<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512690" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>London - in Imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'--Quis ineptae<br>Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se?' ~ Juv.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel,<br>When injured Thales bids the town farewell;<br>Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend,<br>I praise the hermit, but regret the friend,<br>Who now resolves, from vice and London far,<br>To breathe in distant fields a purer air,<br>And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore,<br>Give to St. David one true Briton more.<br>For who would leave, unbribed, Hibernia's land,<br>Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand?<br>There none are swept by sudden fate away,<br>But all, whom hunger spares, with age decay:<br>Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire,<br>And now a rabble rages, now a fire;<br>Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay,<br>And here the fell attorney prowls for prey;<br>Here falling houses thunder on your head,<br>And here a female atheist talks you dead.<br>While Thales waits the wherry that contains<br>Of dissipated wealth the small remains,<br>On Thames's banks, in silent thought we stood<br>Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood<br>Struck with the seat that gave Eliza birth,<br>We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth;<br>In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew;<br>And call Britannia's glories back to view;<br>Behold her cross triumphant on the main,<br>The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain,<br>Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd,<br>Or English honour grew a standing jest.<br>A transient calm the happy scenes bestow,<br>And for a moment lull the sense of woe.<br>At length awakening with contemptuous frown,<br>Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town.<br>'Since worth (he cries) in these degenerate days,<br>Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise;<br>In those curs'd walls, devote to vice and gain,<br>Since unrewarded science toils in vain;<br>Since hope but soothes to double my distress,<br>And every moment leaves my little less;<br>While yet my steady steps no staff sustains,<br>And life still vigorous revels in my veins;<br>Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier place,<br>Where honesty and sense are no disgrace;<br>Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers play,<br>Some peaceful vale with Nature's painting gay:<br>Where once the harrass'd Briton found repose,<br>And safe in poverty defied his foes;<br>Some secret cell, ye powers! indulgent give,<br>Let -- live here, for -- has learn'd to live,<br>Here let those reign, whom pensions can incite<br>To vote a patriot black, a courtier white;<br>Explain their country's dear-bought rights away,<br>And plead for pirates in the face of day;<br>With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth,<br>And lend a lie the confidence of truth<br>Let such raise palaces, and manors buy,<br>Collect a tax, or farm a lottery;<br>With warbling eunuchs fill a licensed stage,<br>And lull to servitude a thoughtless age.<br>Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold?<br>What check restrain your thirst of power and gold?<br>Behold rebellious Virtue quite o'erthrown,<br>Behold your fame, our wealth, our lives your own.<br>To such a groaning nation's spoils are given, <br>When public crimes inflame the wrath of Heaven:<br>But what, my friend, what hope remains for me,<br>Who start at theft and blush at perjury?<br>Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he sing<br>To pluck a titled poet's borrowed wing;<br>A statesman's logic unconvinc'd can hear,<br>And dare to slumber o'er the <br>Gazetteer<br>;<br>Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd,<br>And strive in vain to laugh at H--y's jest.<br>'Others with softer smiles, and subtler art,<br>Can sap the principles, or taint the heart;<br>With more address, a lover's note convey,<br>Or bribe a virgin's innocence away.<br>Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic tongue<br>Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong,<br>Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy,<br>Live unregarded, unlamented die.<br>'For what but social guilt the friend endears?<br>Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortune shares.<br>But thou, should tempting villainy present<br>All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers spent,<br>Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful eye,<br>Nor sell for gold, what gold could never buy,<br>The peaceful slumber, self-approving day,<br>Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay.<br>'The cheated nation's happy favourites, see!<br>Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me!<br>London! the needy villain's general home,<br>The common sewer of Paris and of Rome;<br>With eager thirst, by folly or by fate,<br>Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state.<br>Forgive my transports on a theme like this, <br>I cannot bear a French metropolis.<br>'Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day<br>The land of heroes and of saints survey;<br>Nor hope the British lineaments to trace,<br>The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace,<br>But lost in thoughtless ease, and empty show,<br>Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau;<br>Sense, freedom, piety, refined away,<br>Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey.<br>'All that at home no more can beg or steal,<br>Or like a gibbet better than a wheel;<br>Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court,<br>Their air, their dress, their politics import;<br>Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay,<br>On Britain's fond credulity they prey.<br>No gainful trade their industry can 'scape,<br>They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clap.<br>All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows,<br>And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes.<br>'Ah! what avails it, that, from slavery far,<br>I drew the breath of life in English air;<br>Was early taught a Briton's right to prize, <br>And lisp the tale of Henry's victories;<br>If the gull'd conqueror receives the chain, <br>And flattery subdues when arms are vain?<br>'Studious to please, and ready to submit,<br>The supple Gaul was born a parasite:<br>Still to his interest true, where'er he goes,<br>Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish'd tongue bestows;<br>In every face a thousand graces shine,<br>From every tongue flows harmony divine.<br>These arts in vain our rugged natives try,<br>Strain out with faltering diffidence a lie,<br>And gain a kick for awkward flattery.