These wife remarks my modefty confound,
While the laugh rifes, and the mirth goes round;
Vext at the jeft, yet glad to fhun a fray,
I whitk into my coach, and drive away.
Prefixed to the ESSAY on PorE'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 feaft,
And feed on fcraps refus'd by every gueft;
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 taste, 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 still 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;
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 mafs of undiftinguish'd light;
But, like the towering eagle, you alone"
Difcern'd the fpots and fplendors of the fun.
To point out faults, yet never to offend
To play the critic, yet preferve the friend;
A life well spent, that never loft a day;
An eafy spirit, 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.
A Well-known vafe of fovereign ufe 1 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 and V7 Ne lives there poor, ne lives there wealthy wight, But ufes it in mantle brown or green; Sometimes it ftands array'd' în gloffy white; T And eft in mighty dortours may be seen Of China's fragile earth, with azure flowrets theen. II. The
The virgin, comely as the dewy rose,
Here gently sheds the foftly-whispering rill;
The frannion, who ne fhame ne blushing knows,
At once the potter's gloffy 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 fhall without fhame 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
None but their hufbands or their lovers true
They trust with management of their affairs ;
Nor even these their privacy may view,
When the foft 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
While Belgie frows across a charcoal stovetotrad (Replenish'd like the Veltal's dafting fire)
Bren for whole years, and scorch 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 simple lyre,
With double care preserve 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 impest the paffing gale.
O! fweeter than the lilies of the dale,
In foft breafts the fruits of joyance grow.
your
Ne fell defpair be here with vifage pale,
Brave be the youth from whom your bofoms glow, Ne other joy but you the faithful ftriplings know.
EPISTLE to J. PITT, Efq
In Imitation of HORACE, Epift. IV. Book I,
To all my trifles you attend,
But drop the critic to indulge the friend,
And with most chriftian patience lose your time,
To hear me preach, or pefter you with rhyme.
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 ravish'd eyes,
Some future pile in miniature arise ?,
(A model to excel in every part Judicious Jones, or great Palladio's art)
Or fome new bill, that, when the house 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 roli'd,
Your bounty gives new luftre to your gold.
Could your dead father hope a greater blifs,
Or your furviving parent more than this?
Than fuch a fona lover of the laws,
And ever true to honour's glorious caufe:
Who fcorns all parties, though by parties fought :
Who greatly thinks, and truly speaks his thought:
With all the chafte feverity of fense,
Truth, judgment, wit, and manly eloquence.. i ni
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
In each perfection as you rife fo faft,
Well may you think each day may be your laft.
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