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BOOK THE FIRST.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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171

BOOK THE FIRST.

Thou God of jest, who o'er th'ambrosial bowl,
Giv'st joy to Jove, while laughter shakes the pole;
And thou, fair Justice, of immortal line,
Hear, and assist the poet's grand design,

172

Who aims at triumph by no common ways,
But on the stem of dulness grafts the bays.

173

O thou, whatever name delight thine ear,
Pimp! Poet! Puffer! 'Pothecary! Play'r!

174

Whose baseless fame by vanity is buoy'd,
Like the huge earth, self-center'd in the void,
Accept one part'ner thy own worth t'explore,
And in thy praise be singular no more.

175

Say, Muse, what Dæmon, foe to ease and truth,
First from the mortar dragg'd th'adventrous youth,
And made him, 'mongst the scribbling sons of men,
Change peace for war, the pestle for the pen?
'Twas on a day (O may that day appear
No more, but lose its station in the year,
In the new style be not its name enroll'd
But share annihilation in the old!)

176

A tawny Sybil, whose alluring song,
Decoy'd the 'prentices and maiden throng,
First from the counter young Hillario charm'd,
And first his unambitious soul alarm'd.—
An old strip'd curtain cross her arms was flung,
And tatter'd tap'stry o'er her shoulders hung;

177

Her loins with patch-work cincture were begirt,
That more than spoke diversity of dirt;
With age her back was double and awry,
Twain were her teeth, and single was her eye,
Cold palsy shook her head—she seem'd at most
A living corps, or an untimely ghost,
With voice far-fetch'd from hollow throat profound,
And more than mortal was th'infernal sound.
“Sweet boy, who seem'st for glorious deeds design'd,
“O come and leave that clyster pipe behind;
“Cross this prophetic hand with silver coin,
“And all the wealth and fame, I have, is thine—
She said—he (for what stripling cou'd withstand?)
Strait with his only six-pence grac'd her hand.
And now the prescious fury all her breast
At once invaded, and at once possess'd;
Her eye was fix'd in an extatic stare,
And on her head uprose th'astonish'd hair:

178

No more her colour, or her looks the same,
But moonshine madness quite convuls'd her frame,
While, big with fate, again she silence broke,
And in few words voluminously spoke.
“In these three lines athwart thy palm I see,
“Either a tripod, or a triple-tree,
“For Oh! I ken by mysteries profound,
“Too light to sink thou never can'st be drown'd—
“Whate'er thy end, the fates are now at strife,
“Yet strange variety shall check thy life—
“Thou grand dictator of each publick show,
“Wit, moralist, quack, harlequin, and beau,
“Survey man's vice, self-prais'd, and self-preferr'd,
“And be th'Inspector of th'infected herd;

179

“By any means aspire at any ends,
“Baseness exalts, and cowardice defends,
“The checquer'd world's before thee—go—farewell,
“ Beware of Irishmen—and learn to spell.”
Here from her breast th'inspiring fury flew:
She ceas'd—and instant from his sight withdrew.
Fir'd with his fate, and conscious of his worth,
The beardless wight prepar'd to sally forth.
But first ('twas just, 'twas natural to grieve)
He sigh'd and took a soft pathetic leave.

180

“ Farewel, a long farewel to all my drugs,
“My labell'd vials, and my letter'd jugs;
“And you, ye bearers of no trivial charge
“Where all my Latin stands inscrib'd at large:
“Ye jars, ye gallipots, and draw'rs adieu,
“Be to my memory lost, as lost to view,
“And ye, whom I so oft have joy'd to wipe,
“Th'ear-sifting syringe, and back-piercing pipe,
“Farewel—my day of glory's on the dawn,
“And now,—Hillario's occupation's gone.”
Quick with the word his way the hero made,
Conducted by a glorious cavalcade;
Pert Petulance the first attracts his eye,
And drowsy Dulness slowly saunters by,
With Malice old, and Scandal ever new,
And neutral Nonsense, neither false nor true.

181

Infernal Falshood next approach'd the band
With --- and the koran in her hand.
Her motley vesture with the leopard vies,
Stain'd with a foul variety of lies.
Next spiteful Enmity, gangren'd at heart,
Presents a dagger, and conceals a dart.

182

On th'earth crawls Flatt'ry with her bosom bare,
And Vanity sails over him in air.
Such was the groupe—they bow'd and they ador'd,
And hail'd Hillario for their sovereign lord.
Flush'd with success, and proud of his allies,
Th'exulting hero thus triumphant cries.
“Friends, brethren, ever present, ever dear,
“Home to my heart, nor quit your title there,
“While you approve, assist, instruct, inspire,
“Heat my young blood, and set my soul on fire;

183

“No foreign aid my daring pen shall chuse,
“But boldly versify without a Muse.
“I'll teach Minerva, I'll inspire the Nine,
“Great Phœbus shall in consultation join,
“And round my nobler brow his forfeit laurel twine.
He said—and Clamour of Commotion born,
Rear'd to the skies her ear-afflicting horn,
While Jargon grav'd his titles on a block,
And styl'd him M. D. Acad. Budig. Soc.

