Volume 1 / Book 2 / Act 1 — ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE.

This writer was born at Burton-on-Trent, in 1705. He was educated at Westminster and Cambridge, and studied law at Lincoln's Inn. He was a man of fortune, and sat in two parliaments for Wenlock, in Shropshire. He died in 1760. His imitations of authors are clever and amusing, and seem to have got their hint from 'The Splendid Shilling,' and to have given it to the 'Rejected Addresses.'

IMITATION OF THOMSON.

——Prorumpit ad aethera nubem Turbine, fumantem piceo. VIRG.

O thou, matured by glad Hesperian suns, Tobacco, fountain pure of limpid truth, That looks the very soul; whence pouring thought Swarms all the mind; absorpt is yellow care, And at each puff imagination burns: Flash on thy bard, and with exalting fires Touch the mysterious lip that chants thy praise In strains to mortal sons of earth unknown. Behold an engine, wrought from tawny mines Of ductile clay, with plastic virtue formed, And glazed magnific o'er, I grasp, I fill. From Paetotheke with pungent powers perfumed, Itself one tortoise all, where shines imbibed Each parent ray; then rudely rammed, illume With the red touch of zeal-enkindling sheet, Marked with Gibsonian lore; forth issue clouds Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around, And many-mining fires; I all the while, Lolling at ease, inhale the breezy balm. But chief, when Bacchus wont with thee to join, In genial strife and orthodoxal ale, Stream life and joy into the Muse's bowl. Oh, be thou still my great inspirer, thou My Muse; oh, fan me with thy zephyrs boon, While I, in clouded tabernacle shrined, Burst forth all oracle and mystic song.

IMITATION OF POPE.

—Solis ad ortus Vanescit fumus. LUCAN.

Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense To Templars modesty, to parsons sense: So raptured priests, at famed Dodona's shrine, Drank inspiration from the steam divine. Poison that cures, a vapour that affords Content, more solid than the smile of lords: Rest to the weary, to the hungry food, The last kind refuge of the wise and good. Inspired by thee, dull cits adjust the scale Of Europe's peace, when other statesmen fail. By thee protected, and thy sister, beer, Poets rejoice, nor think the bailiff near. Nor less the critic owns thy genial aid, While supperless he plies the piddling trade. What though to love and soft delights a foe, By ladies hated, hated by the beau, Yet social freedom, long to courts unknown, Fair health, fair truth, and virtue are thy own. Come to thy poet, come with healing wings, And let me taste thee unexcised by kings.

IMITATION OF SWIFT.

Ex fumo dare lucem.—HOR.

Boy! bring an ounce of Freeman's best, And bid the vicar be my guest: Let all be placed in manner due, A pot wherein to spit or spew, And London Journal, and Free-Briton, Of use to light a pipe or * *

* * * * *

This village, unmolested yet By troopers, shall be my retreat: Who cannot flatter, bribe, betray; Who cannot write or vote for * * * Far from the vermin of the town, Here let me rather live, my own, Doze o'er a pipe, whose vapour bland In sweet oblivion lulls the land; Of all which at Vienna passes, As ignorant as * * Brass is: And scorning rascals to caress, Extol the days of good Queen Bess, When first tobacco blessed our isle, Then think of other queens—and smile.

Come, jovial pipe, and bring along Midnight revelry and song; The merry catch, the madrigal, That echoes sweet in City Hall; The parson's pun, the smutty tale Of country justice o'er his ale. I ask not what the French are doing, Or Spain, to compass Britain's ruin: Britons, if undone, can go Where tobacco loves to grow.