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Lucretius keeps a mighty pother
With Cupid, and his fancy'd mother:
Calls her great queen of earth and air,
Declares that winds and feas obey her;
And, while her honour he rehearses,
Implores her to infpire his verses.

Yet, free from this poetic madness,
Next page he fays in fober fadness,
That she and all her fellow-gods
Sit idling in their high abodes,
Regardless of this world below,
Our health or hanging, weal or woe;
Nor once disturb their heav'nly fpirits
With Scapin's cheats, or Cæfar's merits.
Nor e'er can Latin poets prove,

Where lies the real feat of love.
Jecur they burn, and Cor they pierce,
As either best supplies their verfe;
And, if folks afk the reason for't,
Say, one was long, and t'other short.
Thus, I prefume, the British Muse
May take the freedom ftrangers use.
In profe our property is greater,
Why should it then be lefs in metre?
If Cupid throws a fingle dart,

We make him wound the lover's heart;
But, if he takes his bow and quiver,
'Tis fure, he must transfix the Liver:
For rhime with reafon may difpenfe;
And found has right to govern fenfe.

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But let your friends in verfe fuppofe,
What ne'er shall be allow'd in prose;
Anatomists can make it clear,
The Liver minds his own affair;
Kindly fupplies our public uses,
And parts and ftrains the vital juices;
Still lays fome useful bile afide,
To tinge the chyle's infipid tide :
Else we should want both gibe and fatyr;
And all be burft with pure good-nature.
Now gall is bitter with a witnefs:
And love is all delight and sweetness.
My logic then has loft its aim,

If sweet and bitter be the fame :
And he, methinks, is no great scholar,
Who can miftake defire for choler.

The like may of the Heart be faid:
Courage and terror there are bred.
All those whofe hearts are loose and low,
Start, if they hear but the Tattoo:
And mighty physical their fear is;
For, foon as noife of combat near is,
Their heart, descending to their breeches,
Muft give their stomach cruel twitches.
But heroes who o'ercome or die,
Have their hearts hung extremely high;
The ftrings of which, in battles heat,
Against their very Corflets beat;

Keep time with their own trumpet's measure,
And yield 'em moft exceffive pleasure.

Now

Now if 'tis chiefly in the heart,
That courage does itself exert ;
'Twill be prodigious hard to prove,
That this is eke the throne of love.
Would nature make one place the feat
Of fond defire, and fell debate?

Most people only take delight in

Those hours, when they are tir'd with fighting:
And has no man but who has kill'd

A father, right to get a child?
These notions then I think but idle;
And love shall still poffefs the middle.
This truth more plainly to difcover,
Suppose your hero were a lover.
Tho' he before had gall and rage,
Which death, or conqueft, muft affwage;
He grows difpirited and low:

He hates the fight, and shuns the foe.

In fcornful floth Achilles flept;

And for his wench, like Tall-Boy, wept:
Nor would return to war and flaughter,

Till they brought back the parfon's daughter.
Antonius fled from Actium's coaft,

Auguftus preffing, Afia loft:

His fails by Cupid's hand unfurl'd,
To keep the fair, he gave the world.
Edward our Fourth, rever'd and crown'd,
Vig'rous in youth, in arms renown'd;

While England's voice, and Warwick's care
Defign'd him Gallia's beauteous heir;

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Chang'd peace and pow'r for

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Only to dry one widow's tears.
France's Fourth Henry we may fee,
A fervant to the fair D'Eftree';

When quitting Coutras profp'rous field,
And fortune taught at length to yield,
He from his guards and mid-night tent,
Difguis'd, o'er hills and vallies went,
To wanton with the fprightly dame;
And in his pleasure loft his fame.

Bold is the critic, who dares prove
These heroes were no friends to love;
And bolder he, who dares aver,

That they were enemies to war.

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Yet, when their thought should, now or never,
Have rais'd their Heart, or fir'd their Liver;
Fond Alma to thofe parts was gone,

Which love more juftly calls his own.> 's clan off

Examples I could cite you more;

But be contented with thefe four;

For when one's proofs are aptly chosen,

Four are as valid as four dozen.'

One came from Greece, and one from Rome';

The other two grew nearer home.
For fome in ancient books delight,
Others prefer what moderns write;
Now I fhould be extremely loth,
Not to be thought expert in both.

CANTO

B

CANTO II.

UT fhall we take the Mufe abroad,
To drop her idly on the road:

And leave our fubje&t in the middle,
As Butler did his Bear and Fiddle?
Yet he, confummate master, knew
When to recede, and where purfue:
His noble negligences teach,
What others toils despair to reach. ̧
He, perfect dancer, climbs the rope, -
And balances your fear and hope:
If, after fome diftinguish'd leap,
He drops his pole, and feems to flip;
Straight gathering all his active strength,
He rifes higher half his length:
With wonder you approve his flight,
And owe your pleasure to your fright.
But like poor Andrew I advance,
Falfe mimic of my mafter's dance;
Around the cord awhile I sprawl;
And thence, tho' low, in earnest fall.

My preface tells you, I digrefs'd:
He's half abfolv'd who has confefs'd.
I like, quoth Dick, your fimile;
And, in return, take two from me.
As mafters in the Clare obfcure,
With various light your eyes allure:

In 4

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A flaming

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