A Familiar EPISTLE TO THE Earl of Sunderland, One of the Lords Justices of England. In publica peccem, Si, longo Sermone, morer tua Tempora --- Hor. Oaded, my Lok D, with Cares of State; Crown'd with Succefs, tho' much withstood: Poftpone your Toil; Deign to perufe The LITTLE LEVITES, a MUSE, Not over-gay, at present fends, To make you smile and please your Friends. Without being thought UN BRED or RUDE: This was the constant Trade of Horace, And others (whom you've read) before us. But ftop, advent'rous Muse, thy Flight, Befides, you must not write in hafte;. His JUDGMENT's good; refin'd his TASTE. Whatever with Applaufe is writ: 1 NI (Whether recorded by the Lore, In ancient Archives dufty Store; Think I, thefe Thoughts are juft and true; Forc'd too from Town; Nay, banifh'd quite, Albeit, herein fome Comfort lies, i But, if I write, what fhall I fay TJ An Irish Tale Once on a Day, &c. No, No! Be Wife; fink, for this Time, Thy Love for SUNDERLAND, and RHIMENO. What is't to Him, that at Kinfale Our Claret's bad, and worfe our Ale? Or, that our Rum and Brandy's good, As e'er was tip'd, or fir'd Mens Blood? And that there is no cheaper Thing Sold in this Town? GOD blefs the KING! It muft, for Certain, be amifs, F 5 To tell him, That the Folk in Town, For want of War, are quite undone ; That Journal will be worfe and worse. Think, Then, I muft, before I write, Our Diction Chafte, and Juft our Rage: And ftrait on choiceft modern Rhyme, TO ADDISON 1 first apply'd; Poet, and Orator befide! Much Much his Great Name to Juftness owes, Art guides, what Genius does infpire. While Garth, with Labour, ftrives to please, While Pope, in Female Softness, shines, Philips I'ye read: He's Pure, He's Terfe, I've read too (not without Delight) What Tickell, and what Welfted Write; Nature's own Beauties they purfue, Their Stile correct, their Manner new. This when I'd done, with ftrictest Care, I ftop'd my own vain fond Career ; |