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One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed
Can all desert in Sciences exceed.

''Tis great delight to laugh at some mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.




To Mr. POPE, on his Pastorals. IN these more dull, as more cenforious days,

When few dare give, and fewer merit praise, A Muse sincere, that never Flatt'ry knew, Pays what to friendship and defert is due. Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found 5 Art strength’ning Nature, Sense improv'd by Sound. Unlike those Wits, whose numbers glide along So smooth, no thought e'er interrupts the song: Laboriously enervate they appear, And write not to the head, but to the ear : Our minds unmoy'd and unconcern'd they lull, And are at best moft mufically dull; So purling streams with even murmurs creep, And lush the heavy hearers into sleep. As smoothest speech is moft deceitful found, 15 The smootheft numbers oft are empty found. But Wit and Judgment join at once in you, Sprightly as Youth, as Age consummate too : Your strains are regularly bold, and please in With unforc'd care, and unaffected eafe, With proper thoughts, and lively images : Such as by Nature to the Ancients shown, Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own :




For great mens fashions to be followed are,
Altho' disgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear. 25
Some in a polifh'd style write Pastoral,
Arcadia speaks the language of the Mall;
Like some fair Shepherdefs, the Sylvan Muse,
Should wear those flow'rs her native fields produce;
And the true measure of the fhepherd's wit
Should, like his garb, be for the Country fit :
Yet must his pure and unaffected thought
More nicely than the common swain's be wrought.
So, with becoming art, the Players dress
In filks the shepherd, and the shepherdess; 35
Yet still unchang'd the form and mode remain,
Shap'd like the homely rufset of the swain.
Your rural Musę appears to justify .
The long lost graces of Simplicity :
So rural beauties captivate our sense
With virgin charms, and native excellence.
Yet long her Modesty those charms conceal’d,
"Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd ;
For Wits industrious to their trouble feem,
And needs will envy what they must esteem., 45

Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate,
Which would, if Virgil liv’d, on Virgil wait; -
Whose Muse did once, like thine, in pains delight;
Thine shall, like his, foon take a higher flight;
So Larks, which first from lowly fields arise, : 50
Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies.



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To Mr. POPE, on his Windsar-Fores.


TAIL, facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before

Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore. To our dark world thy shining page is shown, And Windsor's gay retreat becomes our own. The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care, 5 And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here: A various spoil adorn’d our naked land, The pride of Persia glitter'd on our strand, And China's Earth was cast on common fand: Toss'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay, IO And dress’d the rocky shelves, and pav'd the paint


ed bay,

Thy treasures next arriv’d, and now we boast
A nobl.r cargo on our tarren coast:
From thy luxuriant Forest we receive
More lasting glories than the East can give. 15

Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page,
What pompous scenes our busy thoughts engage!
The pompous scenes in all their pride appear,
Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were.
Nor half so true the fair Lodona shows
'The fylvan state that on her border

grows, While she the wond'ring shepherd entertains With a new IVindsor in her wat'ry plains ; Thy juster lays the lucid wave surpass, The living scene is in the Muse’s glass. 25 Nor sweeter notes the echoing Forests chear, When Philomela fits and warbles there, †


grove, but

Than when you sing the greens and op'ning glades,
And give us Harmony as well as Shades :
A Titian's hand might draw the

you Can paint the grove, and add the Music too. 31

With vast variety thy pages shine ; A new creation starts in ev'ry line. How sudden trees rise to the reader's sight, And make a doubtful scene of shade and light, And give at once the day, at once the night! And here again what sweet confusion reigns, In dreary deserts mix’d with painted plains ! And see the deserts cast a pleasing gloom, And shrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom : 40 Whilft fruitful crops rise by their barren fide, And bearded groves display their annual pride:

Happy the man, who strings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields in




Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell 45
Amidst the rural joys you sing so well.
I in a cold, and in a barren clime,
Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme,
Here on the Western beach attempt to chime.
O joyless flood ! O rough tempestuous main! 50
Border'd with weeds, and solitudes obscene!

Snatch me, ye Gods! from these Atlantic fhores,
And shelter me in Windsor's fragrant bow'rs;
Or to my much lov'd lsis' walks convey,
And on her flow'ry banks for ever lay.

55 Thence let me view the venerable scene, The awful.dome, the groves eternal green:


Where sacred Houzh long found his fam'd retreat,
And brought the Muses to the sylvan seat,
Rcform'd the wits, unlock'd the Classic store, 60
And made that Mufic which was noise before.
There with illustrious Bards I spent my days,
Nor free from censure, nor unknown to praife,
Enjoy'd thr: blefiings that his reign beftow'd,
Nor envy'd Windfor in the soft abode.

The golden minutes smoothly danc'd away,
And tuncful Bards beguild the tedious day :
They sung, nor sung in vain, with numbers fir'd
That Mars taught, or Addison inspir’d.
Even I cfiay'd to touch the trembling string : 70
Who could hear them, and not attempt to fing?
Rauz'd from these dreams by thy commanding

ftrain, I rise, and wander thro' the field or plain Led by the Muse from sport to sport I run, Mark the stretch'd line, or hear the thund’ring gun. Ah ! how I melt with pity, when I spy

76 On the cold earth the flutt'ring Pheasant lie; His gaudy robes in dazling lines appear, And every feather flines and varies there. Nor can I pass the gen'rous courser by,

80 But while the prancing iteed allures my eye, He starts, he's gone! and now I see him fly O'er hills and dales, and now I lose the course, Nor can the rapid fight pursue the flying horse. Oh cou'd thy Virgil from his orb look down, 85 He'd view a courser that might match his own! Fir'd with the sport, and eager for the chace, Ledina's murmurs itop me in the race,


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