The poetical works of George Keate

View'd with speculative Glance
Boasted Italy, and France,
Notic'd ev'ry Thing most curious,
What was genuine, what was spurious;
Full as good are your Remarks,
As those made by travell'd Sparks;
Nay, in yours I more confide,
Making Nature still your Guide,
On your soft, green Cushion lying,
Men and Manners slyly spying,
Shamming oft a cunning Sleep,
Better at their Ways to peep,
Nicely comb'd, and nicely curl'd—
Bid, what think you of the World?—

What is all its Noise? its Strife?
What the paltry Views of Life?

Are they not a Flash, a Jest?
But a Pantomime at best?
Change of Scene, a painted Cheat,
Aim'd to mimic something great?

Thro' the Globe, and through each Nation
All is Whim, and all is Fashion;
Blockheads oft on slightest Claim
Rise to Honors, Wealth, and Fame;
Most Men to Self-int'rest bend,
Quit their Ease to gain their End,
On the Gallop, on the Fret,
Something unattain'd to get!
While they think no Creature sees them,
Death pursuing with his Besom,
Sweeps them all in little heaps,
Which the neighb'ring Church-yard keeps;

And thus daily clears the Stage,
That new Actors may engage.—

But does not your rage rise quick?
As a Dog are you not sick?
When you see that Men of Parts
Hate a Rival from their Hearts?
And keep under, or neglect
Merit which they should protect?
Commentators still disputing,
Not with Ink, but Gall, refuting?
Critic Wits their Time misusing,
And their Talents in abusing?
Tho' when they have spit their Spite,
'Tis not worth a Straw, who's right!—
Vain are Learning's Pow'rs, but when
Candour guides the Heart and Pen!

When instructing, they dispense
Fruits of sweet Benevolence!—

Biddy, you amidst this Scuffle
Han't one Care your Coat to ruffle;
Pillow'd with Content and Ease,
All your Aim is how to please;
And to such a Wish kind Heav'n
A Reward hath ever giv'n!
You see none but happy Folks,
Hear your Master's sprightly Jokes,
View him practise all those Parts
Which can chill, or melt our Hearts;
Or in hours of festive leisure,
Spreading Wit, and social Pleasure:
Whilst your Mistress, whom each Grace
Still attends from place to place,

In whose cultivated Mind
Ev'ry charm of Sense we find,
Deigns your Merit to approve,
And rewards you with her Love.—

Nor will soon your Joys decay;
Tho' each Dog must have his Day,
At the call of Fate you'll go
To Elysian Scenes below
Where your Cousin Cerberus,
Whose three Mouths make such a Fuss,
Shall on your account stop Two,
Barking soft, to welcome you,
And conduct you to the Shade
Where pale Proserpine array'd
Sits majestic; with surprize
She shall mark your Air and Size,

Charm'd, her little Guest shall treat
With new Teeth, new Eyes and Feet,
Teach you all the puppy Tricks
Play'd on t'other side of Styx,
Of each fav'rite Dog get rid,
Fondling only gentle Bid.

A beautiful little Dog, which Mrs. Garrick had for many Years, well known to all her Friends, as an old, and remarkable Favorite.

University of Virginia Library

TO BIDDY AT BATH.