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To Mr. JER VAS,
With Mr. DRYDEN'S Translation of FRESNOY'S Art of Painting.
HIS Verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse
This, from no venál or ungrateful Muse.
Whether thy hand strike out some free design,
Where Life awakes, and dawns at ev'ry line;
Or blend in beauteous tints the colour'd mass, 5
And from the canvass call the mimic face:
Read thefe inftructive leaves, in which confpire
Fresnoy's close Art, and Dryden's native Fire:
And reading wish, like theirs, our fate and fame,
So mix'd our studies, and fo join'd our name; 10
Like them to shine thro' long fucceeding age,
So just thy fkill, fo regular my rage.
Epifle to Mr. Fervas.] This Epiftle, and the two following, were written fome years before the reft, and originally printed in 1717.
Smit with the love of Sifter-Arts we came, And met congenial, mingling flame with flame; Like friendly colours found them both unite, 15 And each from each contract new ftrength and light.
How oft' in pleafing tasks we wear the day,
While fummer-funs roll unperceiv'd away?
How oft our flowly-growing works impart,
While Images reflect from art to art?
How oft review; each finding like a friend
Something to blame, and something to commend?
What flatt'ring scenes our wand'ring fancy
Rome's pompous glories rifing to our thought!
Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly,
Fir'd with Ideas of fair Italy.
With thee, on Raphael's Monument I mourn,
Or wait inspiring Dreams at Maro's Urn:
With thee repose, where Tully once was laid,
Or feek fome Ruin's formidable shade:
While fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view,
And builds imaginary Rome a-new,
Here thy well-study'd marbles fix our eye;
A fading Fresco here demands a figh:
Each heav'nly piece unwearied we compare, 35 Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air,
Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line,
Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divinę.
How finish'd with illuftrious toil appears
This small, well-polish'd Gem, the * work of years!
Yet ftill how faint by precept is exprest
The living image in the painter's breast?
Thence endless ftreams of fair Ideas flow,
Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow;
Thence Beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies 45
An Angel's sweetness, or Bridgewater's eyes.
Muse! at that Name thy facred forrows shed,
Those tears eternal, that embalm the dead:
Call round her Tomb each object of defire,
Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire:
Bid her be all that chears or softens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife:
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore;
Then view this Marble, and be vain no more!
Yet still her charms in breathing paint engage; Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age. 56 Beauty, frail flow'r that ev'ry season fears, Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years. Thus Churchill's race shall other hearts surprize, And other Beauties envy Worfley's eyes; 60
* Fresnoy employed above twenty Years in finishing his Poem.
Each pleafing Blount fhall endless smiles bestow, And foft Belinda's bluth for ever glow.
Oh lasting as those Colours may they shine, Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line; New graces yearly like thy works display, 65 Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by fome rule, that guides, but not constrains; And finish'd more thro' happiness than pains. The kindred Arts fhall in their praise conspire, One dip the pencil, and one ftring the lyre. 70 Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on ev'ry face; Yet fhould the Muses bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul; With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, 75 And these be fung till Granville's Myra die: Alas! how little from the grave we claim! Thou but preferv'it a Face, and I a Name.
With the WORKS of VOITURE.
N these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces fhine,
And all the Writer lives in ev'ry line;
His easy Art may happy Nature seem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flatt'ry pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with esteem no lefs convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred:
His heart, his mistress, and his friend did share,
His time, the Mufe, the witty, and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
'Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath supprest,
As fmiling Infants sport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore, 15
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;