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Shall not our verse their praise with pleasure speak, The sense they murder, and the words transport,
I hough mimics bark, and Envy splits her check ? Left poetry approach too near to prose.
No honest worth's beneath the Muse's praise ; See tortur'd Reafon how they pare and trim,
No greatness can above her censure raise ;

And, like Procruites, stretch or lop the limb.
Station and wealth to her are trilling things ;

Waller, whose praise fucceeding bards rehearsa, She stoops to actors, and the foars tu kings. Parent of harmony in English verse, Is there a man, in vice and folly bred,

Whose tuneful Mure in sweetest accents flows, To sense of honour as to virtue dead;

In couplets first taught ftraggling sense to close. Whom ties nor human, nor divine can bind;

In polith'd numbers, and majestic found, Alien to God, and foe to all mankind;

Where shall thy rival, Pope, be ever found ?
Who spares no character ; whole ev'ry word, But whillt each line with equal beauty flows,
Bitter as gall, and sharper than the sword,

E'en excellence, unvaried tedious grows.
Cuts to the quick; whole thoughts with rincour swell ; Nature, thro' all her works, in great degree,
Whose tongue, on earth, performs the work of hell ; Borrows a blessing from Variety.
If there be such a monster, the Reviews

Music itself her needful aid requires
Shall find him holding forth against abuse.

Torouze the soul, and wake our dying fires. “ Attack profeflion !-'tis a deadly breach

Still in one key, the Nightingale would reize : 6 The Christian laws another letsón teach :- Still in one key, not Brent would always please. Unto the end shall charity endure,

Here let me bend, great Dryden, at thy fhrines " And Cardour hide those faults it cannot cure." Thou deareft name to all the tuneful Nine. Thus Candour's maxims flow from Rancour's What if some dull lines in cold order creep, throat,

And with his cheme the poet seems to sleep,
As devils, to serve their purpose, Scripture quote. Still, when his subject rises proud to view,

The Muse's office was by Heav'n design'd With equal strength the poet rises too.
To please, improve, instruct, reform mankind; With ítrong invention, noblest vigour fraught,
To make dejected Virtue nobly rise

Thought ftill springs up and rises out of thoughts
Above the tow'ring pitch of fplendid Vice ; Numbers ennobling numbers in their course;
To make pale Vice, abash'd, her head hung down, In varied sweetness flow, in varied force ;
And trembling crouch at Virtue's awful frown. The pow’rs of Genius and of Judgment join,
Now arm'd with wrath, the bids eternal shame, And the whole art of Poetry is thine.
With stricteft justice, brand the villain's name : But what are numbers, what are bards to me,
Now in the milder gurb of ridicule

Forbid to tread the paths of poesy?
She sports, and pleases while she wounds the fool. “ A sacred Mufe should consecrate her pen ;
Her shape is often varied; but her aim,

« Priests must not hear nor see like other men , To prop the cause of Virtue, still the same. “ Far higher themes should her ambition claim; In praise of mercy let the guilty bawl,

« Behold where Sternhuld points the way When Vice and Folly for correction call,

fame,” Silence the mark of weakness juftly bears,

Whilt with mistaken zeal dull bigots bum, And is partaker of the crimes it spares.

Let Reason for a moment take her turn.
But if the Muse, too cruel in her mirth,

When coffee-sages hold discourse with kings,
With harsh reflections wounds the man of worth ; And blindly walk in paper-leading strings,
If wantonly she deviates from her plan,

What if a man delight to pass his time
And quits the Actor to expose the Man;

In spinning Reason into harmless rime ;
Alham’d, she marks that passage with a blot, Or sometimes boldly venture to the play!
And hates the line where Candour was forgot. Say, Where's the crime ?-great Man of Prudence

But what is Candour, what is Humour's vein,
Tho' Judgment join to consecrate the strain, No two on earth in all things can agree ;
If curious numbers will not aid afford,

All have some darling singularity;
Nor choicest music play in ev'ry word ?