184

But now the harbingers of fate and fame
Signs, omens, prodigies, and portents came.
Lo! (though mid-day) the grave Athenian fowl,
Eyed the bright sun, and hail'd him with a howl,
Moths, mites, and maggots, fleas, (a numerous crew!)
And gnats and grubworms crouded on his view,

185

Insects! without the microscopic aid,
Gigantic by the eye of Dulness made!
And stranger still—and never heard before!
A wooden lion roar'd, or seem'd to roar.
But (what the most his youthful bosom warm'd,
Heighten'd each hope and every fear disarm'd)
On an high dome a damsel took her stand,
With a well-freighted jordan in her hand,
Where curious mixtures strove on every side,
And solids sound with laxer fluids vied—
Lo! on his crown the lotion choice and large,
She soused—and gave at once a full discharge.

186

Not Archimedes, when with conscious pride,
I've found it out! I've found it out! he cry'd,
Not costive bardlings, when a rhyme comes pat,
Not grave Grimalkin when she smells a rat:
Not the shrewd statesman when he scents a plot,
Not coy Prudelia, when she knows what's what,
Not our own hero, when (O matchless luck!)
His keen discernment found another Duck;

187

With such extatic transports did abound,
As what he smelt and saw, and felt and found.
“Ye Gods I thank ye to profusion free,
“Thus to adorn and thus distinguish me,
“And thou, fair Cloacina, whom I serve,
“(If a desire to please is to deserve,)
“To you I'll consecrate my future lays,
“And on the smoothest paper print my soft essays.”

188

No more he spoke; but slightly slid along,
Escorted by the miscellaneous throng.
And now, thou Goddess, whose fire-darting eyes
Defy all distance and transpierce the skies,
To men the councils of the Gods relate,
And faithfully describe the grand debate.

189

The cloud-compelling thund'rer, at whose call
The Gods assembled in th'etherial hall,
From his bright throne the deities addrest:
“What impious noise disturbs our awful rest,
“With din prophane assaults immortal ears,
“And jars harsh discord to the tuneful spheres?
“Nature, my hand-maid, yet without a stain,
“Has never once productive prov'd in vain,
“'Till now—luxuriant and regardless quite
“Of her divine, eternal rule of right,
“On mere privation she's bestow'd a frame,
“And dignify'd a nothing with a name,
“A wretch devoid of use, of sense and grace,
“Th'insolvent tenant of incumber'd space.

190

“Good is his cause, and just is his pretence,”
(Replies the God of theft and eloquence.)
“A hand mercurial, ready to convey,
“E'en in the presence of the garish day,
“The work an English classic late has writ,
“And by adoption be the sire of wit—
“Sure to be this is to be something—sure,
“Next to perform, 'tis glorious to procure.

191

“ Small was th'exertion of my God-like soul,
“When privately Apollo's herd I stole,
“Compar'd to him, who braves th'all-seeing sun,
“And boldly bids th'astonish'd world look on.
Her approbation Venus next exprest,
And on Hillario's part the throne addrest,

192

“If there be any praise the nails to pare,
“And in soft ringlets wreathe th'elastic hair,
“In talk and tea to trifle time away;
“The mien so easy and the dress so gay!
“Can my Hillario's worth remain unknown,
“With whom coy Sylvia trusts herself alone.
“With whom, so pure, so innocent his life,
“The jealous husband leaves his buxom wife.
“What tho' he ne'er assume the post of Mars,
“By me disbanded from all amorous wars;

193

“His fancy (if not person) he employs,
“And oft ideal countesses enjoys—
“Tho' hard his heart, yet beauty shall controul,
“And sweeten all the rancour of his soul,
“While his black self, Florinda ever near,
“Shews like a Diamond in an Ethiop's ear.”

194

When Pallas—thus—“Cease—ye immortals—cease
“Nor rob serene stupidity of peace—
“Should Jove himself in calculation mad
“Still negatives to blank negations add,
“How could the barren cyphers ever-breed,
“But nothing still from nothing would proceed?
“Raise or depress—or magnify—or blame,
“ Inanity will ever be the same.”

195

“Not so (says Phœbus) my celestial friend,
“E'en blank privation has its use and end—
“How sweetly shadows recommend the light,
“And darkness renders my own beams more bright!
“How rise from filth the violet and rose!
“From emptiness how softest musick flows!

196

“How absence to possession adds a grace,
“And modest vacancy to all gives place?
“Contrasted when fair nature's works we spy,
“More they allure the mind and more they charm the eye.
“So from Hillario some effect may spring,
“E'en him—that slight Penumbra of a thing.”

197

Morpheus at length in the debate awoke,
And drowsily a few dull words he spoke—
Declar'd Hillario was the friend of ease,
And had a soporific pow'r to please,
Once more Hillario he pronounc'd with pain,
But at the very sound was lull'd to sleep again.

198

Momus the last of all, in merry mood,
As moderator in th'assembly stood.
“Ye laughter-loving pow'rs, ye Gods of mirth,
“What! not regard my deputy on earth?
“Whose chymic skill turns brass to gold with ease,
“And out of Cibber forges Socrates?

