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Hard is the Muse's travail, and 'tis plain.
'Tis pinion'd sense, and Ease in PAIN;
'Tis like a foot that's wrapt about
With flannel in the racking gout.
But here, methinks, 'tis more than time
To wave both fimile and rhyme ;
For while, as pen and Muses please,
I talk so much of ease and ease,
Tho' the words mention'd o'er and o'er,
I scarce have thought of yours before.

'Tis true, when writing to one's friend,
'Tis a rare science when to end,
As 'tis with wits 'a common fin
To want th' attention to begin.
So, Sir, (at last indeed) adieu,
Believe me, as you'll find me, true;
And if henceforth, at any time,
APOLLO whispers you in rhyme,
Or Lady Fancy should dispose
Your mind to sally out in prose,
I shall receive, with hallow'd awe,
The Muse's mail from FLEXNEY's draw..


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FOND of the loose familiar vein,
Which neither tires, nor cracks the brain,
The Muse is rather truant grown
To buckram works of higher tone ;
And tho' perhaps her pow'rs of rhyme,
Might rise to fancies more sublime,
Prefers this easy down-hill road,
To dangerous leaps at five-barr'd ODE,
Or starting in the Claffic race *
Jack-booted for an Epic chace.


That Bard, as other Bards, divine, Who was a facris to the Nine, Dan PRIOR I mean, with natural ease, (For what's not nature cannot please) Would sometimes make his rhyming bow, And greet his friend as I do now;

And; howsoe'er the critic train
May hold my judgment rather vain,
Allow me one resemblance true,
I have my friend, a SHEPERD too.

You know, dear Sir, the Muses nine,
Tho' fober Maids are wooed in wine,
And therefore, as beyond a doubt,
You've found my dangling foible out,
Send me nectareous Inspiration,
Tho' others read Intoxication.
For there are those who vainly use
This grand Elixir of the Muse,
And fancy in their apish fit,
And idle trick of maudlin wit,
Their genius takes a daring flight,
'Bove Pindus, or PLINLIMMON's height.
Whilft more of madman than of poet,
They're drunk indeed, and do not know it.

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The Bard, whose charming measure flows
With all the native case of profe,
Who, without flashy vain pretence,
Has best adorn'd Eternal Sense,
And, in his chearful moral page,
Speaks to mankind in every age;


Tells us, from folks whose situation
Makes them the mark of observation,
Example oft gives Folly rife,
And Imitation clings to Vice.

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ENNIUS could never write, 'tis said, Without a bottle in his head ; And your own HORACE quaff'd his wine Y In plenteous draughts.at Bacchus’ shrine, vich Nay, ADDISON would oft unbend, in bo T'indulge his genius, with a friend; (For fancy, which is often dry, "11571? Must wet her wings, or cannot fy)

IT What precedents for fools to follow Are Ben, the Devil and APOLLO! 15 7 While the great gawky ADMIRATION,..)VT Parent of stupid Imitation, Intrinsic proper worth neglects, And copies Errors and Defects.

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The man, secure in strength of Parts,
Has no recourse to shuffling Arts
Seeks not his nature to disguise,
Nor heeds the people's tongues, or eyes,
His wit, his faults at once displays,
Careless of envy, or of praise ;


And foibles, which we often find
Just on the surface of the mind,
Strike common eyes,

which can't discern What to avoid, and what to learn.

Errors in wit conspicuous grow,
To use Gay's words, like specks in snow;
Yet it were kind, at least, to make
Allowance for the merit's sake;
And when such beauties fill the eye,
To let the blemishes go by.
Plague on your philofophic fots !
I'll view the fun without its spots.

Wits are peculiar in their mode ; They cannot bear the hackney road And will contract habitual ways, Which sober people cannot praise, And fools admire : Such fools I hate ;

- Begone, ye flaves, who imitate.

Poor Spurius / eager to destroy And murder hours he can't enjoy, The last of witlings, next to dunce, Would fain turn Genius all at once,


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