SOME of my Friends (for friends I must suppose
All, who, not daring to appear my foes,

Feign great good will, and, not more full of spite
Than full of craft, under falfe colours fight)
Some of my friends (fo lavishly I print)
As more in forrow than in anger, hint
(Tho' that indeed will scarce admit a doubt)
That I fhall run my stock of genius out,
My no great ftock, and publishing fo faft,
Muft needs become a bankrupt at the last.

The husbandman, to spare a thankful foil, Which, rich in difpofition, pays his toil • More than a hundred fold, which fwells his ftore Even to his wish, and makes his barns run o'er,

6

By long Experience taught, who teaches beft,
Forgoes his hopes a while, and gives it reft.
The land, allow'd its loffes to repair,

'Refresh'd, and full in ftrength, delights to wear
"A fecond youth, and to the farmer's eyes
'Bids richer crops, and double harvests rise.

• Nor think this practice to the earth' confin'd, It reaches to the culture of the mind.

The mind of man craves reft, and cannot bear, • Tho' next in pow'r to Gods, continual care. • Genius himself (nor here let Genius frown) • Muft, to ensure his vigour, be laid down,

' And fallow'd well; had Churchill known but • this,

Which the moft flight observer scarce could

• miss,

He might have flourish'd twenty years, or more, 6 Tho' now, alas! poor man! worn out in four."

Recover'd from the vanity of youth,

I feel, alas this melancholy truth,

Thanks to each cordial, each advising friend,
And am, if not too late, refolv'd to mend,
Refolv'd to give some respite to my pen,
Apply myself once more to books, and

men,

View what is prefent, what is past review,
And old flock exhaufted, lay in new.

my

For twice fix moons (let winds, turn'd porters,

bear

This oath to Heav'n) for twice fix moons I fwear,

No Muse shall tempt me with her firen lay, Nor draw me from improvement's thorny way. Verfe I abjure, nor will forgive that friend, Who in my hearing fhall a Rhime commend.

It cannot be Whether I will, or no,
Such as they are, my thoughts in measure flow.
Convinc'd, determin'd, I in profe begin,

But e'er I write one fentence, Verse creeps in,
And taints me thro' and thro' by this good light
In Verfe I talk by day, I dream by night;
If now and then I curfe, my curses chime,
Nor can I pray, unless I pray in rhime.
Even now i err, in spite of common sense,
And my confeffion doubles my offence.

Reft then, my friends-spare, spare your preci ous breath,

And be your slumbers not lefs found than death;
Perturbed fpirits reft, nor thus appear

To wafte your counfels in a spendthrift's ear,
On your grave leffons I cannot fubfist,

Nor even in verfe become oeconomist ;
Reft then, my friends, nor, hateful to my eyes,
Let Envy, in the fhape of Pity, rise

To blaft me e'er my time; with patience wait,
('Tis no long interval) propitious Fate

Shall glut your pride, and ev'ry son of phlegm
Find ample room to cenfure and condemn.
Read fome three hundred lines, (no easy task;
But probably the last that I shall afk)

And give me up for ever; wait one hour,
Nay, not so much, Revenge is in my pow'r,
And ye may cry, e'er time hath turn'd his glass,
Lo! what we prophecied is come to pass.

Let thofe, who Poetry in poems claim,
Or not read this, or only read to blame;
Let thofe, who are by fiction's charms enflav❜d,
Return me thanks for half a crown well-fav'd;
Let thofe, who love a little gall in rhime,
Poftpone their purchase now, and call next time;
Let thofe, who void of nature, look for art,
Take up their money, and in peace depart;
Let those, who energy of diction prize,
For Billingfgate quit Flexney, and be wife;
Here is no lie, no gall, no art, no force,
Mean are the words, and fuch as come of course,
The fubject not lefs fimple than the lay;

A plain, unlabour'd journey of a day.

Far from me now be every tuneful maid,
I neither ask, nor can receive their aid.
Pegasus turn'd into a common hack,
Alone I jog, and keep the beaten track,
Nor would I have the fifters of the hill
Behold their Bard in fuch a dishabille.
Abfent, but only abfent for a time,
Let them carefs fome dearer fon of Rhime,
Let them, as far as decency permits,
Without fufpicion, play the fool with Wits,
'Gainft fools be guarded; 'tis a certain rule,
Wits are safe things, there's danger in a Fool.

Let them, though modeft, Gray more modeft

wooe;

Let them with Mafon bleat, and bray, and

cooe;

Let them with Franklin, proud of fome small

Greek,

Make Sophocles, difguis'd, in English speak;
Let them with Glover o'er Medea doze;
Let them with DodЛley wail Cleone's woes,
Whilft he, fine feeling creature, all in tears,
Melts as they melt, and weeps with weeping peers;
Let them with fimple Whitehead, taught to creep
Silent and foft, lay Fontenelle afleep;

Let them with Browne contrive, no vulgar trick,
To cure the dead, and make the living fick ;
Let them in charity to Murphy give

Some old French piece, that he may steal and live;
Let them with antic Foote subscriptions get,

And advertise a summer-house of wit.

Thus, or in any better way they please,

With these great men, or with great men like thefe,
Let them their appetite for laughter feed;
I on my Journey all alone proceed.

If fashionable grown, and fond of pow'r,
With hum'rous Scots let them disport their hour;
Let them dance, fairy like, round Offian's tomb;
Let them forge lies, and hiftories for Hume,
Let them with Hume, the very prince of verse,
Make something like a tragedy in Erfe;