199

“Whose genius makes consistencies to fight,
“And forms an union betwixt wrong and right?
“Who (five whole days in senseless malice past)
“Repents, and is religious at the last?

200

“ A paltry play'r, that in no parts succeeds,
“A hackney writer, whom no mortal reads.

201

“ The trumpet of a base deserted cause,
“Damn'd to the scandal of his own applause;
“While thus he stands a general wit confest,
“With all these titles, all these talents blest,
“Be he by Jove's authority assign'd,
“The Universal Butt of all mankind.”
So spake and ceas'd the joy-exciting God,
And Jove immediate gave th'assenting nod,
When Fame her adamantine trump uprear'd,
And thus th'irrevocable doom declar'd.
“While in the vale perennial fountains flow,
“And fragrant Zephyrs musically blow;
“While the majestic sea from pole to pole,
“In horrible magnificence shall roll,

202

“While yonder glorious canopy on high
“Shall overhang the curtains of the sky,
“While the gay seasons their due course shall run,
“Ruled by the brilliant stars and golden sun,
“While wit and fool antagonists shall be,
“And sense and taste and nature shall agree,
“While love shall live, and rapture shall rejoice,
“Fed by the notes of Handel, Arne and Boyce,

203

“While with joint force o'er humour's droll domain,
“Cervantes, Fielding, Lucian, Swift shall reign,
“While thinking figures from the canvas start,
“And Hogarth is the Garrick of his art.
“So long in gross stupidity's extreme,
“Shall H*ll th'arch-dunce remain o'er every dunce supreme.
Conclusion.

And now candid reader, Martinus Macularius hath attended thee throughout the first book of this most delectable poem. As it is not improbable that those will be inquisitive after the particulars relating to this thy


204

commentator, he here gives thee notice that he is preparing for the press, Memoirs of Martinus Macularius, with his travels by sea and land, together with his flights aerial, and descents subterraneous, &c. And in the mean time he bids thee farewell, until the appearance of the second book of the Hilliad, of which we will say, speciosa miracula prometi And so as Terence says, Vos valeta & plaudite.

END OF BOOK THE FIRST.
 

As the design of heroic poetry is to celebrate the virtues and noble atchievements of truly great personages, and conduct them through a series of hardships to the completion of their wishes, so the little epic delights in representing, with an ironical drollery, the mock qualities of those, who, for the benefit of the laughing part of mankind, are pleased to become egregiously ridiculous, in an affected imitation of the truly renown'd worthies above-mentioned. Hence our poet calls upon Momus, at the first opening of his poem, to convert his hero into a jest. So that in the present case, it cannot be said, facit indignatio versum, but, if I may be allowed the expression, facit titillatio versum; which may serve to shew our author's temper of mind is free from rancour, or ill-nature. Notwithstanding the great incentives he has had to prompt him to this undertaking, he is not actuated by the spirit of revenge; and to check the fallies of fancy and humourous invention, he further invokes the goddess Themis, to administer strict, poetic justice.

Several cavils have been raised against this passage. Quinbus Flestrin, the unborn poet, is of opinion that it is brought in merely to eke out a verse; but though in many points I am inclined to look upon this critick as irrefragable, I must beg leave at present to appeal from his verdict; and, tho' Horace lays it down as rule not to admire any thing, I cannot help enjoying so pleasing an operation of the mind upon this occasion. We are here presented with a grand idea, no less than Jupiter shaking his sides and the heavens at the same time. The Pagan thunderer has often been said to agitate the pole with a nod, which in my mind gives too awful an image, whereas the one in question conveys an idea of him in good humour, and confirms what Mr. Orator Henley says in his excellent tracts, that “the deity is a joyous being.” Martinus Macularius, M. D. Reg. Soc. Bur. &c. Soc.

Much puzzle hath been occasioned among the naturalists concerning the engraftmen here mentioned. Hill's natural history of trees and plants, vol. 52, page 336 saith, it has been frequently attempted, but that the tree of dulness will not admit any such inoculation. He adds in page 339, that he himself tried the experiment for two years successively, but that the twig of laurel, like a feather in the state of electricity, drooped and died the moment he touched it. Notwithstanding this authority, it is well known that this operation has been performed by some choice spirits. Erasmus in his encomium on Folly shews how it may be accomplished; in our own times Pope and Garth found means to do the same: and in the sequel of this work, we make no doubt but the stem here-mentioned will bear some luxuriant branches, like the tree in Virgil,

Nec longum tempus, et ingens
Exiit ad Cœlum ramis felicibus arbos,
Miraturque novas frondes et non sua Poma.

An old English word for a mean fellow; see Chaucer and Spencer.

Quinbus Flestrin saith, with his usual importance, that this is the only piece of justice done to our hero in this work. To this assents the widow at Cuper's who it seems is not a little proud of the “words by Dr. Hill, and the musick by Lewis Granon, Esq;”. This opinion is further confirmed by Major England, who admires the pretty turns on Kitty, and Kate, and Catherine and Katy, but from these venerable authorities, judicious Reader, you may boldly dissent, meo periculo. Mart. Mac.

