veftigates pretty largely, and the difcerning reader will find many pertinent, and fome new remarks in what he has advanced upon it. His defign is to fhew, that the principles of taste in mufic, like those of the other fine arts, have their foundation in nature and common sense; that they have been grofly violated by thofe unworthy hands to whofe direction alone this delightful art is entrusted; and that men of fenfe and genius fhould not imagine they want an ear or a mufical tafte, because they do not relish much of the modern mufic, as in many cafes this is rather a proof of the goodness both of the one and the ether.

The ingenious author goes on to explain the influence which a cultivated taste has on the pleafure arifing from such works of genius as are in a particular manner addreffed to the imagination and the heart, and then proceeds to that principle of human nature which feems in a peculiar manner the characteristic of the fpecies, viz. the fenfe of religion. It would give us pleasure to present our readers with fome extracts from what he has advanced on these subjects; but every reader of tafte, from the quotations already given, will, we are perfuaded, be defirous of perufing the whole performance.

II. Fables in Verfe. By T. Mozeen. 2 Vols. 8vo. Pr. 6s. Bladon.

WE

E have learned by long and fad experience, that there is no poffibility of our living upon any terms of peace with the mediocres poeta. We have heretofore treated this author with indulgence, from motives of humanity, and in return, he has been kicking his heels at us ever fince. Alas! be little knows what pain it gives us to cenfure a bad writer who discovers the least figns of mcdeft fenfibility! Even he, in whom we have perceived no fuch marks of grace, shall find us as temperate as he is abufive; for, in truth, it is not in the power of Mr. Mozeen to excite our indignation; and if ever his poetical merit fhould improve so much as to justify the decree, we will affign him a place in the Temple of Fame, on the fame bench with Pilpay, Elop, La Fontaine, and Gay: at prefent he must be content with an inferior station, and confort with Ned Ward, Tom Brown, and Tom D'Urfey. For a writer of apologues, he feems to be rather too irafcible; therefore, fhould he ever be inclined to profecute this way of writing, we would advise him to purge off his choler, and confine himfelf to a temperate regimen; or at least bestow upon his works any other name than that of Fables, which, in our opinion, he

has

has now mifapplied. A fable, as we take it, ought to be concife, correct, pat, and pithy, without perfonality and paffion: how far these fables tally with this character, the reader shall judge for himself from the following specimen:

The DIVINE and CoxCOMB,

Eves, Millar, Rogers, heard no more,
Now Wiltshire's † rooms began to thin;
The mufic, and the breakfast o'er,
Some invalids remain'd within;
All elfe to Durdham-Down ‡ repair,
To court a longer leafe of life;
A down, for keen and healthy air,
Priz'd by maid, widow, hufband, wife,
Gout, feurvy, jaundice, thrown afide,
And all Pandora's teizing train;
Gay Phoebus gilds the morning ride,
And diffipates the gloom of pain.

Vex'd and fatigu'd with idle chat,

Not worth a man of learning's care,
The artless reverend doff'd his hat,

And towards King-Wefton || prick'd his mare,
No forcing mufes 'gainst their will,
But from amongit the lovely nine,
Wou'd one but on King-Weston hill
Enfold and mix her foul with mine;
Wild with delight, as Denham once
Did o'er his Cowper's beauties roll,
I'd foar, till he appear'd a dunce,
And Cowper's hill a hill of mole.

Not Richmond's 'gainft King-Wefton hill,
Tho' laureat Whitehead lent his name,
Or Churchill his fuperior skill,

Should figure in the dance of fame.

* The names of three muficians attending the affembly-room at Briftol Hot Wells.

The proprietor of the affembly-room.

A place where the company ride after drinking the waters. || A hill about four miles from Briftol, famed for the pleafant and extenfive prospects the eye commands from it.

It

Its velvet fummit I'd relate,
The variegated meads below;
The generous Southwell's fair eftate,
Next Bristol's bufy channel fhew.
Then o'er extenfive marfhy vales,
Pregnant with nearly ripen'd corn,
I'd pals you to the coaft of Wales,
Where dwell the pureft Britons born.
But till fome muse be kind as sweet,
Their bounds I'll not attempt to scale;
Excufe me the luxuriant treat,

And deign to tafte an humble tale..