Women and men, as well as girls and boys, Verses must run, to charm a modern ear,

In gew-gaws take delight, and ligh for toys, From all harsh, rugged interruptions clear.

Your fceptres, and your crowns, and I such like Soft let them breathe, as Zephyr's balmy breeze ;

things,
Smooth let their current flow, as summer seas ; Are but a better kind of toys for kings.
Perfect then only deemd when they dispense In things indiff'rent Reason bids us chuse,
A happy tuneful vacancy of fenfe.

Whether the whim's a Monkey, or a Muse.
Italian fathers thus, with barb'rous rage,

What the grave triflers on this busy scene, Fit helpless infants for the squeaking ttage,

When they make use of this word Reason, mean, Deaf, to the calls of pity, Nature wound,

I know not ; but, according to my plan, And mangle vigour for the sake of found.

"Tis Lord Chief- Justice in the Court of Man, Henceforth farewell then fev'rish thirst of fame; Equally form’d to rule in age or youth, Farewell the longings for a poet's name;

The friend of Virtue, and the guide to Truth, Perish my Mufe ; ma with 'bove all severe

To Her I bow, whose sacred pow'r I feel ; 'To him who ever held the Muses dear

To Her decision make my last appeal ; If e'er her labours weaken to refine

Condemnd by Her, applauding worlds in vain The gen’rous roughness of a nervous line.

Should tempt me to take up the pen again : Others affect the ftiff and fwelling phrase ; By Her absolv'd, my course I'll still pursues Their Mule must walk in stilts, and strut in stays : If Reason's for me, Gop is for me too.

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T. For me let Galen moulder on the shelf,

I'll live, and be physician to myself.
While soul is join'd to body, whether fate

Allot a longer or a shorter date ; ROBERT L L O Y D. I'll make them live as brother should with brother,

And keep them in good-humour with each other. HEN foes infult, and prudent friends dispense, The furelt road to health, say what they will,

In pity's strains, the worst of insolence, Is never to fuppose we shall be ill.
Oft with thee, LLOYD, I steal an hour from grief, Most of those evils we poor mortals know,
And in thy social converse find relief.

From doctors and imagination flow.
The mind, of folitude impatient grown,

Hence to old women with your boated rules, Loves my lorrows rather than her own.

Stale traps, and only sacred now to fools ; Let llaves to bufiness, bodies without soul, As well may fons of physic hope to find Important blanks in Nature's mighty roll,

One med'cine, as one hour, for all mankind. Solemnize nonsense in the day's broad glare,

If Rupert after ten is out of bed, We Night prefer, which heals or hides our care. The fool next morning can't hold up

his head. Rogues juftified, and by success made bold, What reason this which me to bed muit call, Dull fools and corcombs lanctified by gold, Whose head(thank heaven) never aches at all ? Freely may back in Fortune's partial ray,

In diff'rent courses diff'rent tempers run, And spread their feather's op'ning to the day ;

He hates the Moon, I licken at the Sun. But read-bare Merit dares not shew the head Wound up at twelve at noon, his clock goes right; Till vån Prosperity retires to bed.

Mine better goes, wound up at twelve at night. Mefortunes, like the owl, avoid the light;

Then in Oblivion's grateful cup I drown The Sons of Care are always sons of Night.

The galling Ineer, the supercilious frown, The wretch bred up in Method's drowsy school, The strange reserves the proud affected state Whose only merit is to err by rule,

Of upstart knaves grown rich, and fools grown greats Who ne's thro' heat of blood was tripping caught, No more that abject wretch disturbs my rest, Nor guilty deem'd of one eccentric thought,

Who meanly overlooks a friend distreft. Whose foul directed to no use is seen,

Purblind to poverty the wordling goes,
Coless to move the body's dull machine,

And scarce fees rags an inch beyond his nose:
Which, clock-work like, with the same equal pace, But from a crowd can single out his grace,
Sall travels on thro' life's insipid space;