Of this talent take a specimen. In a letter to himself he saith; “you have discovered many of the beauties of the ancients; they are obliged to you; we are obliged to you; were they alive they would thank you; we who are alive do thank you.” His constant custom of running on in this manner, occasioned the following epigram,

Hill puffs himself, forbear to chide;
An insect vile and mean,
Must first, he knows, be magnify'd
Before it can be seen.

For both these vide Woodward's letter, passim.

The allusion here seems to be taken from Ovid, who describes the earth fixed in the air, by its own stupidity, or vis inertiæ:—

Pendebat in aere tellus,
Ponderibus librata suis. ------

But, reader, dilate your imagination to take in the much greater idea our poet here presents to you: consider the immense inanity of space, and then the comparative nothingness of the globe, and you may attain an adequate conception of our hero's reputation, and the mighty basis it stands upon. It is worth observing here that our author, quasi aliud agens, displays at one touch of his pen more knowledge of the planetary system, than is to be found in all the volumes of the mathematicians.

This note is partly by Macularius, and partly by Mr. Jinkyns, Philomath.

Observe, gentle reader, how tenderly our author treats his hero throughout his whole poem; he does not here impute his ridiculous conduct, and all that train of errors which have attended his consummate vanity, to his own perverse inclination, but with greater candour insinuates that some Dæmon, foe to Hillario's repose, first misled his youthful imagination; which is a kind of apology for his life and character. He is not the only one who has been seduced to his ruin in this manner. We read it in Pope,

Some Dæmon whisper'd, Visto have a taste.

Hence then arise our hero's misfortunes; and that the Dæmon above-mentioned was a foe to truth, will appear from Hilliario's notable talent at misrepresenting circumstances, for which vide all the Inspectors.

This seems to be wrote with an eye to a beautiful passage in a very elegant poem;

Ye Gods annihilate both space and time,
And make two lovers happy. ------

The request is extremely modest, and I really wonder it was never complied with; but it must be said in favour of Mr. Smart, that he is still more reasonable in his demand, and it appears by the alteration in the stile, that his scheme may be reduced to practice though the other is mighty fine in theory. The Inspector is of this opinion, and so is Monsieur de Scaizau.

Our Author has been extremely negligent upon this occasion, and has indolently omitted an opportunity of displaying his talent for poetick imagery. Homer has described the shield of Achilles with all the art of his imagination; Virgil has followed him in this point, and indeed both he and Ovid, seem to be delighted when they have either a picture to describe, or some representation in the labours of the loom. Hence arises a double delight; we admire the work of the artificer, and the poet's account of it; and this pleasure Mr. Smart might have impressed upon his readers in this passage, as many things were wrought into the tapestry here-mentioned. In one part our hero was administering to a patient, “and the fresh vomit runs for ever green.” The theatre at May-fair made a conspicuous figure in the piece— the pit seemed to rise in an uproar—the gallery opened its rude throats—and apples, oranges and halfpence flew about our hero's ears.—The mall in St. James's Park was displayed in a beautiful Vista, and you might perceive Hillario with his janty air waddling along.—In Mary le Bone fields, he was dancing round a glow worm, and finally the Rotunda at Ranelagh filled the eye with its magnificence, and in a corner of it stood a handsome young fellow holding a personage, dressed in blue silk, by the ear; “the very worsted still looked black and blue.” There were many other curious figures, but out of a shameful laziness has our poet omitted them. Polymetis Cantabrigiensis.

This passage seems to be an imitation of the Sybil in the sixth book of Virgil;

Subito non vultus, non color unus
Nec comtæ mansere comæ. ------

and is admirably expressive of the witch's prophetic fury, and ushers in the prediction of Hillario's fortune with proper solemnity.—

This note is by one of the Æolists, mentioned with honour in the Tale of a Tub.

When the Distemper first raged among the hoined cattle, the king and council ordered a certain officer to super-intend the beasts, and to direct that such, as were found to be infected, should be knocked in the head. This officer was called the Inspector, and from thence I would venture to lay a wager, our hero derived his title. Bentley, Junior.

It extremely probable that our poet is intimately acquainted with the classics; he seems frequently to have them in his eye, and such an air of enthusiasm runs through his whole speech, that the learned reader may easily perceive he has taken fire at some of the prophecies in Homer and Virgil.—The whole is delivered in breaks, and unconnected transitions, which denote vehement emotions in the mind; and the hint here concerning the Irish is perfectly in the manner of all great epic poets, who generally give the reader some idea of what is to ensue, without unfolding the whole. Thus we find in Virgil,

Bella, horrida bella,
Et Tybrim multo spumantem sanguine cerno.

and again,

Alius Latio jam partus Achilles.

And in the sequel of this work, I believe, it will be found, that as Æneas had another Achilles, so our hero has had as formidable an adversary.

The ingenious Mr. L---der says that the following passage is taken from a work, which he intends shortly to publish by subscription, and he has now in the press a pamphlet, called “Mr. Smart's Use and Abuse of the Moderns.” But, with his leave, this passage is partly imitated from Cardinal Wolsey's speech, and from Othello.

