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And yet so wonderful, sublime a thing,
As the great ILIAD, scarce could make me fing;
Except I justly could at once commend
A good Companion, and as firm a Friend.
One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed
Can all desert in Sciences exceed.

'Tis great delight to laugh at some mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.


To Mr. POPE, on his Pastorals.

N these more dull, as more censorious days,

When few dare give, and fewer merit praise,
A Muse sincere, that never Flatt'ry knew,
Pays what to friendship and defert is due.
Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found

Art strength’ning Nature, Sense improv'd by Sound.
Unlike those Wits, whose numbers glide along
So smooth, no thought e'er interrupts the song:
Laboriously enervate they appear,
And write not to the head, but to the ear : 10
Our minds unmov'd and unconcern'd they lull,
And are at beft moft musically dull :
So purling streams with even murmurs creef,
And hush the heavy hearers into sleep.


As smootheit speech is moft deceitful sound, 15
The smoothest numbers oft are empty sound.
But Wit and Judgment join at once in you,
Sprightly as Youth, as Age consummate too:
Your strains are regularly bold, and please
With unforc'd care, and unaffected ease,
With proper thoughts, and lively images :
Such as by Nature to the Ancients Shewn,
Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own:
For great mens fashions to be follow'd are,
Altho' disgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear.

Some in a polith'd style write Pastoral,
Arcadia speaks the language of the Mall.
Like some fair Shepherdefs, the Sylvan Muse,
Should wear those flow'rs her native fields produce;
And the true measure of the shepherd's wit
Should, like his garb, be for the Country fit:
Yet muft his pure and unaffected thought
More nicely than the common Swain's be wrought.
So, with becoming art, the Players dress
In silks the shepherd, and the shepherdess ; 35
Yet still unchang'd the form and mode remain,
Shap'd like the homely russet of the swain.
Your rural Muse appears to justify
The long lost graces of Simplicity:
So rural beauties captivate our sense

40 With Virgin charms, and native excellence. Yet long her Modefty those charms conceald, Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd;


For Wits industrious to their trouble feem,
And needs will envy what they must esteem.

* 45
Live and enjoy their spite ! nor mourn that fate,
Which would, if Virgil liv’d, on Virgil wait ;
Whose Mufe did once, like thine, in plains delight;
Thine shall, like his, soon take a higher flight;
So Larks, which first from lowly fields arise,

50 Mount by degrees, and reach at laft the skies.


To Mr.POPE, on his Windsor-Furest.


AIL, facred Bard ! a Muse unknown before

Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore. To our dark world thy shining page is shown, And Windsor's gay retreat becomes our own. The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care, And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here : A various spoil adorn'd our naked land, The pride of Persia glitter'd on our strand, And China's Earth was cast on common fand : Tofs'd up and down the glofly fragments lay, And dress’d the rocky shelves, and pav'd the painted

bay. Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boat A nobler cargo on our barren coaft:





From thy luxuriant Forest we receive
More lasting glories than the East can give.

Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page,
What pompous scenes our busy thoughts engage!
The pompous

scenes in all their pride appear,
Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were.
Nor half so true the fair Lodona shows
The fylvan state that on her border grows,
While she the wond'ring shepherd entertains
With a new Windsor in her wat’ry plains ;
Thy juster lays the lucid wave surpass,
The living scene is in the Muse's glass.

Nor fweeter notes the echoing Forests chear,
When Philomela fits and warbles there,
Than when you fing the greens and op'ning glades,
And give us Harmony as well as Shades:
A Titian's hand might draw the grove,

Can paint the grove, and add the Music too.

With vast variety thy pages shine ;
A new creation starts in ev'ry line.
How sudden trees rise to the reader's fight,
And make a doubtful scene of shade and light,35
And give at once the day, at once the night !
And here again what sweet confusion reigns,
In dreary deserts mix’d with painted plains !
And see! the deserts cast a pleasing gloom,
And Ihrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom : 40
Whilft fruitful crops rise by their barren fide,
And bearded groves display their annual pride.

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Happy the man, who strings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields in.

spire ! Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell 45 Amid the rural joys you fing so well. I in a cold, and in a barren clime, Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme, Here on the Weitern beach attempt to chime. O joyless flood ! O rough tempestuous main!

50 Border'd with weeds, and solitudes obscene!

Snatch me, ye Gods! from these Atlantic shores, And shelter me in Windfor's fragrant bow'rs ; Or to my much-lov'd lsis' walks convey, And on her flow’ry banks for ever lay.

55 Thence let me view the venerable scene, 'The awful dome, the groves eternal green: Where sacred Hough long found his fam'd retreat, And broughrthe Muses to the fylvan feat, Reform'd the wits, unlock'd the Classic store,

60 And made that Music which was noise before. 'There with illustrious Bards I spent my days, Nor free from censure, nor unknown to praise, Enjoy'd the blessings that his reign bestow'd, Nor envy'd Windsor in the soft abode.

65 The golden minutes smoothly danc'd away, And tuneful Bards beguild the tedious day : They fung, nor sung in vain, with numbers fir'd That Maro taught, or Addison inspir'd.

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