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But ere indulg'd-ere fate my breath fhall claim,
A poet still is anxious after fame.

What future fame would my ambition crave?
This were my wish-could ought my memory fave,
Say, when in death my forrows lie repos'd,
That my past life no venal view disclos'd;
Say, I well knew, while in a state obfcure,
Without the being bafe, the being poor;
Say, I had parts, too moderate to transcend
Yet fenfe to mean, and virtue not t'offend;
My heart fupplying what my head denied,
Say that, by Pope esteem'd I liv'd and died;
Whose writings the best rules to write could give;
Whofe life the nobler fcience how to live.

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70

AN

EPISTLE.

DAMON

H

TO

AND DELIA.

EAR Damon, Delia hear, in candid lays, Truth without anger, without flattery, praise ! A bookish mind, with pedantry unfraught, Oft a fedate, yet never gloomy thought: Prompt to rejoice, when others pleasure know, And prompt to feel the pang for others woe;

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To

To foften faults, to which a foe is prone,
And, in a friend's perfection, praise your own:
A will fincere, unknown to felfish views;
A heart of love, of gallantry a Muse;
A delicate, yet not a jealous mind;
A paffion ever fond, yet never blind,
Glowing with amorous, yet with guiltless fires,
In ever-eager, never grofs defires:

A modeft honour, facred to contain

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From tattling vanity, when fmiles you gain;
Conftant, most pleas'd when beauty most you please :
Damon! your picture 's fhewn in tints like these.
Say, Delia, muft I chide you or commend?
Say, must I be your flatterer or your

friend?

To praise no graces in a rival fair, Nor your own foibles in a fifter spare; Each lover's billet, bantering, to reveal, And never known one fecret to conceal Young, fickle, fair, a levity inborn,

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To treat all fighing flaves with flippant fcorn;
An eye, expreffive of a wandering mind:
Nor this to read, nor that to think inclin'd;

Or when a book, or thought, from whim retards,
Intent on fongs or novels, drefs or cards;
Choice to felect the party of delight,

To kill time, thought, and fame, in frolic flight;

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To flutter here, to flurry there on wing;

To talk, to teaze, to fimper, or to fing;

To prude it, to coquet it-him to truft,

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Whofe vain, loofe life, fhould caution or disgust;

Him to diflike, whofe modeft worth fhould pleafe.-
Say, is your picture shown in tints like these?
Your's!-you deny it-Hear the point then tried,
Let judgment, truth, the Mufe, and love decide. 40
What your's!-Nay, faireft trifler, frown not fo:
Is it? the Mufe with doubt-Love anfwers NO:
You fmile-Is 't not? Again the question try!--
Yes, judgment thinks, and truth will YES, reply.

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EE female vice and female folly here, Raillied with wit polite, or lafh'd severe : Let Pope prefent fuch objects to our view; Such are, my fair, the full reverfe of you.

Rapt when, to Loddon's ftream from Wind for's

fhades,

He fings the modeft charms of fylvan maids;
Dear Burford's hills in memory's eye appear,
And Luddal's fpring § ftill murmurs in my ear:

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Alluding to the beautiful Episode of Loddona, in Windfor Foreft.

§ A pring near Burford.

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But when you cease to bless my longing eyes,
Dumb is the fpring, the joyless prospect dies:
Come then, my charmer, come! here transport reigns!
New health, new youth, infpirits all my veins.
Each hour let intercourse of hearts employ,
Thou life of loveliness! thou foul of joy!

Love wakes the birds-oh, hear each melting lay! 15
Love warms the world-come charmer, come away!
But hark!-immortal Pope refumes the lyre!
Diviner airs, diviner flights, infpire:

Hark where an angel's language tunes the line!
See where the thoughts and looks of angels fhine! 20
Here he pour'd all the mufic of your tongue,
And all your looks and thoughts, unconscious, fung.

ON THE

RECOVERY OF A

LADY OF QUALITY

L

FROM THE SMALL-POX.

ONG a lov'd fair had bless'd her confort's fight. With amorous pride, and undisturb'd delight; Till Death, grown envious with repugnant aim, Frown'd at their joys, and urg'd a tyrant's claim.

He

He fummons each difeafe!-the noxious crew,
Writhing, in dire distortions, strike his view!
From various plagues, which various natures know,
Forth rufhes beauty's fear'd and fervent foe.
Fierce to the fair, the miffile mifchief flies,
The fanguine ftreams in raging ferments rife!
It drives, ignipotent, through every vein,
Hangs on the heart, and burns around the brain!
Now a chill damp the charmer's luftre dims!
Sad o'er her eyes the livid languor fwims!
Her eyes, that with a glance could jɔy inspire,
Like fetting stars, fcarce fhoot a glimmering fire.
Here ftands her confort, fore, with anguish, preft,
Grief in his eye, and terror in his breaft.
The Paphian Graces, fmit with anxious care,
In filent forrow weep the waining fair.
Eight funs, fucceffive, roll their fire away,

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And eight flow nights fee their deep fhades decay.
While thefe revolve, though mute each Mufe appears,
Each speaking eye drops eloquence in tears.

On the ninth noon, great Phœbus, listening bends! 25
On the ninth noon, each voice in prayer afcends!
Great God of light, of fong, and phyfic's art,
Reftore the languid fair, new foul impart !
Her beauty, wit, and virtue, claim thy care,
And thine own bounty's almoft rival'd there.

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Each paus'd. The God affents. Would Death ad

vance?

Phoebus, unfeen, arrefts the threatening lance!

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