THE
JOURNEY
.
SOME
of
my
Friends
(
for
Friends
I
must
suppose
All
,
who
,
not
daring
to
appear
my
foes
,
Feign
great
good
will
,
and
,
not
more
full
of
spite
Than
full
of
craft
,
under
false
colours
fight
)
Some
of
my
Friends
(
so
lavishly
I
print
)
As
more
in
sorrow
than
in
anger
,
hint
(
Tho'
that
indeed
will
scarce
admit
a
doubt
)
That
I
shall
run
my
stock
of
Genius
out
,
My
no
great
stock
,
and
,
publishing
so
fast
,
Must
needs
become
a
Bankrupt
at
the
last
.
"
The
Husbandman
,
to
spare
a
thankful
soil
,
"
Which
,
rich
in
disposition
,
pays
his
toil
"
More
than
a
hundred
fold
,
which
swells
his
store
"
E'en
to
his
wish
,
and
makes
his
barns
run
o'er
,
"
By
long
Experience
taught
,
who
teaches
best
,
"
Foregoes
his
hopes
awhile
,
and
gives
it
rest
.
"
The
Land
,
allow'd
its
losses
to
repair
,
"
Refresh'd
,
and
full
in
strength
,
delights
to
wear
"
A
second
Youth
,
and
to
the
Farmer's
eyes
"
Bids
richer
crops
,
and
double
harvests
rise
.
"
Nor
think
this
practice
to
the
earth
confin'd
,
"
It
reaches
to
the
culture
of
the
Mind
.
"
The
Mind
of
Man
craves
rest
,
and
cannot
bear
,
"
Tho'
next
in
pow'r
to
Gods
,
continual
care
.
"
Genius
himself
(
nor
here
let
Genius
frown
)
"
Must
,
to
ensure
his
vigour
,
be
laid
down
,
"
And
fallow'd
well
;
had
CHURCHILL
known
but
this
,
"
Which
the
most
slight
observer
scarce
could
miss
,
"
He
might
have
flourish'd
twenty
years
,
or
more
,
"
Tho'
now
alas
!
poor
Man
!
worn
out
in
four
.
Recover'd
from
the
vanity
of
youth
,
I
feel
,
alas
!
this
melancholly
truth
,
Thanks
to
each
cordial
,
each
advising
Friend
,
And
am
,
if
not
too
late
,
resolv'd
to
mend
,
Resolv'd
to
give
some
respite
to
my
pen
,
Apply
myself
once
more
to
Books
,
and
Men
,
View
what
is
present
,
what
is
past
review
,
And
my
old
stock
exhausted
lay
in
new
.
For
twice
six
moons
(
let
winds
,
turn'd
Porters
,
bear
This
oath
to
Heav'n
)
for
twice
six
moons
I
swear
,
No
Muse
shall
tempt
me
with
her
Siren
lay
,
Nor
draw
me
from
improvement's
thorny
way
.
Verse
I
abjure
,
nor
will
forgive
that
Friend
,
Who
in
my
hearing
shall
a
Rime
commend
.
It
cannot
be
—
Whether
I
will
,
or
no
,
Such
as
they
are
,
my
thoughts
in
measure
flow
.
Convinc'd
,
determin'd
,
I
in
prose
begin
,
But
e're
I
write
one
sentence
,
Verse
creeps
in
,
And
taints
me
thro'
and
thro'
;
by
this
good
light
In
Verse
I
talk
by
day
,
I
dream
by
night
;
If
now
and
then
I
curse
,
my
curses
chime
,
Nor
can
I
pray
,
unless
I
pray
in
rime
.
E'en
now
I
err
,
in
spite
of
Common
Sense
,
And
my
Confession
doubles
my
offence
.
Rest
then
my
Friends
—
spare
,
spare
your
precious
breath
,
And
be
your
slumbers
not
less
sound
than
death
;
Perturbed
Spirits
rest
,
nor
thus
appear
To
waste
your
counsels
in
a
spendthrift's
ear
,
On
your
grave
lessons
I
cannot
subsist
,
Nor
e'en
in
verse
become
Oeconomist
;
Rest
then
my
Friends
,
nor
,
hateful
to
my
eyes
,
Let
Envy
,
in
the
shape
of
Pity
,
rise
To
blast
me
e'er
my
time
;
with
patience
wait
,
(
'Tis
no
long
interval
)
propitious
Fate
Shall
glut
your
pride
,
and
ev'ry
Son
of
phlegm
Find
ample
room
to
censure
and
condemn
.
Read
some
three
hundred
lines
,
(
no
easy
task
;
But
probably
the
last
that
I
shall
ask
)
And
give
me
up
for
ever
;
wait
one
hour
,
Nay
not
so
much
,
Revenge
is
in
your
pow'r
,
And
Ye
may
cry
,
e'er
Time
hath
turn'd
his
glass
,
Lo
!
what
We
prophecied
is
come
to
pass
.
Let
Those
,
who
Poetry
in
Poems
claim
,
Or
not
read
this
,
or
only
read
to
blame
;
Let
Those
,
who
are
by
fiction's
charms
enslav'd
,
Return
me
thanks
for
half
a
crown
well-sav'd
;
Let
Those
,
who
love
a
little
gall
in
rime
,
Postpone
their
purchase
now
,
and
call
next
time
;
Let
Those
,
who
,
void
of
Nature
,
look
for
art
,
Take
up
their
money
,
and
in
peace
depart
;
Let
Those
,
who
energy
of
diction
prize
,
For
BILLINGSGATE
quit
FLEXNEY
,
and
be
wise
;
Here
is
no
lie
,
no
gall
,
no
art
,
no
force
,
Mean
are
the
words
,
and
such
as
come
of
course
,
The
Subject
not
less
simple
than
the
lay
;
A
plain
,
unlabour'd
journey
of
a
Day
.
