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Uncommon worth is ftill with fate at strife,
Still inconfiftent, with a length of life.
The future time is ever in your power,
Then 'tis clear gain to feize the present hour;
Break from the ferious thought, and laugh away
In Pimpern walls one idle easy day.
You'll find your rhyming kinfman well in cafe,
For ever fix'd to the delicious place.
Tho' not like Lwith corpulence o'ergrown,
For he has twenty cures, and I but one.
EPISTLE to Mr. SPENCE.
In Imitation of HORACE, Epift. X. Book I. EALTH from the bard who loves the rural fport,'
To the more noble bard that haunts the court: every other point of life we chime,
Like two foft lines when coupled into rhyme.
I praise a spacious villa to the sky,
You a close garret full five stories high;
I revel here in nature's varied fweets,
You in the nobler fcents of London ftreets.
I left the court, and here at ease reclin❜d,
Am happier than the king who ftaid behind :
Twelve ftifling dishes I could scarce live o'er,
At home I dine with luxury on four.
Where would a man of judgment chuse a seat,
But in a wholfome, rural, foft retreat?
Where hills adorn the manfion they defend?
Where could he better anfwer nature's end?
Here from the fea the melting breezes rife,
Unbind the fnow, and warm the wintry skies:
Here gentle gales the dog-ftar's heat allay,
And foftly breathing cool the fultry day.
How free from cares, from dangers and affright,
In pleafing dreams I pafs the filent night!
Does not the variegated marble yield
To the gay colours of the flowery field ›
Can the New-River's artificial ftreams,
Or the thick waters of the troubled Thames,
In many a winding rufty pipe convey'd,
Or dafh'd and broken down a deep cafcade,
With our clear filver ftreams in sweetness vie,
That in eternal rills run bubbling by ;
In dimples o'er the polish'd pebbles pass,
Glide o'er the fands, or glitter through the grafs ?
And yet in town the country prospects please,
Where ftately colonades are flank'd with trees;
On a whole country looks the master down
With pride, where fcarce five acres are his own.
Yet nature, though repell'd, maintains her part,
And in her turn fhe triumphs over art;
The hand-maid now may prejudice our taste,
But the fair mistrefs will prevail at laft.
That man muft fmart at laft whofe puzzled fight
Miftakes in life falfe colours for the right}
As the poor dupe is fure his lofs to rue,
Who takes a Pinchbeck guinea for a true
The wretch, whofe frantic pride kind fortune crownsy Grows twice as abjeck when the goddess frowns 361 3:11
As he, who rifes when his head turns round,
Muft tumble twice as heavy to the ground,.
Then love not grandeur, 'tis a fplendid curfe;
The more the love, the harder the divorce. 3 an
We live far happier by these gurgling Springs, ..
Than ftatesmen, courtiers, counsellors, or kings,
The tag expell'd the courfer from the plain
What can he do
he begs the aid of man;
He takes the bit and proudly bears away i
His new ally; he fights and wins the day
But, ruin'd by fuccefs, he ftrives in vain,
To quit his mafter and, the curb again.
So from the fear of want moft wretches fly,
But lofe their nobleft wealth, their liberty...
To their imperious paffions they fubmit, lo yaliven 1,9A
Who mount,, ride, fpur, but never draw the bit.
'Tis with your fortune, Spence, as with your foc,
A large may wrench, a fmall one wring your toe.
Then bear your fortune in the golden mean,, An
Not every man is born to be a dean, now e
I'll bear your jeers, if ever I am known out fo
To feck two cures, when fearce I merit one.
Riches, 'tis true, fome service may afford, or eman ar
But oftner play the tyrant o'er their lord, 1; and,
Money I fcorn, but keep a little fill, 10 2015 1.
To pay my doctor's, or my lawyer's bill.
From Encombe's foft romantic fcenes I write,, ri
Deep funk in cafe, in pleasure and delight;; in arvont I
Yet, though her gen'rous lord himself is here,
'Twould be one pleasure more, could you appear.
IF you can leave for books the crowded court,
And generous Bourdeaux for a glass of Port,
To these sweet folitudes without delay
Break from the world's impertinence away.
Soon as the fun the face of nature gilds,
For health and pleasure will we range the fields;
O'er her gay fcenes and opening beauties run,
While all the vaft creation is our own.
But when his golden globe with faded light
Yields to the folemn empire of the night;
And in her fober majesty the moon
With milder glories mounts her filver throne;
Amidst ten thousand orbs with fplendour crown'd,
That pour their tributary beams around;
Through the long level'd tube our strengthen'd fight
Shall mark diftin&t the fpangles of the night;
From world to world fhall dart the boundlefs eye,
And stretch from ftar to ftar, from sky to sky.
The buzzing infect families appear,
When funs unbind the rigour of the year;
Quick glance the myriads round the evening bower,
Hofts of a day, or nations of an hour.
Aftonish'd we shall fee th' unfolding race,
Stretch'd out in bulk, within the polish'd glass;
Through whofe finall convex a new world we spy,
Ne'er feen before, but by a Seraph's eye!
So long in darkness fhut from human kind
Lay half God's wonders, to a point confin'd!
But in one peopled drop we now furvey
In pride of power fome little monster play 3
O'er tribes invisible he reigns alone,
And ftruts a tyrant of a world his own.
Now will we ftudy Homer's awful page,
Now warm our fouls with Pindar's noble rage:
To English lays fhall Flaccus' lyre be ftrung,
And lofty Virgil speak the British tongue.
Immortal Virgil! at thy facred name
I tremble now, and now I pant for fame;
With eager hopes this moment I aspire
To catch or emulate thy glorious fire;
The next purfue the rafh attempt no more,
But drop the quill, bow, wonder, and adore ;
By thy ftrong genius overcome and aw'd!'
That fire from heaven! that spirit of a God !
Pleas'd and tranfported with thy name I tend
Beyond my theme, forgetful of my friend';
And from my first design by rapture led,
Neglect the living poet for the dead.