And cringe and creep to fools who strut in lace.
Tarns up his eyes to think that there should be Whether those classic regions are survey'd
Among Cod's creatures two such things as we: Where we in earliest youth together stray'd,
Then for his night-cap calls, and thanks the pow'rs Where hand in hand we trod the Aovs’ry lhore,
Which kindly gave him grace to keep god hours. Tho' now thy happier genius runs before,

Godkurs-Fine words !—But was it ever seen When we conspirld a thinkless wretch to raise,
That all men could agree in what they mean? And taught a fump to shoot with pilfer'd praise,
Florio, who many years a course hath run

Who once for Rez'rend merit famous grown, la downright opposition to the sun,

Gratefully strove to kick his Maker down ; Expatiates on good hours, their cause defends Or if more gen’ral arguments engage, With as much vigour as our prudert friends. The court or camp, the pulpit, bar or stage ; Th' uncertain term no settled notion brings, If half-brej surgeons, whom men doctors call, But fill in diff'rent mouths mean diff'rent things. And lawyers, who were never bred at all, Each takes the phrase in his own private view. Those mighty letter'd monsters of the earth, With Prudence it is ten, with Florio two.

Our picy move, or exercise our mirth; Goon, ye fools, who talk for talking sake,

Or if in tittle-tattle, tooth-pick way, Without distinguishing distinctions make,

Our rambling thoughts with ealy freedom Itray ; Shine forth in native folly, native pride,

A gainer till thy friend himself must find, Make yourselves rules to all the world beside; His grief suspended, and improv'd his mind. Rezion, collected in herself, disdains

Whilst peaceful Numbers bless the homely bed, The Bayish yoke of arbitrary chains ;

Where Virtue, self-approv'd, reclines her head ; Steady and true, each circumstance the weighs, Whilft Vice beneath imagin'd horrors mourns, Ner to bare words inglorious tribute pays.

And Conscience plants the villain's couch with thorns; Man of sense live exempt from vulgar awe,

Impatient of restraint, the active Mind, And Reason to herself alone is law.

No more by servile prejudice confind, That freedom she enjoys with lib'ral mind,

Leaps from her feat, as waken'd from a trance, Which he as freely grants to all mankind.

And darts through Nature at a single glance. No idol titled name her rev'rence ftirs,

Then we our friends, our foes, ourselves, survey, No bour íhe blindly to the rest prefers ;

And see by Night what tools we are by Day. All are alike, if they're alike employ'd,

Stript of her gaudy plumes and vain disguise, And all are good if virtuously enjoy’d.

See where Ambition mean and loathsome lies ;
Let the fage Doctor (think him one we know) Reflection with relentless hand pulls down
With scraps of ancient learning overflow,

The tyrant's bloody wreath and ravish'd crown. In all the dignity of wig declare

In vain he tells of battles bravely won, The fatal consequence of midnight air,

Of nations conquer'd, and of worlds undone : How damps and vapours, as it were by stealth, Triumphs like these but ill with manhood suit, Ladermine life, and Tap the walls of health, And fink the conqueror beneath the brute,

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But if, in searching round the world, we find
Some gen'rous youth, the friend of all mankind,
Whose anger, like the bolt of Jove, is sped
In terrors only at the guilty head,
Whuse mercies, like Heaven's dew, refreshing fall
In gen'nal love and charity to all,
Pleas'd we behold such worth on any throne,
And doubly pleas'd we find it on our own.
Through a false medium things are thewn by Day,
Pomp, wealth, and titles, judgment lead astray.
How many from appearance borrow state,
Whom Night disdains to number with the Great!
Muft not we laugh to see yon lordling proud
Snuff up vile incense from a fawning crowd ?
Whilft in his be im surrounding clients play,
Like insects in the sun's enliv'ning ray,
Whilst, Jehu-like, he drives at furious rate,
And seems the only charioteer of state,
Talking himself into a little God,
And ruling empires with a single nod;
Who would not think, to hear him l:w dispense,
That he had int'rest, and that they had senie?
Injurious thought ! Beneath Night's honeft shade,
When pomp is buried and fille colours fade,
Plainly we see at that impartial hour
Them dupes to pride, and him the tool of pow'r.

