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Likeness appears in every lineament;
But likeness in thy work is eloquent.
Though nature there her true resemblance hears,
A nobler beauty in thy piece appears.
So warm thy work, so glows the generous frame,
Flesh looks less living in the lovely dame.
Thou paint'st as we describe, improving still,
When on wild nature we ingraft our skill;
But not creating beauties at our will.

But poets are confin’d in narrower space,
To speak the language of their native place :
The painter widely stretches his command;
Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land. .
From hence, my friend, all climates are your own,.
Nor can you forfeit, for you

hold of none.
All nations all immunities will give
To make you theirs, where'er you please to live;
And not seven cities, but the world would strive,

Sure fome propitious planet then did smile,
When first you were conducted to this isle:
Our genius brought you here, t'inlarge our fame;

your good stars are every where the fame. Thy matchless hand, of every region free, Adopts our climate, not our climate thee.

Great Rome and Venice early did impart To thee th' examples of their wondrous art.. Those masters then, but feen, not understood, With

generous emulation fir'd thy blood : For what in nature's dawn the child admir'd, The youth endeavour'd, and the man acquir’d.

If

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If yet thou hast not reach'd their high degree,
"Tis only wanting to this age, not thee.
Thy genius, bounded by the times, like mine,
Drudges on petty draughts, nor dare design
A more exalted work, and more divine..
For what a song, or senseless

opera;
Is to the living labour of a play;
Or what a play to Virgil's work would be,
Such is a single piece to history.

But we, who life bestow, ourselves must live:
Kings cannot reign, unless their subjects give;
And they, who pay

the taxes, bear the rule:
Thus thou, sometimes, art forc'd to draw a fool:
But so his follies in thy pofture fink,
The senseless ideot seems at last to think.

Good heaven! that fots and knaves should be so vain, To wish their vile resemblance

may

remain! And stand recorded, at their own request, To future days, a libel or a jeft!

Else should we see your noble pencil trace
Ouriunities of action, time, and place:
A whole compos’d of parts, and those the best,
With every various character expreft :
Heroes large, and at a nearer view;
Less, and at distance, an ignobler crew..
While all the figures in one action join,
As tending to complete the main design.

More cannot be by mortal art exprest;
But venerable

age
shall add the rest..

For

For time shall with his ready pencil stand;
Retouch your figures with his ripening hand;
Mellow

your colours, and imbrown the teint;
Add every grace, which time alone can grant;
To future
ages

fame convey, And give more beauties than he takes away.

shall your

ELEGIES

E LE GI E S

A N D

Ε Ρ Ι Τ Α Ρ Η S.

I.

TO THE MEMORY OF MR, OLDHAM.

FAREWELL, too little and too lately known,

Whom I began to think, and call my own: For sure our souls were near allied, and thine Caft in the same poetic mould with mine. One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike. To the same goal did both our studies drive'; The last set out, the soonest did arrive. Thus Nisus fell upon the flippery place, Whilst his young friend perform’d, and won the race. O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the smoothness of thy native tongue. But fatire needs not those, and wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line. A noble error, and but seldom made, When poets are by too much force betray'd,

" Thy

Thy generous fruits, though gather'd ere their prime,
Still shew'd a quickness; and maturing time
But mellows what we write, to the dull fweets of

rhyme.
Once more, hail, and farewel; farewel, thou young,
But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue!
Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

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I.
THOU youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,

Made in the last promotion of the bleft;
Whose palms, new-pluck'd from paradise,
'In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Rich with immortal green above the rest:
Whether, adopted to some neighbouring ftar,
Thou roll'ft above us, in thy wandring race,

Or, in proceffion fix'd and regular,
Mov'd with the heaven majestic pace;

Or, callid to more superior bliss,
'Thou treadft, with seraphims, the vast abyfs:
Whatever happy region is thy place,
Cease thy celestial fong a little space;

Thou

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