<br>'Besides, with justice this discerning age<br>Admires their wondrous talents for the stage;<br>Well may they venture on the mimic's art,<br>Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part;<br>Practis'd their master's notions to embrace,<br>Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face;<br>With every wild absurdity comply,<br>And view each object with another's eye;<br>To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear,<br>To pour at will the counterfeited tear;<br>And as their patron hints the cold or heat,<br>To shake in dog-days, in December sweat.<br>How, when competitors like these contend,<br>Can surly virtue hope to fix a friend?<br>Slaves, that with serious impudence beguile,<br>And lie without a blush, without a smile;<br>Exalt each trifle, every vice adore,<br>Your taste in snuff, your judgement in a whore;<br>Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear<br>He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air.<br>'For arts like these preferr'd, admired, caress'd,<br>They first invade your table, then your breast:<br>Explore your secrets with insidious art,<br>Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart;<br>Then soon your ill-placed confidence repay,<br>Commence your lords, and govern or betray.<br>'By numbers here from shame or censure free,<br>All crimes are safe, but hated poverty:<br>This, only this, the rigid law pursues,<br>This, only this, provokes the snarling muse.<br>The sober trader, at a tatter'd cloak,<br>Wakes from his dream and labours for a joke;<br>With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze,<br>And turn the varied taunt of a thousand ways.<br>Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd, <br>Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest;<br>Fate never wounds more deep the generous heart,<br>Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.<br>'Has Heaven reserved, in pity to the poor,<br>No pathless waste, or undiscover'd shore?<br>No secret island in the boundless main?<br>No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?<br>Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore,<br>And bear oppression's insolence no more.<br>This mournful truth is everywhere confess'd,<br>Slow rises worth, by poverty depress'd:<br>But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold,<br>Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are sold;<br>Where won by bribes, by flatteries implored,<br>The groom retails the favours of his lord.<br>'But hark! th' affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries<br>Roll through the streets, and thunder to the skies:<br>Raised from some pleasing dream of wealth and power,<br>Some pompous palace, or some blissful bower;<br>Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight<br>Sustain the approaching fire's tremendous light;<br>Swift from pursuing horrors take your way,<br>And leave your little all to flames a prey;<br>Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam,<br>For where can starving merit find a home?<br>In vain your mournful narrative disclose,<br>While all neglect, and most insult your woes.<br>'Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth confound,<br>And spread his flaming palace on the ground,<br>Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies,<br>And public mournings pacify the skies;<br>The laureate tribe in servile verse relate,<br>How virtue wars with persecuting fate;<br>With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band<br>Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land.<br>See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,<br>And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome<br>The price of boroughs and of souls restore,<br>And raise his treasures higher than before:<br>Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great,<br>The polish'd marble, and the shining plate,<br>Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire,<br>And hopes from angry Heaven another fire.<br>'Couldst thou resign the park and play content<br>For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent;<br>There might'st thou find some elegant retreat,<br>Some hireling senator's deserted seat;<br>And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land,<br>For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand;<br>There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flowers,<br>Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers;<br>And, while thy beds a cheap repast afford,<br>Despise the dainties of a venal lord:<br>There every bush with nature's music rings,<br>There every breeze bears health upon its wings;<br>On all thy hours security shall smile,<br>And bless thine evening walk and morning toil.<br>'Prepare for death, if here at night you roam,<br>And sign your will before you sup from home.<br>Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,<br>Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man;<br>Some frolic drunkard reeling from a feast,<br>Provokes a broil and stabs you for a jest.<br>'Yet even these heroes, mischievously gay,<br>Lords of the street, and terrors of the way;<br>Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine<br>Their prudent insults to the poor confine;<br>Afar they mark the flambeau's bright approach,<br>And shun the shining train and golden coach.<br>'In vain, these dangers past, your doors you close,<br>And hope the balmy blessings of repose:<br>Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair,<br>The midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar;<br>Invades the sacred hour of silent rest,<br>And plants, unseen, a dagger in your breast.<br>'Scarce can our fields (such crowds at Tyburn die)<br>With hemp gallows and the fleet supply.<br>Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band,<br>Whose 'ways and means' support the sinking land;<br>Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring,<br>To rig another convoy for the king.<br>'A single jail, in Alfred's golden reign,<br>Could half the nation's criminals contain;<br>Fair justice then, without constraint adored,<br>Held high the steady scale, but sheathed the sword;<br>No spies were paid, no special juries known; <br>Bless'd age! but ah! how different from our own!<br>'Much could I add, - but see the boat at hand,<br>The tide retiring calls me from the land:<br>Farewell! - When youth, and health, and fortune spent,<br>Thou fly'st for refuge to the wilds of Kent;<br>And tired like me with follies and with crimes,<br>In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times;<br>Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid,<br>Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade;<br>In virtue's cause once more exert his rage,<br>Thy satire point, and animate thy page.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Samuel+Johnson">Samuel Johnson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=512690" data-title="London - in Imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal de Samuel Johnson" data-description="'--Quis ineptae Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se?' ~ Juv. Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel, When injured Thales bids the town farewell; Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend, I praise the hermit, but regret the fr..."></div> </div> </div>

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