Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett | Page 8

OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF

JUVENAL, 1738.
"--Quis ineptæ
Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se?"
--JUVENAL.
Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel
When injured Thales[1]
bids the town farewell,
Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice
commend;
I praise the hermit, but regret the friend;
Resolved, at
length, from vice and London far,
To breathe in distant fields a purer
air,
And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore,
Give to St David one
true Briton more.
For who would leave, unbribed, Hibernia's land,
Or change the rocks
of Scotland for the Strand? 10 There none are swept by sudden fate
away,
But all whom hunger spares, with age decay:
Here malice,
rapine, accident, conspire,
And now a rabble rages, now a fire;

Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,
And here the fell attorney
prowls for prey;
Here falling houses thunder on your head,
And
here a female atheist talks you dead.
While Thales waits the wherry that contains
Of dissipated wealth the
small remains, 20 On Thames's bank in silent thought we stood,

Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood;
Struck with the seat
that gave Eliza[2] birth,
We kneel and kiss the consecrated earth;
In
pleasing dreams the blissful age renew,
And call Britannia's glories
back to view;
Behold her cross triumphant on the main,
The guard
of commerce, and the dread of Spain;
Ere masquerades debauch'd,
excise oppress'd,
Or English honour grew a standing jest. 30
A transient calm the happy scenes bestow,
And for a moment lull the
sense of woe.
At length awaking, with contemptuous frown,

Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town.
Since worth, he cries,
in these degenerate days,
Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty
praise;
In those cursed walls, devote to vice and gain,
Since

unrewarded science toils in vain;
Since hope but soothes to double
my distress,
And every moment leaves my little less; 40 While yet
my steady steps no staff sustains,
And life, still vigorous, revels in my
veins,
Grant me, kind Heaven! to find some happier place,
Where
honesty and sense are no disgrace;
Some pleasing bank, where
verdant osiers play,
Some peaceful vale, with Nature's paintings gay,

Where once the harass'd Briton found repose,
And, safe in poverty,
defied his foes:
Some secret cell, ye Powers indulgent! give;

Let--live here, for--has learn'd to live. 50 Here let those reign whom
pensions can incite
To vote a patriot black, a courtier white;

Explain their country's dear-bought rights away,
And plead for
pirates[3] in the face of day;
With slavish tenets taint our poison'd
youth,
And lend a lie the confidence of truth.
Let such raise palaces,
and manors buy,
Collect a tax, or farm a lottery;
With warbling
eunuchs fill our silenced stage,
And lull to servitude a thoughtless age.
60 Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold?
What check
restrain your thirst of power and gold?
Behold rebellious virtue quite
o'erthrown;
Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives your own!
To such the plunder of a land is given,
When public crimes inflame
the wrath of Heaven.
But what, my friend, what hope remains for me,

Who start at theft, and blush at perjury,
Who scarce forbear, though
Britain's court he sing,
To pluck a titled poet's borrow'd wing; 70 A
statesman's logic unconvinced can hear,
And dare to slumber o'er the
Gazetteer;[4]
Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd,
And strive
in vain to laugh at Clodio's jest?
Others, with softer smiles, and subtler art,
Can sap the principles, or
taint the heart;
With more address a lover's note convey,
Or bribe a
virgin's innocence away.
Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic
tongue
Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong, 80 Spurn'd as a
beggar, dreaded as a spy,
Live unregarded, unlamented die.
For what but social guilt the friend endears?
Who shares Orgilio's

crimes, his fortune shares.
But thou, should tempting villany present

All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers spent,
Turn from the
glittering bribe thy scornful eye,
Nor sell for gold what gold could
never buy--
The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,
Unsullied
fame, and conscience ever gay. 90
The cheated nation's happy favourites see!
Mark whom the great
caress, who frown on me!
London, the needy villain's general home,

The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome,
With eager thirst, by
folly or by fate,
Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state.
Forgive
my transports on a theme like this--
I cannot bear a French
metropolis.
Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day,
The land of heroes and of
saints survey; 100 Nor hope the British lineaments to trace,
The rustic
grandeur, or the surly grace;
But lost in thoughtless ease and empty
show,
Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau;
Sense, freedom, piety,
refin'd away,
Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey!
All that at home no more can beg or steal,
Or like a gibbet better than
a wheel;
Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court,
Their air,
their dress, their politics import; 110 Obsequious, artful, voluble, and
gay,
On Britain's fond credulity they prey.
No gainful trade their
industry can 'scape.
They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clap:

All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows,
And bid him go to hell, to
hell he goes.
Ah! what avails it that, from slavery far,
I drew the
breath of life in English