, howe'er we flout his plays, Had poor Euripides, in former days. Not like the moderns we confefs - y bu yet Some feeming faults we furely 'might forget, Becaufe 'twould puzzle even the wife to fhow Whether thole faults were real faults, or no. To all true merit give it's juftapplaufe, The worft have beauties, and the beft have flaws. Greek, French, Italian, Englilh, great or fmall, I own my frailty, I admire them all. There are, miftaking prejudice for tafte, Who on one fpecies all their rapture wafte. Tho', various as the flowers which paint the year, In rainbow charms die changeful Nine appear, The [ '7 ] The different beauties coyly they admit,. And to one ftandard would confine our wit. Some MANNER'D VERSE delights; while fbme can raiie To fairy FICTION their exftatic gaze, Admire PURE POETRY, and revel there On fightlefs forms, and pictures of the air ! Some hate all RHIME; fomeferiott/ly deplore- That Milton wants that one enchantment more.- Tir'd with th ? ambiguous tale, or antique phrafe, O'er Spenfers happieft paintings, lovelieft lays, Some heedlefs pafs : while fbme with tranfport view Each quaint old word, which fcarce Eliza knew; And, eager as the fancied knights, prepare i The lance, , and combat in ideal war X Dragons of luft, and giants of defpair. Why be it fb ; and what each thinks the tefl Let each enjoy : but not condemn the reft. C Readers [ ,8 Readers there are of every clafs prepared, Each village teems, each hamlet has its Bard Who gives the tone, and all th' inferior fry, Like the great vulgar here, will join the cry. But be it mine with every Bard to glow, And tafte his raptures genuine as they flow, Through all the Mule's wilds to rove along From plaintive Elegy to Epic long ; And, if the fenfe be juft, the numbers clear, And the true colouring of the work be there, Again, fubdued by Truth's ingenuous call, I own my frailty, I admire them all. Nor think I, with the mob, that Nature now No longer warms the foil where laurels grow. J Tis true Our Poets in repofe delight, And, wifer than their fathers, feldom write. Yet t rp Yet I, but I forbear for prudent ends, Could name a lift, and half of them my "friends* For whom pofterity it's wreaths fhall twine, And it's own Bards neglet, to honour mine. Their Poets in their turn will grieve, and (wear,, Perhaps with truth, no Patron lends an ear. Complaints of times wdien merit wants reward. Defcend like fimilies from Bard to Bard ; We copy our diftrefs from Greece and Rome; As in our Northern lays their flowrets bloom. We feel their breezes, \vith their heats w r e burn, And plead prefcription to rejoice or mourn. All prefent times are bad: then caft your eyes Where fairy fcenes of blifs in profpeft rife. As fond enthufiafts o'er the wefiern main With eager ken, prophetical in vain, C 2. See [ 20 ] See the mixt multitudes from every land Grow pure by blending, virtuous by command ; 'Till, phoenix-like, a new bright world of gold Springs from the dregs .and refute of the old. I'm no enthufiaft, yet with joy can trace Some gleams of lunfhine for the tuneful race. If Monarchs liften when the Mufes woo, Attention wakes, and nations liften too. The Bard grows rapturous, who was dumb before, And every frefh-plum'd eagle learns to fbar ! Friend of the finer arts, when ^Egypt few Her fecond Ptolemy give Science law, Each Genius waken'd from his dead repofe, The column fwell'd, the pile majeftic rofe, Exaft proportion borrow'd ftrength from eafe, And ufe was taught by elegance to pleafe. Along Along the breathing walls, as fancy flow'd, The fculpture foften'd, and the pifture glow'd, Heroes reviv'd in animated ftone, The groves grew vocal, and the * Pleiads fhone ! Old Nilus rais'd his head, and wond'ring cried, Long live the King ! my Patron, and my Pride ! Secure of endlefs praife, behold, I bear My grateful fuffrage to my Sovereign's ear. Tho' war fhall rage, tho' Time fhall level all, Yon colours ficken, and yon columns fall, Tho 5 art's dear treafures feed the w r afting flame, And the proud volume finks, an empty name, Tho' Plenty may defert this copious vale, My ftreams be fcatter'd, or my fountain, fail, * The Seven Poets patronifed by Ptolemy Philadelphia are ufually called by the name of that conftellation. Yet F ** i YetjPtolemy l^s liv'd : the world has known - -*-' A King of arts, a Patron on a throne. Ev'n utmoft Britain fliall his name adore, And Nile be fung, when Nile ihrall flow no more/* * " One rule remains. Nor fhun nor court the great,, Your trueft center is that middle ftate From whence with eafe th' obferving eye may go?. To all which foars above, or finks below. 'TJs yours all manners to have tried, or known r T J adopt all virtues, yet retain your own : To ftem the tide, where thoughtleiS crowds are hurl'd,. The firm ipeftators of a buftling world {' Thus arm'd, proceed : the breezes court your wing* Go range all Helicon, tafte every fpring; * " And Boyn be fung, when it has ceas'd to flow/' Addifon. From t *$ From varying nature cull th' innoxious {poll, And, whilft amufement fboths the generous toil, Let puzzled Critics with judicious fpite Defcant on what you can, or can not write. True to yourfelves, not anxious for renown, Nor court the world's applaufe, nor dread it's frown* Guard your own breafts, and be the bulwark there To know no envy, and no malice fear. At leaft you'll find, thus Stoic-like prepar'd, That Verfe and Virtue are their own reward. THE E N D* I OF I c ALIFOKMU jLOS