God help the man, condemn'd by cruel fate
To court the seeming, or the real great.
Much sorrow shall he feel, and suffer more
Than any Nave wnu labours at the var.
By flaviih methods mut: he learn to please,
By smooth-tongu'd flatt ry, that curst court-disease,
Supple to ev'ry wayward mood strike fail,
And Shift with shifting humour's peevith gale.
To Nature dead, he must adopt vile Art,
And wear a smile with anguish in his heart.
A sense of honour would destroy his schemes,
And Conscience ne'er would speak unless in dreams.
When he hath tamely borne for many years
Cold looks, forbidding frowns, contemptuous (neers ;
When he at last expects, good caly man,
To reap the profits of his labour'd plan,
Some cringing Lacquey, or rapacious Whore,
To favours of the great the sureft door,
Some Catamite, or Pimp, in credit grown,
Who tempts another's wife, or tells his own,
Steps cross his hopes, the promis'd boon denies,
And for some Minion's Minion claims the prize.

Foe to restraint, unpractis'd in deceit, Too resolute, from Natures active heat, To brook affronts, and tamely pass them by ; Too proud to flatter, too sincere to lye, Too plain to please, too honest to be great ; Give me, kind Heav'n, an humbler, happier state ; Far from the place where men with pride deceive, Where rascals proinise, and where fools believe ; Far from the walk of folly, vice and strife, Calm, independent, let me steal thro' life, Nor one vain wish my steady thoughts beguile To fear his lordship's frown, or court his smile. Unfit for Greatness, I her Inares defy, And look on riches with untainted eye. To others let the glitt'ring bawbles fall, Content shall place us far above them all.

Spectators only on this bustling stage, Weiee what vain designs mankind engage; Vice after vice with ardour they pursue, And one old folly brings forth twenty new,

Perplex'd with tries thro' the vale of life,
Man strives 'gainst man, without a cause for strife ;
Armies embattled meet, and thousands bleed
For some vile spot where fifty cannot feed.
Squirrels for nuts contend, and, wrong or right,
For the world's empire kings ambitious fight;
What odds ? - Tous 'tis all the self-same thing,
A Nut, a World, a Squirrel, and a King.

Britons, like Roman spirits tam'd of old,
Are cast by nature in a Patriot mould ;
No private joy, no private grief they know,
Their soul's ingross'd by public weal or woe.
Inglorious ease, like ours, they greatly scorn :

Let care with nobler wreaths their brows adorn.
Gladly they toil beneath the stateiman's pains,
Give them but credit for a statesman's brains.
All would be deem'd, e'en from the cradle, fit
To rule in politics as well as wit.
The grave, the gay, the fopling, and the dunce,
Start up (God bless us !) itatefinen all at once.

His mighty charge of fouls the priest forgets,
The court-bred lord his promises and debts,
Soldiers their fame, misers forget their pelf,
The rake his mistress, and the fop himself;
Whilst thoughts of higher mome'it claim their care,
And their wise heads the weight of kingdoms bear.
Females themselves the glorious ardour teel,
And boast an equal, or a greater zeal ;
From nymph to nymph the state-infection flies,
Swells in her breait, and sparkles in her eyes.
O’erwhelm'd by politics lie malice, pride,
Envy, and twenty other faules beside.
No more their little flutt'ring hearts confess
A passion for applaufe, or rage for dress ;
No more they pant for Public Raree-fhows,
Or lose one thought on monkeys or on beaux.
Coquettes no more pursue the jilting plan,
And luftful prudes forget to rail at man,
The darling theme Cæcilia's self will chuse,
Nor thinks of scandal whilit the talks of news.

