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To a FRIEND;

With the aforegoing COPY.

A

CCEPT, Dear Hal, and kindly ufe

The Off-spring of an homely Mufe,

Not fit indeed 'fore you t' appear,

Nor yet for M--t's fofter Ear;
That Task is difficult, fince SHE

Is fo admir'd, ador'd by thee,

Enrich'd by that the matchless Dame,

An ADDISON, a POPE might claim:

Tho' each forc'd Line you may averr,
Unworthy You, unworthy HER.

You'll pardon ftill and be appeas'd,

Because from One that wou'd have pleas'd.
By Artful Horace * we are told,

A Poem fhou'd be Nine Years Old,

* Vid, Hor.

E'er

E'er to the World it shows its Face,

But that!

that's not our prefent Cafe;

This, born fcarce Nince Hours fince, appears,

And ev❜n defcends to Dennis Ears.

But tho' with LTNCEUS well you might

Contend Priority in Sight;

Yet you not like an Eagle can,

Or Serpent Epidaurean,

Difcern the Vices of your Friend:

Here meritoriously Blind,.

Juft like

your LADY's Imperfections,

(So great to both are your Affections)

You cannot fee; or if in cafe

By Chance you shou'd, ev'n they will please.

Defperfe the Cloud before your Eyes,

O'ercaft by ill-tim'd Clemencies;
Forget they're Mine, when these appear,

But yet don't be too-too-fevere.

At fome few Faults be not offended

If fome few Beauties are but blended:

But

But whil'ft you read, when in your Way
A Fault you find, thus you fhall fay;
This, this, by Nature prone to err;
And this, flip'd in, for want of Care.
Infert, or alter as you find

Occafion, check my tow'ring Mind.
Cut off each Superfluity,

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High wou'd I walk, but yet not fly.
But if I've drawn the Piece too long,
And tir'd my Friend * to grace my Song.
The Fair One's Danger gave me Matter
That gotten, Words swift follow'd after.
The Scheme, you'll fay's intirely new,
Poets and Painters ever drew

(To them fuch Liberty was granted)
Whate'er their wand'ring Fancies painted.
You'll carp, perhaps, and may aver

That CUPID's turn'd Philofopher,

* Vid. Prior.

Q 2

And

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For all those learned Things HE faidy mín 10,000

Blue-Ey'd MINERVA put in's Head."

Methinks I hear you fit to Battles.ro

Cry
But Courtly HORACE, † in his Vapours,

Imitators, fervile Cattle!

Thofe Words pronounc'd 'gainst Imitators,
'Gainft fuch as wou'd, to look, we read,
As pale at him, drink Cummin Seed.
You won't, to look like Homer find me,
Blow Duft into my Eyes to Blind me.
Perhaps too you may make a Query,
Why on my felf I'm Commentary?
That Commentator's beft you'll own,
Who has his Author's Meaning known.

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Vid. Hom.

+ Vid. Hor.

There's

There's none in my Opinion, who

My Meaning, like my felf, can know:

If therefore it is I that know it

Beft, 'tis I that beft can fhow it.

In fine

if

you are pleas'd, in vain

I have not ftrove, and crack'd my Brain.

But if these Lines, as I fuppofe,

Shou'd caufe fome Wrinckles in your Nose,

That you hereafter may be free

From what offends you, troubles me;
This Pray'r to Heaven you must fend,
May the Itch of wrighting leave my Friend.

To

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