There was a glance at parting; fuch a look,
As bids thee not give o'er, for one rebuke.
But if thou wouldst be feen, as well as read,
Copy one living author, and one dead;
The standard of thy ftyle let Etherege be;
For wit, th' immortal fpring of Wycherly;
Learn, after both, to draw fome just design,
And the next age will learn to copy thine.
To Mr LEE, on his Alexander.
HE blaft of common cenfure cou'd I fear,
Before your play my name thou'd not appear; For 'twill be thought, and with fome colour too, I pay the bribe I first receiv'd from you; That mutual vouchers for our fame we ftand, And play the game into each other's hand; And as cheap pen'orths to ourselves afford, As Beffus and the brothers of the fword. Such libels private men may well endure, When states and kings themselves are not secure: For ill men, confcious of their inward guilt, Think the best actions on by-ends are built. And yet my filence had not 'fcap'd their spite; Then, envy had not fuffer'd me to write; For, fince I cou'd not ignorance pretend, Such merit I must envy or commend.
many candidates there ftand for wit, A place at court is fcarce fo hard to get ;
In vain they crowd each other at the door;
For e'en reverfions are all begg'd before:
Defert, how known foe'er, is long delay'd;
And then too fools and knaves are better paid.
Yet, as fome actions bear fo great a name,
That courts themselves are juft, for fear of fhame;
So has the mighty merit of your play
Extorted praife, and forc'd itself a way.
'Tis here, as 'tis at fea; who farthest goes,
Or dares the most, makes all the reft his foes.
Yet when fome virtue much out-grows the rest,
It shoots too faft, and high, to be exprefs'd;
As his herioc worth ftruck envy dumb,
Who took the Dutchman, and who cut the boom.
Such praife is yours, while you the paffions move,
That 'tis no longer feign'd, 'tis real love,
Where nature triumphs over wretched art;
We only warm the head, but you the heart.
Always you warm; and if the rising year,
As in hot regions, brings the fun too near,
'Tis but to make your fragrant spices blow,
Which in our cooler climates will not grow.
They only think you animate your theme
With too much fire, who are themselves all phlegm.
Prizes wou'd be for lags of flowest pace,
Were cripples made the judges of the race.
Defpife thofe drones, who praife, while they accufe,
The too much vigour of your youthful Mufe.
That humble ftile, which they their virtue make,
Is in your pow'r; you need but ftoop and take.
Your beauteous images must be allow'd
By all, but fome vile peets of the crowd..
But how fhou'd any fign-poft dauber know
The worth of Titian or of Angelo?
Hard features ev'ry bungler can command;
To draw true beauty shews a master's hand.
dear Friend Mr CONGREVE, on his Comedy called The Double Dealer.
ELL then, the promis'd hour is come at laft
The prefent age of wit obfcures the past:
Strong were our fires, and as they fought they writ,
Conqu'ring with force of arms, and dint of wit :
Theirs was the giant race before the flood;
And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire flood.
Like Janus he the ftubborn foil manur'd,
With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd;
Tam'd us to manners, when the flage was rude;
And boiftrous English wit with art indu'd.
Our age was cultivated thus at length;
But what we gain'd in skill we loft in ftrength.
Our builders were with want of genius curs'd;
The fecond temple was not like the firft:
you, the best Vitruvius, came at length;
Our beauties equal, but excel out strength.
Firm Doric pillars found your folid bafe:
The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space:
Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.
In eafy dialogue is Fletcher's praife;
He mov'd the mind, but had not pow'r to raife.
Great Johnson did by strength of judgment please ;
Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his eafe.
In diff'ing talents both adorn'd their age;
One for the ftudy, t'other for the stage.
But both to Congreve juftly fhall fubmit,
One match'd in judgment, both o'er-match'd in wit.
In him all beauties of this age we fee,
Etherege his courtship, Southern's purity,
The fatire, 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 fweetnefs of your manners move,
We cannot envy you, becaufe we love.
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he faw
A beardlefs conful made against the law,
And join his fuffrage to the votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame,
And fcholar to the youth he taught became.
O that your brows my laurel had fuftain'd!
Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd:
The father had defcended for the fon;
For only you are lineal to the throne.
Thus, when the state one Edward did depofe,
A greater Edward in his room arofe.
But now, not I, but Poetry is curs'd;
For Fom the fecond reigns like Tom the first.
But let 'em not miftake my patron's part,
Nor call his charity their own defert.
Yet this I prophecy; Thou shalt be feen,
(Though with fome short parenthesis between)
High on the throne of wit, and, feated there,
Not mine (that's little) but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promise made;
That early promife this has more than paid.
So bold, yet fo judiciously you dare,
That your leaft praife is to be regular.
Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought;
But genius must be born, and never can be taught.
This is your portion; this your native store;
Heav'n, that but once was prodigal before, [more.
To Shakespear gave as much; fhe could not give him
Maintain your poft; that's all the fame you need;
For 'tis impoffible you fhou'd proceed.
Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at Heav'n's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence:
But you, whom ev'ry Mufe and Grace adorn,
Whom I forefee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and O defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th' infulting foe my fame purfue,
But fhade thofe laurels which defcend to you:
And take for tribute what the fe lines exprefs:
You merit more; nor cou'd my love do lefs.
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