Our parfon climb'd the winding steep,

And fill'd with pleafing wonder, view'd
Hills, dales, fields, rivers, towns, and sheep,
A landscape, elegantly rude.

Struck with the motly charming fcene,
His truly Chriftian foul began,

Juft inf'rences apace to glean,

Of heaven's regard to rebel man.

With pious meditations fraught,
Of virtue, charity, and love;
Here ponder'd he the text he taught,
And glorify'd the Power above.

But long the joys he had not found
That fport in Contemplation's train,
Ere Squib difturb'd his peace profound,
Young Squib, the noify, pert, and vain:

Who cannot bear the found of trade,

And damns the means that bleft his race;

Of nought, but modesty afraid,

A worthy family's disgrace.

At wakes, and revels, who but he,

He trains the whelp, he tries the gun;

In fift, and fingle-stick his glee,

A judge of colts,-of claffics, none.

"Good morning, Doctor, cried the Youth,
I'm glad I've met you here alone;
You'll not be disobliged with truth,
Altho' 'tis fomewhat harfh I own.

I heard

I heard laft night your conduct blam'd,
By grocer's widow, madam Todd;
Who vow'd the near was half so fham'd
As at the public tales of Dodd. *
And then recounted to the rest,

(For much good company the had)
That tho' you precepts preach'd the best,
Your patterns were immensely bad.
Your manners loose she held; too free
For one who facred habit wears;
Said, ladies, card-tables, and tea,

Were things you minded more than prayers.

But your appearance at the play,

Was that which shock'd 'em worst of all; On fuch behaviour fie, they fay,

And you a fecond Triftram call.

Excufe me, Sir, if I declare,

That there I join'd against you keen;
What, preach o' Sunday 'fore the mayor,
And Monday be at play- houfe feen?
The feafon through, were you to stay,
You'd find no clergy here so bad;
A gownfman fit to hear a play!
The Briftol valk do think you mad.
I cou'd have added, t'other day,

I faw you to'ard the Hot-well walk, (I'll take my oath to what I fay) And with comedian freely talk.

Have we a tradefman of repute,

That would be feen to do the fame? How then with clergy may it fuit;

O doctor, reverend doctor, fhame!

If ever I to play-houfe go,

'Tis but to murder idle hour;

My perfon and addrefs to fhew,

Ogle mifs Prim, and fruit devour;

Sometimes to make a caufeless noife, And sweat the actors with a riot, 'Tis one amongst my chiefeft joys,

To deal those faucy dogs difquiet."

* An excellent preacher and very good man, though not fo ftrait laced as to debar himself any innocent divertion.

Cool

Cool, and collected in himself,

The doctor with contemptuous fmile, Reply'd, "Infipid, empty elf!

Abstract of every thing that's vile!

What right have I, of conscience clear,
Illib'ral dull remarks to mind;
My conduct as I pleafe, I'll fquare,
Nor any fool a reason find.
My compliments to goffip Todd,
Perfuade her mind her own affairs;
Tell her, I think't extremely odd,
My pleasures fhou'd produce her cares.
Such railers move not common sense,
Their malice my derifion meets;
I laugh at low impertinence,

Their fouls as narrow as their streets.
To you, poor reptile, as you are,
Beneath all mark of grave concern;

In charity, advice I'll spare,

If you've conception fit to learn. No more the dangerous theme persue,

Of cenfuring perfons yet unknown;
Far better bred that man * than you;

That player-whom I'm proud to own.
Well vers'd in commerce, had he chofe,
In paths of commerce to proceed,
With learning's ftore his bofom glows,
Whilft mother tongue you scarce can read.

Soft gentleness and pity fit,

Thron'd in his heart, devoid of harm';

Good fenfe, with modefty and wit,

And every requifite to charm.

Shalt thou, without or worth, or grace,
Uncurb'd, my fav'rite youth degrade,
With nought to boaft, except a face,
Fit only for a chamber-maid.

If providence I dare arraign,

'Twou'd be for fuffering thee t'exift;

But well we know, nought's made in vain,

Unerring rule that never mift.

* Mr. Powell, who played with the London company in the fummer feafon at Briftol.

Of