While the laugh rifes, and the mirth goes round;
Vext at the jeft, yet glad to flun a fray,

I whisk into my coach, and drive away.

』,

TO MR. SPENCE...

Prefixed to the ESSAY on POPE'S ODYSSEY.

TIS done-Reftor'd by thy immortal pen, The critic's noble name revives again; Once more that great, that injur'd name we fee Shine forth alike in Addison and thee.

Like curs, our critics haunt the poet's feast,
And feed on feraps refus'd by every gucft;
From the old Thracian dog they learn'd the
way
To fnarl in want, and grumble o'er their prey.
As though they grudg'd themselves the joys they feel,
Vex'd to be charm'd, and pleas'd against their will,
Such their inverted tafte, that we expect

For faults their thanks, for beauties their neglect;
So the fell fnake rejects the fragrant flowers,
But every poifon of the field devours.

Like bold Longinus of immortal fame,
You read your poet with a poet's flame;
With his, your generous raptures till afpire;
The critic kindles, when the bard 's on fire,
But when fome lame, fome limping line demands
The friendly fuccour of your healing hands;
18 JT

Zoilus, fo called by the ancients.
Cc 3

The

The feather of your pen drops balm around,
And plays, and tickles, while it cures the wound.
While Pope's immortal labour we furvey,
We stand all dazzled with excefs of day,
Blind with the glorious blaze-to vulgar fight
'Twas one bright mass of undistinguish'd light;
But, like the towering eagle, you alone
Difcern'd the fpots and splendors of the fun.
To point out faults, yet never to offend z
To play the critic, yet preferve the friend;
A life well spent, that never loft a day;
An eafy fpirit, innocently gay;

A ftrict integrity, devoid of art;

The sweetest manners, and fincereft heart;
A foul, where depth of fenfe and fancy meet;
A judgment brighten'd by the beams of wit,
Were ever yours;-be what you were before,
Be ftill yourself; the world can ask no more.

IMITATION of SPENSER.

I.

A well-known vafe of fovereign ufe I fing,

Pleafing to young and old, and Jordan hight, The lovely queen, and eke the haughty king Snatch up this veffel in the murky night=" Ne lives there poor, ne lives there wealthy wight, But uses it in mantle brown or green ;

Sometimes it stands array'd în gloffy white; bad!T And eft in mighty dortours may be seen

Of China's fragile earth, with azure flowrets theen.

II. The

1

Here gently fheds the foftly-whispering rill; e
The frannion, who ne fhame ne blushing knows,
At once the potter's glofly vafe does fill ;
It whizzes like the waters from a mill.
Here frouzy housewives clear their loaded reins;
The beef-fed juftice, who fat ale doth swill,

Grafps the round-handled jar, and tries, and strains,
While flowly dribbling down the scanty water drains.
III.

The dame of Fraunce shall without shame convey
This ready needment to its proper place;

Yet fhall the daughters of the lond of Fay
Learn better amenaunce and decent grace;
Warm blushes lend a beauty to their face,
For virtue's comely tints their cheeks adorn ;
Thus o'er the diftant hillocks you may trace
The purple beamings of the infant morn :
Sweet are our blooming maids-the sweetest creatures

born.

IV.

None but their hufbands or their lovers true
They trust with management of their affairs ;
Nor even these their privacy may view,
When the soft beavys feek the bower by pairs
Then from the fight accoy'd, like timorous hares,
From mate or bellamour alike they fly;

Think not, good fwain, that these are scornful airs,
Think not for hate they fhun thine amorous eye,
Soon shall the fair return, nor done thee, youth, to dye.
V. While

C C4

1

While Belgie frows across a charcoal ftover mot tud
(Replenish'd like the Vestal's lasting fire).....s3
Bren for whole years, and fcorch the parts of love,
No longer parts that can delight inspire,
Erft cave of blifs, now monumental pyre;
O British maid, for ever clean and neat,
For whom I aye will wake my fimple lyre,
With double care preferve that dun retreat,

Fair Venus' myftic bower, Dan Cupid's feather'd feat.
VI.

So may your hours foft-fliding steal away,
Unknown to gnarring flander and to bale,
O'er feas of blifs peace guide her gondelay,
Ne bitter dole impeft the paffing gale..

O! fweeter than the lilies of the dale,

In

your

foft breafts the fruits of joyance grow. Ne fell defpair be here with vifage pale,

Brave be the youth from whom your bosoms glow, l Ne other joy but you the faithful ftriplings know.

EPISTLE to J. PITT, Efq,

In Imitation of HORACE, Epift. IV. Book I,

DEAR SIR, 1691 1.1.

To all my trifles you attend,cetas But drop the critic to indulge the friend, i And with most christian patience lose your time, To hear me preach, or pefter you with rhyme,

Here

Here with my books or friend I spend the day,
But how at Kingston pass your hours away?
Say, fhall we fee fome plan with ravishid eyes,
Some future pile in miniature arise ♪ cita
(A model to excel in every part

Judicious Jones, or great Palladio's art)

Or fome new hill, that, when the houfe is met,
Shall claim their thanks, and pay the nation's debt?
Or have you fudy'd in the filent wood

The facred duties of the wife and good?
Nature, who form'd you, nobiy crown'd the whole
With a ftrong body, and as firm a foul:
The praife is yours to finish every part
With all th' embellishments of taste and art.
Some fee in canker'd heaps their riches roll'd,
Your bounty gives new luftre to your gold.
Could your dead father hope a greater bliss,
Or your furviving parent more than this?
Than duch a fona lover of the laws,
And ever true to honour's glorious cause

Who fcorns all parties, though by parties fought:
Who greatly thinks, and truly fpeaks his thought:
With all the chafte feverity of fenfe,

ין

Truth, judgment, wit, and manly eloquence. hinì
So in his youth great Cato was rever'd,
By Pompey courted, and by Cæfar fear'd':
Both he disdain'd alike with godlike pride,

For Rome and Liberty he liv'd------and dy'd. ́*

In each perfection as you rise fo fast, Predo dom for bed may you think each day may be your last.

Well

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