The Cit, a Common-Council-Man by place,
Ten thousand mighty nothings in his face,
By fituation as by nature great,
With nice precision parcels out the state ;
Proves and disproves, affirms, and then denies,
Objects himself, and to himself replies ;
Wielding aloft the politician rod,
Makes Pitt by turns a devil and a god ;
Maintains, e'en to the very teeth of pow'r,
The same thing right and wrong in half an hour.
Now all is well, now he suspects a plot,
And plainly proves, WHATEVER IS, IS NOT.
Fearfully wise, he shakes his empty head,
And deals out empires as he deals out thread.
His useless scales are in a corner flung,
And Europe's balance hangs upon his tongue.

Peace to such triflers ; be our happier plan
To pass thro' life as easy as we can.
Who's in or out, who moves this grand machine,
Nor stirs my curiosity, nor spleen.
Secrets of tate no more I wish to know
Than secret movements of a Puppet-fhow ;
Let but the puppets move, I've my defire,
Unseeen the hand which guides the Master-wire.

What is't to us, if taxes rife or fall,
Thanks to our fortune we pay none at all.
Let muckworms, who in dirty acres deal,
Lament those hardfhips which we cannot feel.

His Grace who smarts, may bellos if he please, Whilft Virtue feeks in vain the with'd - for prize, But must I bellow too, who lit atea:?

Because, disdaining ill, she hates disguise; By cuítom (afe, the poet's numbers flow,

Because she frankly pours forth all her Atore,
Free as the light and air some years ago.

Seems what she is, and foorns to purs for more ?
No ftatesman e'er will find it worth his pains Well-be it romlet vilc diffemblers hold
To tax our labours, and excise our brains.

Unenvy'd pow'r, and boast their dear-bought gold,
Burthens like these vile earthly buildings bear, Me neither pow'r shall tempt, nor thirst of pelf,
No tribute's laid on cafties in the air.

To Aatter others or deny myself; Let then the flames of war destructive reign, Might the whole world be plic'd within my span, And England's terrors awe imperious Spain ;

I would not be that Thing, tha: Prudent Man. Let ev'ry veral clan and neutral tribe

What, cries Sir Pliant, would you then oppose Learn to receive conditions, not prescribe ;

Yourself, alone, agunft an hoit of foes ? Let each new year call loud for new supplies, Let not conceit, ard pceviih luft to rail, And tax on tax with double burthens rise:

Above all sense of interest prevail. Exempt we lit, by no rude cares opprest,

Throw off for shame this petulance of wit, And, having little, are with little bleft.

Be wise, be modest, and for once submit : All real ills in dark oblivion lie,

Too hard the talk 'aguinit multitudes to fight, And joys, by fancy form'd, their place supply, You must be wrong, the World is in the right. Night's laughing hours unheeded nip away,

What is this World ? A term which men have got Nor one dull thought foretells th' approach of Day. To lignity, not one in ten knows what;

Thus have we liv'd,and whilft the fates afford A term, which with no more precision passes Plain plenty to supply the frugal board,

To point out herds of men than herds of assis;
Whild Mirth with Decency his lovely bride, In common ufe no more it means, we find,
And Wine's gay God, with Temp'rance by his side, Than many fools in same opinions join'd.
Their welcome visit pay; whilft Health attends Can numbers then change Nature's stated laws ?
The narrow circle of our chosen friends,

Can numbers make the worse the better cause ?
Whilft frank Good-Humour consecrates the treat, Vice must be vice, virtue be virtue ftill,
And Woman måkes society complee,

Tho'thousands rail at good and practice ill.
Thus will we live, tho' in our teeth are hurl'd Wouldit thou defend the Gaul's destructive rage
Those hackney ftrumpets, Prudence and the World. Because vast nations on his part engage ?
Prudence, of old a sacred term, imply'd

Tho'to support the rebel Cæsar's cause
Virtue, with godlike Wisdom for her guide, Tumultuous legions arm against the laws,
But now in general use is known to mean

Tho'Scandal would our parrior's name impeach,
The stalking-horse of vice, and fully's screen. And rails at virtucs which the cannot reach,
The sense perverted we retain the name,

What honest man but would with joy submit
Hypocrisy and Prudence are the same.

