A Familiar Epistle, from a Clergyman to a young Gentleman of the Law

In great Augustus' golden days. When Horace held the seal of bays. And sagely made reports of cases, To serve all future times and places; 'Twas found that not a human wight, (If I conceive his meaning right) Liv'd easy in his own estate. But always prais'd his neighbour's fate. Succeeding times with sacred awe Have the prescription held as law; And to this day you cannot find One creature that with patient mind, Endures for better and for worse, His proper life's determin'd course. Thus the fond country damsel prays For balls, and masquerades, and plays; Whilst your town ladies wish to rove Thro' the green glade and shady grove; Thus damns the Captain, blood and fire, And longs to rest an easy 'Squire ; Whilst the fierce 'Squire impatient glows To meet in arms his country's foes: And thus to cut the matter short, (For why in long exampling sport When one home case the truth will shew?) You like the church, and I the law. But since no pow'r propitious hears The peevish tenor of our pray❜rs, And, spite of all our noise and din, You must read briefs, I rail at sin; Let us, my friend, with nicer eye, The nature of our stations try; See if the mass we so deplore Contain not some intrinsic ore: Some latent principle of good, Sure to be prized when understood. And first, t'observe an order due, 'Tis proper my own case to view; As children of distinguish'd taste, Still eat the daintiest bits the last. 'Tis true, from crape some torment springs; Lean curacies are hateful things; Distressing cramps to gen'rous spirit; You scarce can treat a friend of merit; And then your rusty wig and gown Excite the laugh of ev'ry clown. But when some years have roll'd away, Some patron of benignant clay (Time move thy lazy pinions quicker;) May set me down a thankful vicar. Now see the prospect brighten round, Unnumber'd comforts strait abound; A fair three hundred pounds a year, Good books, neat house, and dainty cheer, A mettled nag, perhaps a chair, To ride abroad and take the air; "In summer, shade; in winter, fire." And Sunday, dinners with th' Squire, Mean while, my ev'ry bliss t' improve, With life's best cordial, gen'rous love, Some fair Selinda, lovely name, May gradual catch the tender flame, And yield the treasure of her charms With sweet reluctance to my arms. If then my friend should steal from town, And all the anger of the gown, And see his parson in good case, Blest with th' esteem of all the place; See the dear partner of my heart, All softness, act the kindest part; See young Selindas, good and fair, Climb up my knee the kiss to share; Pray how could Fortune more present? What room for pining discontent? Proceed we now to place the next (Like good dividers of a text) In which the Muse shall make appear You've much to hope and naught to fear: Where Garrick holds his mimic reign (Mere mortals call it Drury-lane) You've seen, the first or second night, A new born piece produc'd to light. Scene first, a friend o' th' hero says Something that puts you in amaze, Of great events impending near, And dangers threaten'd to his dear: But for your life you can't divine, Where tends this strange involv'd design! The plot succeeds; you've got a clue That guides the whole performance thro'; And plain as nose upon your face You ev'ry turn and winding trace. Hear, gentle friend, th' instructive lay; Your law resembles just the play. At writ, ejectment, certiorari, Trover, and scirefacias stare ye? Have patience; mark with eye profound; And soon you'll tread on clearer ground. What vision's that? In court you stand, With nervous tongue and waving hand, Pleading the injur'd orphan's cause, Whilst still Attention speaks applause, And now Britannia's patriots join To bid you in the senate shine: With all a Pitt's undaunted force, You stem Corruption's headlong course; Break the vile chain by Slav'ry worn. And bless the ages yet unborn. O may I live to see the day, When crowds shall hail you on your way, For selfish schemes of feigning good, Of frontless Rapine just subdu'd; The Muse shall pour her strongest lays, And grow immortal by your praise, Thus ev'ry state, at distance due, If we the piece attentive view, Shews tints in sweet assemblage laid, Nor all is light, nor all is shade. Then let us, to our lot resign'd, All-patient ply with steady mind The present oar, howe'er it teize us; The rest when heav'n-born Fortune pleases.