And largely, what she wants in words, fupplies,
With maudlin-eloquence of trickling eyes.
But what a thoughtlefs animal is man!
(How very active in his own trepan!)
For, greedy of physicians frequent fees,
From female mellow praise he takes degrees;
Struts in a new unlicens'd gown, and then
From faving women falls to killing men.
Another fuch had left the nation thin,
In fpite of all the children he brought in.
His pills as thick as hand-granadoes flew ;
And where they fell, as certainly they flew ;
His name ftruck every where as great a damp,
As Archimedes through the Roman camp.
With this, the doctor's pride began to cool;
For fmarting foundly may convince a fool.
But now repentance came too late for grace;
And meagre Famine star'd him in the face :
Fain would he to the wives be reconcil'd,
But found no husband left to own a child.
The friends, that got the brats, were poifon'd too;
In this fad, cafe, what could our vermin do?
Worry'd with debts and past all hope of bail,
Th' unpity'd wretch lies rotting in a jail :
And there with basket-alms, scarce kept alive,
Shews how mistaken talents ought to thrive.
I pity, from my foul, unhappy men,
Compell'd by want to prostitute their pen;
Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead!·
But you, Pompilian, wealthy, pamper'd heirs,
Who to your country owe your fwords and cares,
Let no vain hope your eafy mind seduce,
For rich ill poets are without excuse.
'Tis very dangerous, tampering with a Mufe,
The profit's small and you have much to lose;
For though true wit adorns your birth or place,
Degenerate lines degrade th' attainted race.
No poet any paffion can excite,
But what they feel transport them when they write.
Have you been led through the Cumaan cave,
And heard th' impatient maid divinely rave?
I hear her now; I fee her rolling eyes :
And panting; Lo! the god, the god, the cries;
With words not hers, and more than human found
She makes th' obedient ghofts peep trembling through
But, though we must obey when heaven commands,
And man in vain the facred call withstands,
Beware what spirit rages in your breast;
For ten infpir'd, ten thousand are possest.
Thus make the proper use of each extreme,
And write with fury, but correct with phlegm.
As when the chearful hours too freely pass,
And sparkling wine fmiles in the tempting glass,
Your pulse advises, and begins to beat
Through every fwelling vein a loud retreat :
So when a Mufe propitiously invites,
Improve her favours, and indulge her flights;
But when you find that vigorous heat abate,
Leave off, and for another fummons wait.
Before the radiant fun, a glimmering lamp,
Adulterate metals to the sterling stamp,
Appear not meaner, than mere human lines,
Compar'd with those whose inspiration shines:
These nervous, bold; those languid and remiss ;
There, cold falutes; but here, a lover's kifs.
Thus have I seen a rapid, headlong tide,
With foaming waves the paffive Soane divide;
Whose lazy waters without motion lay,
While he, with eager force, urg'd his impetuous way.
The privilege that ancient poets claim,
Now turn'd to license by too just a name,
Belongs to none but an establish'd fame,
Which fcorns to take it---
Abfurd expreffions, crude, abortive thoughts,
All the lewd legion of exploded faults,
Bafe fugitives to that asylum fly,
And facred laws with infolence defy.
Not thus our heroes of the former days,
Deferv'd and gain'd their never-fading bays;
For I mistake, or far the greatest part
Of what fome call neglect, was study'd art.
When Virgil feems to trifle in a line,
'Tis like a warning-piece, which gives the fign
To wake your fancy, and prepare your fight,
To reach the noble height of some unusual flight.
I lose my patience, when with faucy pride,
By.untun'd ears I hear his numbers try'd.
Reverse of nature! fhall fuch copies then
Arraign th' originals of Maro's pen!
And the rude notions of pedantic schools
Blafpheme the facred founder of our rules!
The delicacy of the niceft ear
Finds nothing harsh or out of order there.
Sublime or low, unbended or intense,
The fund is ftill a comment to the fenfe.
A fkilful ear in numbers fhould prefide,
And all difputes without appeal decide.
This ancient Rome and elder Athens found,
Before mistaken stops debauch'd the found.
When, by impulfe from heaven, Tyrtæus fung,
In drooping foldiers a new courage sprung;
Reviving Sparta now the fight maintain'd,
And what two generals loft a poet gain'd.
By fecret influence of indulgent fkies,
Empire and poefy together rife.
Truc poets are the guardians of a state,
And, when they fail, portend approaching fate.
For that which Rome to conqueft did infpire,
Was not the Vestal, but the Mufes' fire;
Heaven joins the bleffings: No declining age
E'er felt the raptures of poetic rage.
Of many faults, rhyme is (perhaps) the caufe,
Too ftrict to rhyme, we flight more useful laws,
For that, in Greece or Rome, was never known,
Till by barbarian deluges o'erflown :
| Subdued, undone, they did at last obey,
And change their own for their invaders' way.
grant that from fome mossy, idol oak,
In double rhymes our Thor and Woden fpoke;
And by fucceffion of unlearned times,
As Bards began, so Monks rung on the chimes.
But now that Phoebus and the facred Nine,
With all their beams on our bleft ifland fhine,
Why should not we their ancient rites restore,
And be, what Rome or Athens were before?
*Have we forgot how Raphael's numerous profe • Led our exalted fouls through heavenly camps, And mark'd the ground where proud apoftate thrones · Defy'd Jehovah! Here, 'twixt hoft and hoft, (A narrow, but a dreadful interval)
Portentous fight! before the cloudy van
Satan with vast and haughty strides advanc'd,
Came towering arm'd in adamant and gold.
There bellowing engines, with their fiery tubes,
Difpers'd æthereal forms, and down they fell
By thousands, angels on arch-angels roll'd;
Recover'd, to the hills they ran, they flew,
Which (with their ponderous load, rocks, waters,
' woods)
From their firm feats torn by the fhaggy tops
' They bore like shields before them through the air, • Till more incens'd they hurld them at their foes. All was confufion, heaven's foundations fhook, Threatning no lefs than univerfal wreck, For Michael's arm main promontories flung,
* An essay on blank verse, out of Paradise Loft, B. VI.
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