To bleed with Cato, and retire with Pitt? A Tutor once, more read in men than books, Stedfart and true to Virtue's sacred laws, A kind of crafty knowledge in his looks,

Unmov'd by vulgar censure or applause, Demurely By, with high preferment blest,

Let the World talk, my friend ; that World we His fav'rite pupil in these words addresled :

know
Would'it thou, my son, be wise and virtuous deem'a, Which calls us guilty, cannot make uslo.
By all mankind a prodigy esteem'd?

Unaw'd by numbers, follow Nature's plan,
Be this thy rule ; be what men prudent call; Affert the rights, or quit the name of Man.
Prudence, almighty Prudence, gives thee all. Consider well, weigh itrictly right and wrong;
Keep up appearances, there lies the test,

Resolve not quick, but once resolv'd be strong.
The world will give thee credit for the rest.

In spite of dullness, and in spite of wit, Outward be fair, however foul within ;

If to thyself thou canst thyself acquit, Sin if thou wilt, but then in secret su.

Rather Itand up assurd with conscious pride This maxim's into common favour grown,

Alone, than err with millions on thy lide. Vice is no longer vice, unless 'tis known. Virtue indeed may barefac'd take the field; But vice is virtue when 'tis well conceal'd. Should raging passions drive thee to a whore, Let Prudence lead thee to a poftern door ; Stay out all night, but take especial care That Prudence bring thee back to early prayer. PROPHECY OF FAMINE. As one with watching and with study faint, Reel in a drunkard, and reel out a saint.

With joy the youth this useful lesson heard, And in his mem'ry stor'd each precious word,

SC O T S P A S T O R A L. Successfully pursu'd the plan, and now,

INSCR 1

IBED
“ Room for my Lord,–Virtue stand by and bow."
And is this all-is this the worldings art,

JOHN WIL KES, Esl.
To mask, but not mend a vicious heart?
Shall lukewarm caution and demeanor grave

HEN Cupid firft inftru&ts his darts to fly
For wise and good stamp ev'ry supple knave?

From the fly curner of some cook-maid's eyes Shall wretches whom no real virtue warms,

The stripling raw, just enter'd in his teens, Gild fair their names and ftates with empty forms, Receives the wound, and wonders what it means ;

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His heart like dripping, melts, and new desire My lord- to letters as to faith most true
Within him stirs, each time the stirs the fire; At once their patron and example too
Trembling and blushing he the fair one views, Shall quaintly fashion his love-labour'd dreams,
And tain would ípcak, but can't--without a Muse. Sigh with rid winds, and weep with weeping streams,
So to the sacred mount he takes his way,

Curious in grief, (for real grief, we know,
Prunes his young wings, and tunes his infant lay, Is curious to dress up the tale of woe)
His oaten rced to rurai ditries frames,

From the green umbrage of some Druid's seat,
To flocks and rocks, to hills and rills proclaims, Shall his own works in his own way repeat.
In fimplest notes, and all unpolish'd trains,

Me whom no Muse of heav'nly birth inspires, The loves of nymphs, and eke the loves of swains. No judgment tempers when raih genius fires ;

Clad, as your nymphs were always clad of yore, Who boaft no merit but mere knack of rime,
A rustic weeds cook-maid now no more

Short gleams of sense, and satire out of time,
Beneath an aged ouk Lindella lies,

Who cannot follow where trim fancy leads Green moss her couch ; her cmopy the skies. By pratiling streams o'er flyv'r-empurpled meads ; From aromatic shrubs the roguilh gale

Who often, but without success, have pray'd Steals young perfumes, and wafts them thro' the vale. For apt Alliteration's ariful aid; The youth, furn'd swain, and skilld in rustic lays, Who would, but cannot, with a master's skill, Fatt by her side his am'rous descant plays.

Coin fine new epithets which mean no ill; Herds lowe, flocks bleu, pies chatter, ravens scream, Me, thus uncouth, thus ev'ry way unfit And the full chorus dies a-down the stream.

