Striving free Nature's fhape to hit,
Emaciate sense, before they fit.
A common place, and many friends,
Can ferve the plagiary's ends.
Whofe eafy vamping talent lies,
First wit to pilfer, then disguise.
Thus fome devoid of art and skill
To fearch the mine on Pindus' hill,
Proud to aspire and workmen grow,
By genius doom'd to stay below,
For their own digging fhew the town
Wit's treasure brought by others down.
Some wanting, if they find a mine,
An artift's judgment to refine,
On fame precipitately fix'd,
The ore with bafer metals mix'd
Melt down, impatient of delay,
And call the vicious mafs a play.
All these engage to ferve their ends,
A band felect of trufty friends,
Who, leffon'd right, extol the thing,
As Pfapho taught his birds to fing;
Then to the ladies they fubmit,
Returning officers on wit;
A crowded house their prefence draws,
And on the beaus impofes laws,
A judgment in its favour ends,
When all the pannel are its friends :
Their natures merciful and mild
Have from mere pity fav'd the child;
In bulrush ark the bantling found
Helpless and ready to be drown'd,
They have preferv'd by kind support,
And brought the baby-mufe to court.
But there's a youth that you can name,
Who needs no leading strings to fame,
Whofe quick maturity of brain
The birth of Pallas may explain :
Dreaming of whofe depending fate,
I heard Melpomene debate,
This, this is he, that was foretold
Should emulate our Greeks of old.
Infpir'd by me with facred art,
He fings, and rules the varied heart;
If Jove's dread anger he rehearse,
We hear the thunder in his verfe;
If he defcribes love turn'd to rage,
The furies riot in his
page.
If he fair liberty and law
By ruffian power expiring draw,
The keener paffions then engage
Aright, and fanctify their rage;
If he attempt difaftrous love,
We hear those plaints that wound the grove,
Within the kinder paffions glow,
And tears diftill'd from pity flow.
From the bright vifion I descend,
And my deferted theme attend.
Me never did ambition feize,
Strange fever moft inflam'd by ease!
T'he active lunacy of pride,
That courts jilt Fortune for a bride.
This par'dife-tree, fo fair and high,
I view with no aspiring eye :
Like afpine shake the restless leaves,
And Sodom-fruit our pains deceives,
Whence frequent falls give no furprize,
But fits of Spleen, call'd growing wife.
Greatness in glitt❜ring forms display'd
Affects weak eyes much us❜d to fhade,
And by its falfly-envy'd scene
Gives felf-debafing fits of Spleen.
We should be pleas'd that things are so,
Who do for nothing fee the show,
And, middle-fiz'd, can pafs between
Life's hubbub fafe, because unseen,
And 'midft the glare of greatness trace
A watry fun-fhine in the face,
And pleasures fled to, to redress
The fad fatigue of idleness.
Contentment, parent of delight,
So much a ftranger to our fight,
Say, goddess, in what happy place
Mortals behold thy blooming face;
Thy gracious aufpices impart,
And for thy temple chufe my heart.
They, whom thou deignest to inspire,
Thy science learn, to bound defire;
By happy alchymy of mind
They turn to pleasure all they find;
They both difdain an outward mien
The grave and folemn garb of Spleen,
And meretricious arts of drefs,
To feign a joy, and hide distress;
Unmov'd when the rude tempeft blows;
Without an opiate they repofe;
And cover'd by your fhield, defy
The whizzing fhafts, that round them fly;
Nor meddling with the gods' affairs,
Concern themfelves with distant cares ;
But place their bliss in mental rest,
And feast upon the good poffefs'd.
Forc'd by foft violence of pray'r,
The blythfomé goddefs fooths my care,
I feel the deity inspire,
And thus fhe models my defire.
Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
Annuity fecurely made,
A farm fome twenty miles from town,
Small, tight, falubrious, and my own;
Two maids, that never faw the town,
A ferving-man not quite a clown,
A boy to help to tread the mow,
And drive, while t'other holds the plough;
A chief of temper form'd to pleafe,
Fit to converse, and keep the keys;
And better to preferve the peace,
Commiffion'd by the name of niece :
With understandings of a fize
To think their mafter
May heav'n (it's all I wish for) fend
One genial room to treat a friend,
Where decent cup-board, little plate,
Difplay benevolence, not ftate.
And may my humble dwelling ftand
Upon fome chofen fpot of land:
A pond before full to the brim,
Where cows may cool, and geefe may swim,
Behind, a green like velvet neat,
Soft to the eye, and to the feet;
Where od❜rous plants in evening fair
Breathe all around ambrofial air;
From Eurus, foe to kitchen-ground,
Fenc'd by a flope with bushes crown'd,
Fit dwelling for the feather'd throng,
Who pay their quit-rents with a song;
With op'ning views of hill and dale,
Which fenfe and fancy too regale,
Where the half-cirque, which vifion bounds,
Like amphitheatre furrounds;
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