The train, here described, is worthy of Hillario, pertness, dulness, scandal and malice, &c. being the very constituents of an hero for the mock heroic, and it is not without propriety that nonsense is introduced with the epithet, neutral; nonsense being like a Dutchman, not only in an unmeaning stupidity, but in the art of preserving a strict neutrality. This neutrality may be aptly explained by the following epigram,

Word-valiant wight, thou great he shrew,
That wrangles to no end;
Since nonsense is nor false nor true,
Thou'rt no man's foe or friend.

This lady is described with two books in her hand, but our author chusing to preserve a neutrality, though not a nonsensical one, upon this occasion, the tories are at liberty to fill up this blank with Rapin, Burnet, or any names that will fit the niches; and the whigs may, if they please, insert Echard, Higgons, &c. But why, exclaimeth a certain critic, should falshood be given to Hillario?—Because, replieth Macularius, he has given many specimens of his talent that way. Our hero took it into his head some time since to tell the world that he caned a gentleman, whom he called by the name of Mario; what degree of faith the town gave him upon that occasion, may be collected from the two following lines, by a certain wag who shall be nameless.

To beat one man great Hill was fated;
What man?—a man that he created.

The following epigram may be also properly inserted here.

What H---ll one day says, he the next does deny,
And candidly tells us—'tis all a damn'd lye:
Dear Doctor—this candour from you is not wanted;
For why shou'd you own it? 'tis taken for granted.

Our hero is as remarkable for his encomiums, where it is his interest to commend, as for his abuse, where he has taken a dislike; but from the latter he is easily to be bought off, as may be seen in the following excellent epigram.

An author's writings oft reveal,
Where now and then he takes a meal.
Invite him once a week to dinner,
He'll faint you, tho' the vilest sinner.
Have you a smiling, vacant face,
He gives you soul, expression, grace.
Swears what you will, unswears it too;
What will not beef and pudding do?

No the devil a bit!—I am the only person that can do that!—My poems, written at fifteen, were done without the assistance of any muse, and better than all Smart's poetry.—The Muses are strumpets—they frequently give an intellectual gonorrhæa—Court debt not paid—I'll never be poet laureate.—Coup de grace unanswerable—Our foes shall knuckle—five pounds to any bishop that will equal this— Gum guiacum for Latin lignum vitæ.—Adam the first Dutchman— victorious stroke for Old England—Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee. Oratory-Right-Reason-Chapel, Saturday 13th of January, and old stile for ever.

Jargon is here properly introduced graving our hero's titles, which are admirably brought into verse, but the gentleman who wrote the last note, Mr. Orator H---ley, takes umbrage at this passage, and exclaimeth to the following effect. “Jargon is meant for me.” There is more music in a peal of marrowbones and cleavers than in these verses.—I am a logician upon fundamentals.—A rationalist,— lover of mankande, Glastonberry thorn,—huzza, boys.—Wit a vivacious command of all objects and ideas.—I am the only wit in Great Britain. See Oratory tracts, &c. 10036.”

Patience, good Mr. Orator! We are not at leisure to answer thee at present, but must observe that Jargon has done more for our hero, than ever did the society at Bordeaux, as will appear from the following extract of a letter sent to Martinus Macularius, by a fellow of that society:

J'ai bien reçu la lettre, dont vous m'avez fait l'honneur le 12 me passé. A l'égard de ce Monsieur Hillario, qui se vante si prodigieusement chez vous, je ne trouve pas qu'il est enrollé dans notre société, & son. nom. est. parfaitment inconnu ici. J'attends de vous nouvelles, &c.

And reason given 'em but to study slies.

M. Macularius.

This passage may be properly illustrated by a recollection of two lines in Mr. Pope's essay on criticism.

As things seem large which we thro' mists descry,
Dulness is very apt to magnify.

Not the black lion in Salisbury-court, Fleet-street, where the New Craftsman is published, nor yet the red lion at Brentford, but the beast of the Bedford, who may truly be said to have been alive, when animated by Addison and Steel, though now reduced to that state of Block-headism, which is so conspicuous in his master. Ficulnus, inutile lignum! Bentley, junior.

Reader do not turn up your nose at this passage! it is much more decent than Pope's—Recollect what Swift says, that a nice man has filthy ideas, and let it be considered this discharge may have the same effect upon our hero, as a similar accident had upon a person of equal parts and genius.

Renew'd by ordure's sympathetic force,
As oil'd by magic juices for the course,
Vig'rous he rises from th'effluvia strong,
Imbibes new life and scours and stinks along.
Pope's Dunciad.

As soon as the Philosopher here mentioned discovered the modern Save-all, and the New-invented patent black-ball, he threw down his pipe, and ran all along Piccadilly, with his shirt out of his breeches, crying out like a madman, ευρηκα! ευρηκα! which in modern English is, the job is done! the job is done! Vetus Schol.

Hillario having a mind to celebrate and recommend a genius to the world, compares him to Stephen Duck, and at the close of a late Inspector, cries out, “I have found another Duck, but who shall find a Caroline?

Our hero for once has spoke truth of himself, for which we could produce the testimonies of several persons of distinction. Bath and Tunbridge wells have upon many occasions testified their gratitude to him on this head, as his works have been always found of singular use with the waters of those places. To this effect also speaketh that excellent commedian, Mr. Henry Woodward, in an ingenious parody on busy, curious, thirsty fly, &c.