Far
from
Me
now
be
ev'ry
tuneful
Maid
,
I
neither
ask
,
nor
can
receive
their
aid
.
Pegasus
turn'd
into
a
common
hack
,
Alone
I
jog
,
and
keep
the
beaten
track
,
Nor
would
I
have
the
Sisters
of
the
hill
Behold
their
Bard
in
such
a
Dishabille
.
Absent
,
but
only
absent
for
a
time
,
Let
Them
caress
some
dearer
son
of
Rime
,
Let
Them
,
as
far
as
Decency
permits
,
Without
suspicion
,
play
the
fool
with
Wits
,
'Gainst
Fools
be
guarded
;
'tis
a
certain
rule
,
Wits
are
safe
things
,
there's
danger
in
a
Fool
.
Let
Them
,
tho'
modest
,
GRAY
more
modest
wooe
;
Let
Them
with
MASON
bleat
,
and
bray
,
and
cooe
;
Let
Them
with
FRANKLIN
,
proud
of
some
small
Greek
,
Make
Sophocles
,
disguis'd
,
in
English
speak
;
Let
Them
with
GLOVER
o'er
Medea
doze
;
Let
Them
with
DODSLEY
wail
Cleone's
woes
,
Whilst
He
,
fine
feeling
creature
,
all
in
tears
,
Melts
as
they
melt
,
and
weeps
with
weeping
Peers
;
Let
Them
with
simple
WHITEHEAD
,
taught
to
creep
Silent
and
soft
,
lay
FONTENELLE
asleep
;
Let
Them
with
BROWNE
contrive
,
no
vulgar
trick
,
To
cure
the
dead
,
and
make
the
living
sick
;
Let
Them
in
Charity
to
MURPHY
give
Some
old
French
piece
,
that
he
may
steal
and
live
;
Let
Them
with
antick
FOOTE
subscriptions
get
,
And
advertise
a
Summer-house
of
Wit
.
Thus
,
or
in
any
better
way
They
please
,
With
these
great
Men
,
or
with
great
Men
like
these
,
Let
Them
their
appetite
for
laughter
feed
;
I
on
my
Journey
all
Alone
proceed
.
If
fashionable
grown
,
and
fond
of
pow'r
With
hum'rous
SCOTS
let
Them
disport
their
hour
;
Let
Them
dance
,
fairy
like
,
round
OSSIAN's
tomb
;
Let
Them
forge
lies
,
and
histories
for
HUME
;
Let
Them
with
HOME
,
the
very
Prince
of
verse
,
Make
something
like
a
Tragedy
in
Erse
;
Under
dark
Allegory's
flimsy
veil
Let
Them
with
OGILVIE
spin
out
a
tale
Of
rueful
length
;
Let
Them
plain
things
obscure
,
Debase
what's
truly
rich
,
and
what
is
poor
Make
poorer
still
by
jargon
most
uncouth
;
With
ev'ry
pert
,
prim
Prettiness
of
Youth
Born
of
false
Taste
,
with
Fancy
(
like
a
Child
Not
knowing
what
It
cries
for
)
running
wild
,
With
bloated
Stile
,
by
Affectation
taught
,
With
much
false
Colouring
,
and
little
Thought
,
With
Phrases
strange
,
and
Dialect
decreed
By
Reason
never
to
have
pass'd
the
Tweed
,
With
Words
,
which
Nature
meant
each
other's
foe
,
Forc'd
to
compound
whether
they
will
or
no
,
With
such
materials
,
Let
Them
,
if
They
will
,
To
prove
at
once
their
pleasantry
and
skill
,
Build
up
a
Bard
to
war
'gainst
Common
Sense
,
By
way
of
Compliment
to
Providence
;
Let
Them
with
ARMSTRONG
,
taking
leave
of
Sense
,
Read
musty
lectures
on
Benevolence
,
Or
conn
the
pages
of
his
gaping
Day
,
Where
all
his
former
Fame
was
thrown
away
,
Where
all
,
but
barren
labour
,
was
forgot
,
And
the
vain
stiffness
of
a
Letter'd
SCOT
;
Let
Them
with
ARMSTRONG
pass
the
term
of
light
,
But
not
one
hour
of
darkness
;
when
the
Night
Suspends
this
mortal
coil
,
when
Mem'ry
wakes
,
When
for
our
past
misdoings
Conscience
takes
A
deep
revenge
,
when
,
by
Reflexion
led
,
She
draws
his
curtains
,
and
looks
comfort
dead
,
Let
ev'ry
Muse
be
gone
;
in
vain
He
turns
And
tries
to
pray
for
sleep
;
an
Aetna
burns
,
A
more
than
Aetna
in
his
coward
breast
;
And
Guilt
,
with
vengeance
arm'd
,
forbids
him
rest
.
Tho'
soft
as
Plumage
from
young
Zephyr's
wing
,
His
couch
seems
hard
,
and
no
relief
can
bring
.
INGRATITUDE
hath
planted
daggers
there
,
No
Good
Man
can
deserve
,
no
brave
Man
bear
.
Thus
,
or
in
any
better
way
They
please
,
With
these
great
Men
,
or
with
great
Men
like
these
,
Let
Them
their
appetite
for
laughter
feed
;
I
on
my
Journey
all
Alone
proceed
.