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When flatter'd crimes of a licentious age
Reproach our silence, and demand our rage.—
When churchmen scripture for the classics quit:
Polite apostates from Gods grace to wit;

When men grow great from their revenue spent ;
And fly from bailiffs into parliament;

When dying sinners, to blot out their score

Bequeath the church the leavings of a whore

To chafe our spleen when themes like these increase,
Shall panegyric reign and censure cease?

CEREMONY. Bigots Regard for.

Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth,
Prepar'd to fight for shadows of no worth;
While truths, on which eternal things depend,
Find not, or hardly find, a single friend:
As soldiers watch the signal of command,
They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand;
Happy to fill religion's vacant place

With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace.

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Young.

Cowper.

O'er bog, or steep, thro' strait, rough, dense, or rare,
With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way,
And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies:
At length a universal hubbub wild

Of stunning sounds and voices all confus'd,
Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear
With loudest vehemence: thither he plies,
Undaunted to meet there whatever power
Or Spirit of the nethermost abyss

Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask
Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies
Bond'ring on light; when strait behold the throne

Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread
Wide on the wasteful deep; with him enthron'd,
Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things,
The consort of his reign; and by them stood
Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name
Of Demogorgon: Rumour next, and Chance,
And Tumult and Confusion, all embroil'd,
And Discord, with a thousand various mouths.

CHATHAM. Lord, Character of.

Not so the virtue still adorns our age,
Though the chief actor died upon the stage.
In him Demosthenes was heard again,
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain,
She cloth'd him with authority and awe,
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law.
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace,
And all his country beaming in his face,
He stood, as some inimitable hand

Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand,
No sycophant or slave, that dar'd oppose
Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose,
And ev'ry venal stickler for the yoke

Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke.

CHEERFULNESS.

Let me play the fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
And let my liver rather heat with wine,

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans,
Why should a man whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire, cut in alabaster?

Milton.

Cowper.

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish?

Shakspeare.

CHLOE. Character of.

"Yet Chloe sure was form'd without a spot."
Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot.
"With ev'ry pleasing, every prudent part,
Say, what can Chloe want?"-She wants a heart.
She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought,
But never, never reach'd one gen'rous thought.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour,
Content to dwell in decencies for ever.
So very reasonable, so unmov'd,

As never yet to love, or to be lov'd.

CHREMES. Character o,.

Chremes, for airy pensions of renown,

Devotes his service to the state and crown;

All schemes he knows, and knowing all, improves;
Though Britain's thankless, still this patriot loves.

-Knows for each day the weather of our fate;

A quidnunc is an almanac of state..

Pope.

You smile, and think this statesman void of use,
Why may not time his secret worth produce?
Since apes can roast the choice Castanian nut,
Since steeds of genius are expert at put,
Since half the senate "not content" can say,
Geese nations save, and puppies plots betray.
What makes him model realms and counsel kings?

An incapacity for smaller things.

Poor Chremes can't conduct his own estate,

And thence has undertaken Europe's fate.

CHRISTMAS. Hallowed Time.

It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long;

Pope.

And then they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.

Shakspeare.

CLELIA. Her Vanity in the Alms-House.
Now friendless, sick, and old, and wanting bread,
The first-born tears of fallen pride were shed:
True, bitter tears, and yet that wounded pride,
Among the
poor for poor distinctions sigh'd
Though now her tales were to her audience fit;
Though loud her tones, and vulgar grown her wit;
Though now her dress-(but let me not explain
The piteous patchwork of the needy vain;
The flirtish form to coarse materials lent,
And one poor robe through fifty fashions sent,)
Though all within was sad, without was mean-
Still 'twas her wish, her comfort to be seen.
She would to plays on lowest terms resort,
Where once her box was to the beaux a court;
And, strange delight! to that same house where she
Join'd in the dance, all gayety and glee,

Now with the menials, crowding to the wall,
She'd see, not share, the pleasures of the ball;
And with degraded vanity unfold,

How she, too, triumph'd in the years of old.
To her poor friends 'tis now her pride to tell,
On what a height she stood before she fell:

At church, she points to one tall seat, and "There

We sat," she cries, "when my papa was mayor." Crabbe. CLEOPATRA. Sailing.

The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water; the poop was beaten gold;

Purple the sails, and so perfum'd, that

The winds were love-sick with them: the oars were silver;

Which to the tune of lutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description; she did lie

In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,)
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see,
The fancy out-work nature: on each side her
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.

CLERGYMAN. Petit Maitre.

Shakspeare.

I venerate the man, whose heart is warm,
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life,
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof

That he is honest in the sacred cause.

To such I render more than mere respect,

Whose actions say, that they respect themselves.
But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In conversation frivolous, in dress
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse
Frequent in park with lady at his side,
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes
But rare at home, and never at his books,
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card;
Constant at routs, familiar with a round
Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor;
Ambitious of preferment for its gold,
And well prepar'd, by ignorance and sloth,
By infidelity, and love of world,
To make God's work a sinecure; a slave
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride;
From such apostles, O ye mitred heads,

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