I

Busy, curious, hungry Hill,
Write of me and write your fill.
Freely welcome to abuse,
Could'st thou tire thy railing muse.
Make the most of this you can,
Strife is short and life's a span.

II

Both alike your works and pay,
Hasten quick to their decay,
This a trifle, those no more,
Tho' repeated to threescore.
Threescore volumes when they're writ,
Will appear at last b---t.

This invocation is perfectly in the spirit of ancient poetry. If I may use Milton's words, our author here presumes into the heavens, an earthly guest, and draws empyreal air. Hence he calls upon the Goddess to assist his strain, while he relates the councils of the Gods. Virgil, when the plot thickens upon his hands, as Mr. Byes has it, has offered up his prayers a second time to the Muse, and he seems to labour under the weight of his subject, when he cries out,

Majus opus moveo, major rerum mihi nascitur ordo.

This is the case at present with the writer of the Hilliad, and this piece of machinery will evince the absurdity of that Lucretian doctrine, which asserts that the Gods are wrapped up in a lazy indolence, and do not trouble themselves about human affairs. The words of Lucretius are,

Omnis enim per se divûm natura necesse est:
Immortali ævo summa cum pace fruatur,
Semota a rebus nostris, disjunctaque longè:

It is now recommended to the editors of the Anti-Lucretius to make use of this instance to the contrary in the next publication of that work.— M. Macularius.

Jupiter's speech is full of pomp and solemnity, and is finely closed by a description of our hero, who is here said to take up a place in the creation to no purpose. What a different notion of the end of his existence has Hillario, from what we find delivered by the excellent Longinus in his treatise on the sublime. The passage is admirable, translated by the author of the pleasures of imagination. “The Godlike geniuses of Greece were well-assured that nature had not intended man for a low spirited or ignoble being; but bringing us into life and the midst of this wide universe, as before a multitude assembled at some heroic solemnity, that we might be spectators of all her magnificence, and candidates high in emulation for the prize of glory. she has therefore implanted in our souls an inextinguishable love of every thing great and exalted, of every thing which appears divine beyond our comprehension. Hence by the very propensity of nature we are led to admire, not little springs or shallow rivulets, however clear and delicious, but the Nile, the Rhine, the Danube, and much more than all the Ocean.”—Instead of acting upon this plan, Hillario is employed in pursuit of insects in Kensington-gardens, and as this is all the gratitude he pays for the being conferred upon him, he is finely termed an Insolvent tenant.

Our hero has taken an entire letter from Sir Thomas Fitz-Osborne, and with inimitable effrontery published it in his Inspector, No. 239, as a production of his own. We are informed that, having been taxed with this affair, he declares with a great deal of art, that it was given him by another person, to which all we have to say is, that the receiver is as bad as the thief. M. Macularius.

If our author could be thought capable of punning, I should imagine that the word procure, in this place, is made use of in preference to an appellation given to our hero in the commencement of this poem, viz. a Pimp, but the reader will please to recollect that the term Pimp is not in that passage used in its modern acceptation.

Not so fast, good poet, cries out in this place, M. Macularius. We do not find that Hillario, upon any occasion whatever, has been charged with stealing Apollo's quiver, and certain it is, that those arrows, which he has shot at all the word, never were taken from thence. But of Mercury it is recorded by Horace, that he really did deceive the God of wit in this manner;

Te boves olim nisi reddidisses
Per dolum amotas, puerum minaci
Voce dum terret viduus pharetra
Risit Apollo.

Venus rises in this assembly quite in the manner attributed to her in the ancient poets; thus we see in Virgil that she is all mildness, and at every word breathes Ambrosia;

------ At non Venus aurea contra,
Pauca refert. ------

She is to speak upon this occasion, as well as in the case produced from the Æneid, in favour of a much loved son, though indeed we cannot say that she has been quite so kind to Hillario, as formerly she was to Æneas, it being evident that she has not bestowed upon him that lustre of youthful, bloom, and that liquid radiance of the eye, which she is said to have given the pious Trojan.

------ Lumenque juventæ
Purpureum, et lætos oculis afflavit honores.

On the contrary Venus here talks of his black self, which makes it suspected that she reconciled herself to this hue, out of a compliment to Vulcan, of whom she has frequent favours to solicit: and perhaps it may appear hereafter, that she procured a sword for our hero from the celestial blacksmith's forge. One thing is not a little surprizing, that, while Venus speaks on the side of Hillario, she should omit the real utility he has been of to the cause of love by his experience as an apothecary, of which he himself hath told us, several have profited; and it should be remembered at the same time, that he actually has employed his person in the service of Venus, and has now an offspring of the amorous congress. It is moreover notorious, that having, in his elegant language, tasted of the cool stream, he was ready to plunge in again, and therefore publicly set himself up for a wise, and thus, became a fortune-hunter with his pen, and if he has failed in his design, it is because the ladies do not approve the new scheme of propagation without the knowledge of a man, which Hillario pretended to explain so handsomely in the Lucina sine concubitu.—But the truth is, he never wrote a syllable of this book, though he transcribed part of it, and shewed it to a bookseller, in order to procure a higher price for his productions. Quinbus Flestrin.

