With reverence look on his majestic face;
Proud to be lefs, but of his godlike race.
His foul infpires me, while thy praise I write,
And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight:

75

Bids thee, through me, be bold; with dauntless breast

80

Contemn the bad, and emulate the best.
Like his, thy critics in the attempt are loft:
When moft they rail, know then, they envy

moft.

85

In vain they fnarl aloof; a noify croud,
Like women's anger, impotent and loud.
While they their barren industry deplore,
Pafs on fecure, and mind the goal before.
Old as the is, my mufe fhall march behind,
Bear off the blaft, and intercept the wind.
Our arts are fifters, though not twins in birth;
For hymns were fung in Eden's happy earth:
But oh, the painter mufe, though last in place,
Has feiz'd the bleffing firft, like Jacob's race.
Apelles' art an Alexander found;

And Raphael did with Leo's gold abound;
But Homer was with barren laurel crown'd. 95
Thou hadft thy Charles a while, and so had I;
But pass we that unpleafing image by.

Ver. 94. with Leo's gold] Raphael flattered with his pencil. In his Attila, his Coronation of Charlemagne, the fiege of Oftia, and King Pepin, he has reprefented St. Leo, Leo III. Stephen II. and Leo IV. with an exact likeness of Leo Dr. J. WARTON.

X.

Rich in thyself, and of thyself divine;
All pilgrims come and offer at thy fhrine.
A graceful truth thy pencil can command; 100
The fair themselves go mended from thy hand.
Likeness appears in every lineament;
But likeness in thy work is eloquent.
Though nature there her true refemblance bears,
A nobler beauty in thy piece appears.

105

So warm thy work, fo glows the generous

frame,

Flesh looks less living in the lovely dame.
Thou paint'ft as we describe, improving still,
When on wild nature we ingraft our skill;
But not creating beauties at our will.

110

But poets are confin'd in narrower space, To speak the language of their native place : The painter widely ftretches his command; Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land. From hence, my friend, all climates are your

own,

Nor can you forfeit, for you hold of none.
All nations all immunities will give

To make you theirs, where'er you please to

live;

And not feven cities, but the world would ftrive.

115

Sure fome propitious planet then did smile, 120. When firft you were conducted to this ifle:

Our genius brought you here, to inlarge our

fame;

For your good stars are every where the same. Thy matchlefs hand, of every region free, Adopts our climate, not our climate thee.

125

Great Rome and Venice early did impart To thee the examples of their wondrous art. Those masters then, but feen, not understood, With generous emulation fir'd thy blood: For what in nature's dawn the child admir'd, The youth endeavor'd, and the man acquir'd. If yet thou haft not reach'd their high de

gree,

'Tis only wanting to this age, not thee.
Thy genius, bounded by the times, like mine,
Drudges on petty draughts, nor dare defign
A more exalted work, and more divine.
For what a fong, or fenfeless opera

Is to the living labor of a play;

Or what a play to Virgil's work would be,
Such is a fingle piece to history.

136

140

But we, who life beftow, ourselves muft live; Kings cannot reign, unless their subjects give; And they, who pay the taxes, bear the rule: Thus thou, fometimes, art forc'd to draw a fool: But fo his follies in thy posture fink,

145

The fenfelefs idiot feems at laft to think.
Good heaven! that fots and knaves should be

fo vain,

To wish their vile refemblance may remain !

And ftand recorded, at their own request,
To future days, a libel or a jeft!

Elfe should we fee your noble pencil trace Our unities of action, time, and place:

150

A whole compos'd of parts, and those the best, With every various character exprest:

Heroes at large, and at a nearer view;

155

160

Lefs, and at diftance, an ignobler crew.
While all the figures in one action join,
As tending to complete the main defign.
More cannot be by mortal art expreft;
But venerable age fhall add the reft.
For Time fhall with his ready pencil ftand;
Retouch your figures with his ripening hand;
Mellow your colors, and imbrown the teint;
Add every grace, which time alone can grant;
To future ages shall your fame convey,
And give more beauties than he takes away.

165

ELEGIES

AND

EPITAPHS.