For reputation of the Art
Each GHOST must act a proper part,
Obferve Decorum's needful grace,
And keep the laws of Time and Place,
Muft change, with happy variation,
His manners with his fituation.
What in the Country might pass down,
Would be impertinent in Town.
No SPIRIT of difcretion HERE
Can think of breeding awe and fear,
"Twill ferve the purpose more by half
To make the Congregation laugh.
We want no ensigns of furprize,
Locks ftiff with gore, and fawcer eyes,
Give us an entertaining Sprite,
Gentle, Familiar, and Polite,
One who appears in fuch a form
As might an holy Hermit warm,
Or who on former schemes refines,
And only talks by founds and figns,
Who will not in the eye appear,
But pays her vifits to the ear,
And knocks fo gently, 'twould not fright
A Lady in the darkest Night.
Such is our FANNY, whofe good will,
Which cannot in the Grave lie ftill,
Brings her on Earth to entertain
Her friends and Lovers in COCK-LANE.
SACRED ftandard Rule we find By Poets held time out of mind, To offer at APOLLO's fhrine,
And call on One, or All the NINE.
This Custom, thro' a Bigot zeal,
Which MODERNS of fine Tafte muft feel
For those who wrote in days of yore,
Adopted ftands like many more,
Tho' ev'ry Caufe, which then confpir'd
To make it practis'd and admir'd,
Yielding to Time's deftructive course,
For ages paft hath lost its force.
With antient Bards, an INVOCATION,
Was a true A&t of adoration,
Of Worship an essential part,
And not a formal piece of Art,
Of paultry reading a Parade,
A dull folemnity in trade,
A pious Fever, taught to burn.
An hour or two, to ferve a turn.
H 5
They talk'd not of CASTALIAN SPRINGS By way of faying pretty things,
As we dress out our flimfy Rhimes;
'Twas the RELIGION of the Times,
And they believ'd that boly stream
With greater force made FANCY teem,
Reckon❜d by all a true fpecific
To make the barren-brain prolific,
Thus ROMISH CHURCH (a fcheme which bears
Not half fo much excuse as theirs)
Since FAITH implicitly hath taught her,
Reveres the force of Holy Water.
The PAGAN SYSTEM, whether true
Or false, its strength, like Buildings, drew
From many parts difpos'd to bear
In one great Whole, their proper share.
Each GOD of eminent degree,
To fome vaft Beam compar'd might be;
Each GODLING was a Peg, or rather
A Cramp, to keep the Beams together;
And Man as fafely might pretend
From Jovr the thunder-bolt to rend,
As with an impious pride aspire
To rob APOLLO of his Lyre,
With fettled faith and impious awe,
Establish'd by the voice of Law,
Then POETS to the MUSES came,
And from their Altars caught the flame.
GENIUS, with PHOEBUS for his guide,
The MUSE afcending by his fide,
With tow'ring pinions dar'd to soar,
Where eye could fcarcely ftrain before.
But why should WE, who cannot feel
Thefe glowings of a Pağan zeal,'
That wild enthufiaftic force,
By which, above her common course,
NATURE in Ecftacy up-borne,
Look'd down on earthly things with fcorn;
Who have no more regard, 'tis known,
For their Religion than our own,
And feel not half fo fierce a flame
At CLIO's as at FISHER's name;
Who know thofe boafted facred Streams,
Were mere romantic idle dreams,
That THAMES has waters clear as thofe
Which on the top of PINDUS rofe,
And that the FANCY to refine,
Water's not half fo good as Wine;
Who know, if Profit strikes our eye,
Should we drink HELICON quite dry,
Th' whole fountain would not thither lead
So foon as one poor jug from TWEED;
Who, if to raise poetic fire,
The Pow'r of Beauty we require,
In any public place can view
More than the GRECIANS ever knew;
If Wit into the fcale is thrown,
Can boast a LENOX of our own;
Why should we fervile cuftoms chufe,
And court an antiquated Mufe?
No matter why-to ask a Reason
In PEDANT BIGOTRY is Treafon.
In the broad, beaten, turnpike-road
Of backney'd Panegyrick Ode,
No Modern Poet dares to ride
Without APOLLO by his fide,
Nor in a Sonnet take the air,
Unless his Lady Muse be there.
SHE, from fome Amaranthine grove,
Where little Loves and Graces rove,
The Laurel to my Lord must bear
Or Garlands make for Whores to wear;
SHE, with foft Elegiac verfe,
Muft grace fome mighty Villain's herse,
Or for fome Infant doom'd by Fate,
To wallow in a large estate,
With Rhimes the Cradle muft adorn,
To tell the World a Fool is born.
Since then our CRITIC LORDS expec
No hardy Poet should reject
Establish'd maxims, or prefume
To place much better in their room,
By Nature fearful, I fubmit.
And in this dearth of Senfe and Wit,
With nothing done, and little faid,
(By wild excursive FANCY led
Into a fecond Book thus far,
Like fome unwary Traveller,
Whom varied scenes of wood and lawn,
With treacherous delight have drawn
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