For pacing poesy, and ambling wit, The streams, with music freighted, as they pass, Tafte with contempt beholds, nor deigns to place Present the fir Lardeila with a glass,

Amongst the lowest of her favour'd race. And Zephyr, tu compleat the love-lick plan,

Thou, Nature, art my goddess--to thy law Waves his light wings, and serves her for a fan. Myself I dedicate.- Hlence Navith awe

But, when maturer Judgment takes the lead, Which bends to fashion, and obeys the rules, These childigi toys on Reaton's altar bleed; Impos'd at first, and since observd by fools. Form'd after some great man, whose name breeds awe, Hence those vile tricks which mar fair Nature's hoe, Whore ev'ry sentence Fashion makes a law,

And bring the fober matron forth to view, Who on mere credit his vain trophics reurs,

With all that artificial tawdry glare, And founds his merit on our servile fears ;

Which Virtue scorns, and none but trumpets wear. Then we discard the workings of the heart, Sick of those pomps, those vanities that waste And Nature's builh'd by me hanic Art;

Of toil, which critics now mistake for tafle, Then, deeply read, our reading must be shown ; Of filse refinements fick, and labour'd ease, Vain is that knowledge which remains unknown. Which Art, too thinly veil'd, forbiis to please, Then Oftentation marches to our aid,

By Nature's charms (inglorious truth!) fubdu'd, And letter'd Pride ftalks forth in full parade ; However plain her dress, and 'haviour rude, Beneath their care behold the work refine,

To northern climes my happier course I steer, Pointed each sentence, polish'd ev'ry line :

Climes where the goddess reigns throughout the Trifles are dignified, and taught to wear

year. The robes of Ancients with a Modern air,

Where, undifturb'd by Art's rebellious plan, Nonsense with classic ornaments is gracid,

She rules the loyal laird, and faithful clan. And passes current with the stamp of Taite.

To that rare foil, where virtues clust'ring grow, Then the rude Theocrite is ransack'd o'er, What mighty blessings doth not England owe? And courtly Maro call'd from Mincio's Thore; What waggon-loads of courage, wealth and sense, Sicilian Mujes on our mountains roam,

Doth each revolving day import from thence ?
Easy and free as if they were at home :

To us the gives, disinterested friend,
Nymphs, Naiads, Nereids, Dryads, Satyrs, Fauns, Faith without fraud, and Stuarts without end.
Sport in our floods, and trip it o'er our lawns ; When we prosperity's rich trappings wear,
Flow'rs, which once Aourish'd fair in Greece and Come not her gen'rous fons and take a share ?
Rome,

And if, by some disastrous turn of fate,
More fair revive in Englands meads to bloom ; Change should ensue, and ruin seize the state,
Skies without cloud exotic suns adorn ;

Shall we not find fafe in that hallow'd ground,
And roses blush, but blush without a thorn; Such refuge as the Holy Martyr found ?
Landscapes unknown to dowdy Nature, rise,

Nor less our debt in Science, tho' deny'd And new creations Atrike our wond'ring eyes. By the weak Naves of prejudice and pride.

For bards like these, who neither fing nor say, Thence came the Ramsays, names of worthy noter Grave without thought, and without feeling gay, Of whom one paints, as well as t'other wrote ; Whore numbers in one even tenor flow,

Thence, Home, disbanded from the sons of pray's Attun'd to pleasure, and attun'd to woe,

For loving plays, tho' no dull Dean was there; Who, if plain Common Sense her visit pays, Thence issued forth, at great Macpherson's call, And mars one couplet in their happy lays,

That old, new, epic paftoral, Fingal ; As at some ghost affrighted, start and Aare,

Thence Malloch, friend alike of Church and Scatto And ask the meaning of her coming there ;

Of Christ and Liberty, by grateful Fate
For bards like these a wreath shall Mason bring, Rais'd to rewards which, in a pious reign,
Lin'd with the softest down of Folly's wing ; All darling infidels should seek in vain ;
In Love's Pagoda shall they ever doze,

Thence fimple bards, by fimple prudence taughts And Gilbal kindly rock them to repose ;

To this wife town by simple patrons brought

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