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Long lay the Critic's work, with trifles ftor'd,
Admir'd in Latin, but in Greek ador'd.
Men, fo well read, who confidently wrote,
Their readers could have fworn, were men of note:
To pafs upon the croud for great or rare,

165

Aim not to make them knowing, make them ftare.
For thefe blind votaries good Bentley griev'd,
Writ English notes-and mankind undeceiv'd: 170
In fuch clear light the ferious folly plac'd,
Ev'n thou, Browne Willis, thou may'st see the jest.
But what can cure our vanity of mind,
Deaf to reproof, and to difcovery blind?
Let Crooke, a Brother-Scholiaft Shakespeare call, 175
Tibbald, to Hefiod-Cooke returns the ball.

So runs the circle ftill in this, we fee
The lackies of the Great and Learn'd agree.
If Britain's nobles mix in high debate,
Whence Europe, in fufpenfe, attends her fate;
In mimic feffion their grave footmen meet,
Reduce an army, or equip a fleet :

And, rivaling the critic's lofty ftile,

180

Mere Tom and Dick are Stanhope and Argyll.
Yet thofe, whom pride and dulnefs join to blind, 185
To narrow cares in narrow space confin'd,
Though with big titles each his fellow greets,

Are but to wits, as fcavengers to streets:

The humble black-guards of a Pope or Gay,

To brush off duft, and wipe their spots away.
Or, if not trivial, harmful is their art;

190

Fume to the head, or poison to the heart.

Where

Where ancient Authors hint at things obfcene,
The Scholiaft fpeaks out broadly what they mean.
Disclosing each dark vice, well-loft to fame,
And adding fuel to redundant flame,

He, fober pimp to lechery, explains

What Caprea's Isle, or V *'s Alcove contains:
Why Paulus, for his fordid temper known,
Was lavish, to his father's wife alone:

Why thofe fond female vifits duly paid
To tuneful Incuba; and what her trade.:

195

200

How modern love has made fo many martyrs,
And which keeps oftnest, Lady C *, or Chartres.
But who their various follies can explain?

The tale is infinite, the task were vain.

205

'Twere to read new-year odes in fearch of thought; To fum the libels Pryn or Withers wrote;

To guefs, ere one epistle saw the light,

How many dunces met, and club'd their mite;
To vouch for truth what Welfted prints of Pope,
Or from the brother-boobies fteal a trope.
That be the part of perfevering Wasse,

With pen of lead; or, Arnall, thine of brass;

M 4

210

A text

V. 209. See a Poem published some time ago under that title, faid to be the production of feveral ingenious and prolific heads; one contributing a fimilé, another a character, and a certain gentleman four fhrewd lines wholly made up of afterisks.

V. 213. See the Preface to his edition of Salluft; and read, if you are able, the Scholia of fixteen annotators by him collected, befides his own.

215

220

A text for Henley, or a glofs for Hearne,
Who loves to teach, what no man cares to learn.
How little, knowledge reaps from toils like these!
Too doubtful to direct, too poor to please.
Yet, Critics, would your tribe deferve a name,
And, fairly useful, rife to honeft fame;
First, from the head, a load of lumber move,
And, from the volume, all yourselves approve:
For patch'd and pilfer'd fragments, give us fenfe,
Or learning, clear from learn'd impertinence,
Where moral meaning, or where tafte prefides,
And wit enlivens but what reafon guides:
Great without fwelling, without meannefs plain;
Serious, not filly; sportive, but not vain;
On trifles flight, on things of ufe profound,
In quoting fober, and in judging found.

225

VERSES prefented to the Prince of ORANGE, on his vifiting OXFORD, in the Year 1734.

R

ECEIVE, lov'd prince, the tribute of our praise,
This hafty welcome, in unfinish'd lays.

At beft, the pomp of fong, the paint of art,
Display the genius, but not speak the heart 3.
And oft, as ornament must truth fupply,
Are but the fplendid colouring of a lye.
These need not here; for to a foul like thine,
Truth, plain and fimple, will more lovely fhine.

The

The truly good but wish the verfe fincere:
They court no flattery, who no cenfure fear.
Such Naffau is, the faireft, gentlest mind,
In blooming youth the Titus of mankind.
Crouds, who to hail thy wish'd appearance ran,
Forgot the prince, to praise and love the man.
Such fenfe with fweetnefs, grandeur mix'd with ease!
Our nobler youth will learn of thee to please:
Thy bright example fhall our world adorn,
And charm, in gracious princes, yet unborn.
Nor deem this verse from venal art proceeds,
That vice of courts, the foil for baneful weeds.
Her candor dwells; here honeft truths are taught,
To guide and govern, not disguise, the thought.
See thefe enlighten'd Sages, who prefide
O'er learning's empire; fee the youth they guide
Behold, all faces are in transport drest!

But thofe moft wonder, who difcern thee best.
At fight of thee, each free-born heart receives
A joy, the fight of princes rarely gives;
From tyrants sprung, and oft themselves defign'd,
By Fate, the future Neroes of their kind :

But though thy blood, we know, tranfmitted springs
From laurel'd heroes, and from warrior-kings,
Through that high feries, we, delighted, trace
The friends of liberty, and human race!

Oh, born to glad and animate our Isle !

For thee, our heavens look pleas'd, our feafons fmile. For thee, late object of our tender fears,

When thy life droop'd, and Britain was in tears,

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All-chearing Health, the goddess rofy-fair,

Attended by foft funs, and vernal air,

Sought thofe fam'd springs, where, each afflictive hour,
Disease, and age, and pain, invoke her power:
She came; and, while to thee the current flows,
Pour'd all herself, and in thy cup arose.

Hence, to thy cheek, that inftant bloom deriv'd!
Hence, with thy health, the weeping world reviv'd!
Proceed to emulate thy race divine:

A life of action, and of praise, be thine.
Affert the titles genuine to thy blood,
By Nature, daring; but by reason, good.
So great, fo glorious thy forefathers shone,
No fon of theirs must hope to live unknown :
Their deeds will place thy virtue full in sight;
Thy vice, if vice thou haft, in stronger light.
If to thy fair beginnings nobly true,

Think what the world may claim, and thou must do:
The honours, that already grace thy name,

Have fix'd thy choice, and force thee into fame.
Ev'n fhe, bright Anna, whom thy worth has won,
Infpires thee what to feek and what to shun :
Rich in all outward grace, th' exalted fair
Makes the foul's beauty her peculiar care.
O, be your nuptials crown'd with glad encrease
Of fons, in war renown'd, and great in peace;
Of daughters, fair and faithful, to fupply
The patriot-race, till Nature's felf shall die!

* Bath.

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