IX. But hold, my Mufe, thy needlefs flight restrain, Unless, like him, thou couldft a verse indite : X. 'Tis want of genius that does more deny : 'Tis fear my praise should make your glory lefs. And therefore, like the modeft Painter, I Muft draw the veil, where I cannot exprefs. HENRY GRAHME. To MR. DRYDEN. No undifputed Monarch govern'd yet With univerfal fway the realms of wit; Nature could never fuch expence Each several province own'd a feveral lord. One Mufe embrac'd, and married for his life. Your Your mighty fway your great desert secures, While wishing Mufes wait for your command. your fancy, boundless is your mind. H. ST. JOHN. To MR. DRYDEN, ON HIS VIRGIL. IS faid that Phidias gave fuch living grace You pass'd that artist, Sir, and all his powers, What What Virgil lent, you pay in equal weight, 'Tis certain, were he now alive with us, And did revolving destiny conftrain, To drefs his thoughts in English o'er again, Himfelf could write no otherwife than thus. His old encomium never did appear So true as now; Romans and Greeks, fubmit. Something of late is in our language writ, More nobly great than the fam'd Iliads were. JA. WRIGHT. VIRGIL'S |