Or, fondly poring on a spider,
Stretch human contemplation wider.
Foffils give joy to Galen's foul;
He digs for knowledge, like a mole;
In fhells fo learn'd, that all agree
No fish that fwims knows more than he
In fuch pursuits if wisdom lies,
Who, Laura, shall thy taste despise?
When I fome antique jar behold,
Or white, or blue, or speck'd with gold;
Veffels fo pure, and fo refin❜d,
Appear the types of woman-kind:
Are they not valued for their beauty,
Too fair, too fine, for houfhold duty?
With flowers and gold and azure dy'd,
Of every houfe the grace and pride?
How white, how polifh'd is their skin,
And

She valued moft when only feen!

She, who before was highest priz❜d,
Is for a crack or flaw defpis'd.

I grant they're frail; yet they're fo rare,
The treasure cannot coft too dear!
But man is made of coarfer stuff,
And ferves convenience well enough;
He's a ftrong earthen veffel, made
For drudging, labour, toil, and trade
And, when wives lofe their other felf

With ease they

bear the lofs of delf.

Husbands, more covetous than fage, Condemn this china-buying rage;

།

They count that woman's prudence little,
Who fets her heart on things fo brittle.
But are thofe wife men's inclinations
Fix'd on more strong, more fure foundations?
If all that's frail we must despise,

No human view or scheme is wife.
Are not Ambition's hopes as weak ?
They fwell like bubbles, fhine, and break..
A Courtier's promife is fo flight,
'Tis made at noon, and broke at night.
What pleasure's fure? The Mifs you keep
Breaks both your fortune and your fleep.
The man who loves a country-life
Breaks all the comforts of his wife;
And, if he quit his farm and plough,
His wife in town may break her vow.
Love, Laura, love, while youth is warm,
For each new winter breaks a charm ;
And woman's not like china fold,
But cheaper grows in growing old;
Then quickly choose the prudent part,
Or else you break a faithful heart..

EPISTLE

EPISTLE

ON A

XIV.

MISCELLANY OF POEM S.

TO BERNARD LINTOTT.

*Ipfa varietate tentamus efficere ut alia aliis, quædam

"fortaffe omnibus placeant.”

PLIN. Epift..

AS when fome skilful cook, to please each guest,

Would in one mixture comprehend a feast,

With due proportion and judicious care

He fills his dish with different forts of fare,
Fishes and fowls deliciously unite,

To feast at once the taste, the smell, and fight.
So, Bernard, must a Miscellany be
Compounded of all kinds of poetry;
The Mufes' olio, which all taftes may fit,
And treat each reader with his darling wit.
Would'ft thou for Miscellanies raise thy fame,
And bravely rival Jacob's mighty name,
Let all the Mufes in the piece confpire;
The lyric bard must strike th' harmonious lyre;
Heroic ftrains must here and there be found,
And nervous fenfe be fung in lofty found;
Let elegy in moving numbers flow,
And fill fome pages with melodious woe;

Let

Let not your amorous fongs too numerous prove,
Nor glut thy reader with abundant love;
Satire muft interfere, whose pointed rage

May lash the madness of a vicious age;
Satire! the Muse that never fails to hit,
For if there's scandal, to be sure there's wit.
Tire not our patience with Pindaric lays,
Thofe fwell the piece, but very rarely please;
Let fhort-breath'd epigram its force confine,
And strike at follies in a single line.

Translations should throughout the work be fown,
And Homer's godlike Muse be made our own;
Horace in useful numbers should be fung,

And Virgil's thoughts adorn the British tongue.
Let Ovid tell Corinna's hard disdain,
And at her door in melting notes complain;
His tender accents pitying virgins move,

And charm the listening ear with tales of love.
Let
every claffic in the volume fhine,

And each contribute to thy great defign;

Through various fubjects let the reader range,
And raise his fancy with a grateful change.
Variety's the fource of joy below,
From whence ftill fresh revolving pleasures flow.
In books and love, the mind one end pursues,
And only change th' expiring flame renews.

Where Buckingham will condefcend to give,
That honour'd piece to distant times must live;
When noble Sheffield strikes the trembling strings,
The little Loves rejoice, and clap their wings;

Anacreon

Anacreon lives, they cry, th' harmonious swain
Retunes the lyre, and tries his wonted strain,
'Tis he-our loft Anacreon lives again.
But, when th' illuftrious poet foars above
The sportive revels of the God of Love,
Like Maro's Muse, he takes a loftier flight,
And towers beyond the wondering Cupid's fight.
If thou would't have thy volume ftand the teft,
And of all others be reputed beft,

Let Congreve teach the liftening groves to mourn,
As when he wept o'er fair Paftora's urn.

Let Prior's Mufe with softening accents move,
Soft as the ftrains of conftant Emma's love :

Or let his fancy choose fome jovial theme,

As when he told Hans Carvel's jealous dream;

; Prior th' admiring reader entertains

With Chaucer's humour, and with Spenfer's strains. 眼 Waller in Granville lives; when Mira fings, With Waller's hand he ftrikes the founding ftrings,

With sprightly turns his noble genius fhines,

And manly sense adorns his eafy lines.

On Addison's fweet lays attention waits,

And filence guards the place while he repeats;
His Mufe alike on every fubject charms,
Whether fhe paints the god of love, or arms:
In him pathetic Ovid fings again,

And Homer's Iliad fhines in his Campaign.
Whenever Garth fhall raise his sprightly song,
Senfe flows in cafy numbers from his tongue;

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