Come then, my Friend ! my Genius! come along;
Oh, matter of the poet and the fong!
And while the Mule now ftoops, or now afcends,
To man's low paffions or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, various Nature wife,
To fall with dignity, with temper rife.
Oh! while along the stream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame,
Say, mall my little bark attendant fail,
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale?
Shall then this Verfé to future age pretend
Thou wert my guide, philofopher, and friend?
That, urg'd by thee, I turn'a the tuneful art
From founds to things, from fancy to the heart;
For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light,
Shew'd erring Pride whatever is is right;
That virtue only makes our blifs below,
And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.
Ejay on Man,
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