University of Virginia Library

Dear Friend,—If I may call you so,
And not make each man else my foe
By whom these verses may be seen,
Because it is not he I mean:
I from a friend ne'er turn my face,
No, not in Atterbury's case;
And 'tis my grave desire to bear
Indelible that character;
What party-rage soever fires
My betters,—lords and knights and squires.—
Who pay obeisance to the shoe-string,
And lick the spittle, of Sir Two-string.

I shall not now to plead for strive
My well-known lines of thirty-five;
Impolitic, why, let them be,
And mean and poor in poetry:
Though there the world I still defy
To show one tittle of a lie;
And where the shoe pinch'd, well I knew,—
Not speaking false, but speaking true.
A portraiture shall now be shown
Will please folks better than my own.
I'll try to draw, in little, here
A perfect master's character,
Admired, applauded:—you'll descry,
At the first sight, it is not I.

His speech is frequent, warm, and large,
About the' importance of his charge:
“The nation's good depends on this,
As well as towns' and families'.
What virtues must the' instructor share,
Who such a burden knows to bear!”
Here let him shrug his sides, and make
As if he felt his shoulders ache.
This arduous task to undergo,
He asks advice of high and low;
With meekness and attention hears
Sisters and aunts and grandmothers;
Nay, with soft smile and accent mild,
Inquires the temper of the child,
Who best by kindness will be led;
Then chucks the chin, and strokes the head.
Distinction nice he still can make
For parents' and for fortune's sake.
“One must be favour'd, and so forth,
Because his friends are men of worth.
The rich more honour must have done 'em,
Because there more depends upon 'em:
For by experience 't will be found
That he who has a thousand pound
Has twice the weight in any place
Which he that but five hundred has.”
At proper times he seems to blame
“The poor who dare at learning aim,
And can't the whole expense afford:
The world, you know, is overstored.”
His skill the' affection can engage
Of youth approaching manly age;
Who greater freedom now enjoys,
As past the discipline of boys;
And learns to grow to man the faster
By conversation with the master.
He grieves that “custom over-rules,
And keeps that whipping up in schools.
Let wicked rods be thrown aside,
And canes or ferulas applied;
Or let each schoolmaster invent
Some more ingenuous punishment:
For, doubtless, in bare skins to deal
Appears but coarse and ungenteel.”
He never could be reconciled
To—“Spare the rod, and spoil the child.”
He wonders much “men should not find
Methods to' instruct a growing mind
Far speedier than the common road;
Since tedious work it is allow'd
Latin and Greek for years to stammer
By help of dictionary and grammar.”
Hence all grammarian-quacks he buys,
Of every sort and every size,
That readier paths of learning show,
From Hoole to paltry Clarke and Low.
He grants but very rarely plays;
“For schools are spoil'd by holidays.”
He thinks the church has given store,
And rather wishes less than more;
For who the idleness can bear
Of Eton or of Westminster?
On the old truth it is agreed,
“The master's eye makes fat the steed:”
And 'tis as easily discern'd,
The master's eye makes scholars learn'd.
And hence they scarce must leave his sight,
At meat or play, by day or night;
Nor go, except beneath his eye,
Where kings can't go by deputy.
To prove his diligence complete,
His boys by six at latest meet.
Short days he pieces up with night,
And seeks for truth by candle-light.
Who would not industry adore,
That toils so oft while others snore;
Though it sometimes its turn should take,
And snore as well when others wake?

In converse no man less to seek
To praise a Roman or a Greek,
And pity those who strangers be
To writings of antiquity.
Betwixt contending parties mild,
He wishes both were reconciled.
He “worthy men in both can show;
And faults on both sides are,” you know:
Which you may take upon his troth;
He best should know, who is of both.
An umpire often in debate
Immoderately moderate;
And, of his candour to assure ye,
A furious enemy to fury.
Constant as the revolving sun
Christmas or Whitsuntide brings on,
He spreads his glory far and wide,—
As far, at least, as he can ride.
Since people often are in doubt
Where best to place their children out,
'Tis but the office of a friend
To show on whom they may depend.
Full thirty miles of dirty road
He reckons in his neighbourhood.
But parents wise desire to know
How children fare, and what they do:
And well he understands to please
With tales of rising geniuses;
Describing how he finds their vein,
Explaining how he can explain.
For truth of fact that none may doubt him,
He bears his vouchers still about him:—
“That Latin by a child was made
Of seven years old,” without his aid:
“A spirit in this verse is seen
Beyond the standard of fourteen:”
“This declamation scarce you'll see
Excell'd at university!”
“And all this by themselves was done?”
“O, that you may depend upon.”

For fear your patience I oppress,
I here break off the' unfinish'd piece;
And only add,—Whoever tries
By virtue such as this to rise,
My life for yours, will make his way,
Sure as the vicar could of Bray!