There is neither morality, nor integrity, nor unity, nor universality in this poem.—The author of it is a Smart; I hope to see a Smartead published; I had my pocket picked the other day, as I was going through Paul's Church-yard, and I firmly believe it was this little author, as the man who can pun, will also pick a pocket. John Dennis, Junior.

Our author does not here mean to list himself among the disputants concerning pure space, but the doctrine he would advance, is, that nothing can come from nothing. In so unbelieving an age as this, it is possible this tenet may not be received, but if the reader has a mind to see it handled at large, he may find it in Rumgurtius, vol. 16, pagina 1001. “De hac re multum et turpiter hallucinantur scriptores tam exteri quam domestici. Spatium enim absolutum et relativum debent distingui, priusquam distincta esse possunt; neque ulla alia regula ad normam rei metaphysicæ quadrabit, quam triplex consideratio de substantiâ inanitatis, sive entitate nihili, quæ quidem consideratio triplex ad unam reduci potest necessitatem; nempe idem spatium de quo jam satis dictum est.” This opinion is further corroborated by the tracts of the society of Bourdeaux. “Selon la distinction entre les choses, qui n'ont pas de difference, il nous faut absolument agréer, que les idées, qui ont frappé l'imagination, peuvent bien être effacées, pourvu qu'on ne s'avise pas d'oublier cet espace immense, qui environne toute la nature, et le systême des étoiles.” Among our countrymen, I do not know any body that has handled this subject so well as the accurate Mr. Fielding, in his essay upon Nothing, which the reader may find in the first volume of his miscellanies; but with all due deference to his authority, we beg leave to dissent from one assertion in the said essay; the residence of nothing might in his time have been in a critick's head, and we are apt to believe that there is a something like nothing in most critick's heads to this day, and this false appearance misled the excellent metaphysician just quoted; for nothing, in its puris naturalibus, as Gravesend describes it in his experimental philosophy, does subsist no where so properly at present as in the pericranium of our hero. Mart. Macularius.

Persons of most genius, says the Inspector, Friday Jan. 26, Number 587, “have in general been the fondest of musick; Sir Isaac Newton was remarkable for his affection for harmony; he was scarce ever missed at the beginning of any performance, but was seldom seen at the end of it.” And indeed of this opinion is M. Macularius; and he further adds, that if Sir Isaac was still living it is probable he would be at the beginning of the Inspector's next song at Cuper's, but that he would not be at the end of it, may be proved to a mathematical demonstration, though Hillario takes so much pleasure in beating time to them himself, and though he so frequently exclaims, very fine!—O fine!—vastly fine!—Since the lucubration of Friday Jan. 26th has been mentioned, we think proper to observe here, that his Inspectorship has the most notable talent at a motto—Quinbus Flestrin saith, “he is a tartar for that,” and of this, learned reader, take a specimen along with you. How aptly upon the subject of musick does he bid his readers pluck grapes from the loaded vine!

Carpite de plenis pendentes vitibus uvas.
Ovid.

The above-mentioned Quinbus Flestrin, peremptorily says, this line has been cavilled at by some minor critics, because, “the grapes are sour;” and indeed of that way of thinking is Macularius, who hath been greatly astonished at the taste of Hillario, in so frequently culling from Valerius Flaccus. But he is clearly of opinion, that the lines from Welstead and Dennis, are selected with great judgment, and are hung out as proper signs of what entertainment is to be furnished up to his customers.

Whatever mean opinion Dr. Phœbus may entertain of his terrestial brother physician and poet: on earth, Hillario is talked of in a different manner, as will appear from the following parody on the lines prefixed by Mr. Dryden, to Milton's Paradise Lost:

Three wise great men in the same Æra born,
Britannia's happy island did adorn:
Henley in care of souls display'd his skill,
Rock shone in physick, and in both John H---ll,
The force of nature could no farther go,
To make a third, she join'd the former two.
Quinbus Flestrin.

The hypnotick, or soporiferous quality of Hillario's pen, is manifest from the following asseveration, which was published in the New Craftsman, and is a letter from a tradesman in the city.

“SIR,

From a motive of gratitude, and for the sake of those of my fellow-creatures, who may unhappily be afflicted; as I have been for some time past, I beg leave, through the channel of your paper, to communicate the disorder I have laboured under, and the extraordinary cure I have lately met with. I have had for many months successively a slow nervous fever, with a constant flutter on my spirits, attended with pertinacious watchings, twitchings of the nerves, and other grievous symptoms, which reduced me to a mere shadow. At length, by the interposition of divine providence, a friend who had himself experienced it, advised me to have recourse to the reading of the Inspectors. I accordingly took one of them, and the effect it had upon me was such, that I fell into a profound sleep, which lasted near six and thirty hours. By this I have attained a more composed habit of body, and I now doze away almost all my time, but for fear of a lethargy, am ordered to take them in smaller quantities. A paragraph at a time now answers my purpose, and under heaven I owe my sleeping powers to the above-mentioned Inspectors. I look upon them to be a grand soporificum mirabile, very proper to be had in all families. He makes great allowance to those who by them to sell again, or to send abroad to the plantations; and the above fact I am ready to attest whenever called upon. Given under my hand this 4th day of January, 1753.

