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Profan'd by them, the Mufe's laurels fade,
Her voice neglected, and her flame decay'd.
And the fon's fon must feel the father's crime,
A curfe entail'd on all the race that rhyme.

New cares appear, new terrors fwell the train,
And must we paint them ere we close the scene?
Say, muft the Muse th' unwilling task pursue,
And to compleat her dangers mention you?
Yes you, my friend, and those whofe kind regard
With partial fondness views this humble bard:
Ev'n you he dreads. -Ah! kindly cease to raise
Unwilling cenfure, by exacting praise.

Juft to itself the jealous world will claim
A right to judge; or give, or cancel fame.
And, if th' officious zeal unbounded flows,
The friend too partial is the worst of foes.

e Behold th' ATHENIAN fage, whose piercing mind
Had trac'd the wily lab'rinths of mankind,
When now condemn'd, he leaves his infant care
To all those evils man is born to bear.

Not to his friends alone the charge he yields,
But nobler hopes on jufter motives builds;
Bids e'en his foes their future steps attend,

And dare to cenfure, if they dar'd offend.
Wou'd thus the poet truft his offspring forth,

Or bloom'd our BRITAIN with ATHENIAN Worth;

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Wou'd the brave foe th' imperfect work engage
With honest freedom, not with partial rage,
What just productions might the world surprize!
What other POPES, what other MAROS rife!

But fince by foes, or friends, alike deceiv'd,
Too little those, and these too much believ'd;
Since the fame fate pursues by diff'rent ways,
Undone by cenfure, or undone by praise ;
Since bards themselves fubmit to vice's rule,
And party-feuds grow high, and patrons cool :
Since, ftill unnam'd, unnumber'd ills behind
Rise black in air, and only wait the wind :
Let me, O let me, ere the tempeft roar,
Catch the firft gale, and make the nearest shore;
In facred filence join th' inglorious train,

Where humble peace, and fweet contentment reign;
If not thy precepts, thy example own,

And fteal thro' life, not useless, tho' unknown.

Το

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To the Honourable ***

By the Same.

CHARLES, in abfence hear a friend complain,
Who knows thou lov'ft him wherefo'er he
Yet feels uneafy starts of idle pain,

goes,

And often would be told the thing he knows. Why then, thou loiterer, fleets the filent year, How dar'ft thou give a friend unnecessary fear?

We are not now befide that ofier'd stream,
Where erft we wander'd, thoughtless of the way:
We do not now of diftant ages dream,

And cheat in converse half the lingʼring day;

No fancied heroes rife at our command,

And no TIMOLEON weeps, and bleeds no THEBAN band.

Yet why complain? thou feel'ft no want like these,
From me, 'tis true, but me alone debar'd,
Thou ftill in GRANTA's hades enjoy'st at ease

The books we reverenc'd, and the friends we fhar'd;

Nor feeft without fuch aids the day decline,

Nor think'ft how much their lofs has added weight to thine.

Truth's

'Truth's genuine voice, the freely-opening mind, Are thine, are friendship's, and retirement's lot; To converfation is the world confin'd,

Friends of an hour, who please and are forgot; And interest stains, and vanity controuls

The

pure unfullied thoughts, and fallies of our fouls.

OI remember, and with pride repeat

The rapid progress which our friendship knew! Even at the first with willing minds we met,

And ere the root was fix'd the branches grew. In vain had Fortune plac'd her weak barrier, Clear was thy breast from pride, and mine from servile fear.

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I saw thee gen'rous, and with joy can fay

My education rose above my birth,

Thanks to those parent shades, on whofe cold clay

Fall faft my tears, and lightly lie the earth!

To them I owe whate'er I dare pretend.

Thou faw'ft with partial eyes, and bade me call thee friend.

Let others meanly heap the treasur'd store,

And aukward fondness cares on cares employ
To leave a race more exquifitely poor,

Poffefs'd of riches which they ne'er enjoy :

He's only kind who takes the noble way

T'unbind the fprings of thought and give them pow'r to play.

His heirs fhall blefs him, and look down with fcorn
On vulgar pride from vaunted heroes sprung;
Lords of themselves, thank heaven that they were born
Above the fordid mifer's glitt'ring dung,

Above the fervile grandeur of a throne,

For they are nature's heirs, and all her works their own.

To Mr. GARRI C K.

Ο

By the Same.

N old PARNASSus, t'other day,
The
to
The Mufes met to fing and play;
Apart from all the rest were seen
The tragick and the comick queen,
Engag'd, perhaps, in deep debate
On RICH's, or on FLEETWOOD's fate.
When, on a fudden, news was brought
That GARRICK had the patent got,
And both their ladyships again

Might now return to Drury-lane.

They bow'd, they fimper'd, and agreed
They wish'd the project might fucceed,
'Twas very poffible, the cafe

Was likely too, and had a face-
A face! THALIA titt'ring cry'd,
And cou'd her joy no longer hide;

Why,

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