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An art peculiar to yourself alone,
Oh! were your author's principle receiv’d,
you You give the salve, I laid it to the fore.
Our kind relief against a rainy day, Beyond a tavern, or a tedious play, We take your book, and laugh our spleen away. If all your tribe, too studious of debate, Would cease false hopes and titles to create, Led by the rare example you begun, Clients would fail, and lawyers be undone.
EPISTLE the TENT H.
TO MY DEAR FRIEND
Comedy.callid, The Double DeALE R.
ELL then, the promis'd hour is come at last,
The present age of wit obscures the past :
the best Vitruvius, come at length;
Firm Doric pillars found your
folid base : The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space : Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace. In easy dialogue is Fletcher’s praise ; He mov'd the mind, but had not power to raise. Great Johnson did by strength of judgment please; Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. In diff'ring talents both adorn’d their age ; One for the study, t’other for the stage. But both to Congreve justly shall submit, One match'd in judgment, both o’ermatch'd in wit. In him all beauties of this age we see, Etherege his courtship, Southern's purity, The satire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherly. All this in blooming youth you have atchiev’d: Nor are your foil'd contemporaries griev'd. So much the sweetness of your manners move, We cannot envy you, because we love. Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he saw A beardless consul made against the law, And join his suffrage to the votes of Rome; Though he with Hannibal was overcome. Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame, And scholar to the youth he taught became. O that
brows my laurel had sustain'd! Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd:
The father had descended for the son ;
least praise is to be regular.
native store; 2
give him more.
Already I am worn with cares and age,
every muse and grace adorn,
fame pursue, But shade those laurels which defcend to you : And take for tribute what these lines express: You merit more ; nor could my love do lefs.
EPISTLE the ELEVENT H.
Excellent Tragedy call’d, Heroic Love.
, wert thou not my friend, How could I envy, what I must commend! But since 'tis nature's law in love and wit, That youth should reign, and withering age submit,