Humphrey Roberts, Weaver, in Crispin-street, Spitalfields, opposite the White Horse.”

Socrates was the father of the truest philosophy that ever appeared in the world, and though he has not drawn God's image, which was reserved for the light of the gospel, he has at least given the shadow, which together with his exemplary life, induces Erasmus to cry out, Sancte Socrates ora pro nobis; of Mr. Cibber we shall say nothing; as he has said abundantly enough of himself, but to illustrate the poet's meaning in this passage, it may be necessary to observe that when the British worthy was indisposed some time since, the Inspector did not besitate to prefer him to the God-like ancient philosopher. O'te, Bollane, cerebri felicem. M. Macularius.

Alluding to his egregious talent at distinctions without a difference.

On every Saturday the florid Hillario becomes, in Woodward's phrase, a lay preacher; but his flimsey, heavy, impotent lucubrations have rather been of prejudice to the good old cause; and we hear that there is now preparing for the press; by a very eminent divine, a defence of christianity against the misrepresentations of a certain officious writer; and for the present we think proper to apply an epigram, occasioned by a dipute between two beaux concerning religion.

I

On grace, free will, and myst'ries high,
Two wits harangu'd the table;
J---n H---ll believes he knows not why,
Tom swears 'tis all a fable.

II

Peace, idiots, peace, and both agree,
Tom kiss thy empty brother;
Religion laughs at foes like thee,
But dreads a friend like t'other.

It appears that the first effort of this universal genius, who is lately become remarkable as the Bobadil of literature, was to excell in Pantomime. What was the event?—he was damned.—Mr. Cross, the prompter, took great pains to fit him for the part of Oroonoko—he was damned.—He attempted Captain Blandford—he was damned. —He acted Constant in the Provok'd Wife—he was damned. —He represented the Botanist in Romeo and Juliet, at the Little Theatre in the Hay-market, under the direction of Mr. The. Cibber—he was damned.—He appeared in the character of Lothario, at the celebrated theatre in May-Fair—he was damned there too. Mr. Cross, however, to alleviate his misfortune, charitably bestowed upon him a 15th part of his own benefit. See the Gentleman's Magazine for last December, and also Woodward's letter, passim.

Notwithstanding this assertion of Momus, our hero pro eâ quâ est, verecundiâ, compareth himself to Addison and Steele, which occasioned the following epigram, by the right hon. the earl --- addressed to the right honourable G---e D---n.

Art thou not angry, learning's great protector,
To hear that flimsey author, the Inspector,
Of cant, of puff, that daily vain inditer,
Call Addison, or Steele, his brother writer?
So a pert H---ll (in Æsop's fabling days)
Swolu up with vanity, and self-giv'n praise,
To his huge neighbour mountain might have said,
“See; (brother) how We Mountains lift the head!
“How great We shew! how awful, and how high,
“Amidst these paultry Mounts, that here around us lie!”

And now, reader, please to observe, that, since so ingenious a nobleman hath condescended to take notice of his Inspectorship, Mr. Smart doth not need any apology for the notice he hath also taken of him. M. Macularius.

In a very pleasant account of the riots in Drury-lane Play-house, by Henry Fielding, Esq; we find the following humorous description of our hero in the character of a trumpeter. “They all ran away except the trumpeter, who having an empyema in his side, as well as several dreadful bruises on his breech, was taken. When he was brought before Garrick to be examined, he said the ninnies, to whom he had the honour to be trumpeter, had resented the use made of the monsters by Garrick. That it was unfair, that it was cruel, that it was inhuman to employ a man's own subjects against him. That Rich was lawful sovereign over all the monsters in the universe, with much more of the same kind; all which Garrick seemed to think unworthy of an answer; but when the trumpeter challenged him as his acquaintance, the chief with great disdain turned his back, and ordered the fellow to be dismissed with full power of trumpeting again on what side he pleased.” Hillario has since trumpeted in the cause of Pantomime, the gaudy scenery of which with great judgment he dismisses from the Opera-house, and saith, it is now fixed in its proper place in the theatre. On this occasion, Macularius cannot help exclaiming, “O Shakespear! O Johnson! rest, rest perturbed spirits.”

The first of these gentlemen may be justly looked upon as the Milton of musick, and the talents of the two latter may not improperly be delineated by calling them the Drydens of their profession, as they not only touch the strings of love with exquisite art, but also, when they please, reach the truly sublime.

The opinion which Mr. Hogarth entertains of our hero's writings, may be guess'd at, by any one who will take the pleasure of looking at a print called Beer-street, in which Hillario's critique upon the Royal Society is put into a basket directed to the trunk-maker in St. Paul's Church-yard. I shall only just observe that the compliment in this passage to Mr. Hogarth is reciprocal, and reflects a lustre on Mr. Garrick, both of them having similar talents, equally capable of the highest elevation, and of representing the ordinary scenes of life, with the most exquisite humour.