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Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore:
See arts her sayage sons control,

And Athens rising near the pole!
Till some new tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.

Antistrophe 2.
Ye gods! what justice rules the ball!
Freedom and arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant are slaves.
O curs'd effects of civil hate,

In every age, in every state!
Still, when the lust of tyrant power succeeds,
Some Athens perishes, some Tully bleeds..


O tyrant love! hast thou possest

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast?
Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,
And arts but soften us to feel thy flame.

Love, soft intruder, enters here,
But entering learns to be sincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, virtue, dost thou blame desire,

Which nature hath imprest?
Why nature, dost thou soonest fire

The mild and generous breast;

Love's purer fames the gods approve;
The gods and Brutus bend to love:

Brutus for absent Porcia sighs,
And sterner Cassius melts at Junia's eyes,

What is loose love? a transient gust,
Spent in a sudden storm of lust;
A vapour fed from wild desire,
A wandering, self-consuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder fames unite,

And burn for ever one;
Chaste as cold Cynthia's virgin light,

Productive as the sun,

Oh source of every social tye
United wish, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend!

Whether his hoary sire he spies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arise;
Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;
Or views his smiling progeny ;
What tender passions take their turns,

'What home-felt raptures move!
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns

With reverence, hope, and love.

Hence, guilty joys, distastes, surmises;
Hence, false tears, deceits, disguises,
Dangers, doubts, delays, surprises,

Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine :
Purest love's unwasting treasure,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure;
Days of ease, and nights of pleasure,

Sacred II ymen! these are thine..


Written when the Author was about twelve

Years old.

TAPPY the man, whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.

Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years, slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day: Sound sleep by night ; study and ease,

Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please

With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lie.

The dying Christian to his Soul.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame!

Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
On the pain, the bliss of dying !

Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite,

Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears !
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears

With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! Ifly!
O grave! where is thy victory?

o death! where is thy sting?



Written in the Year 1709.


Introduction. That it is as great a fault to judge

ill, as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public, ver. 1. That a true taste is as rare to be found as a true genius, ver. 9 to 18. . That most men are born with some taste, but spoiled by false education, ver. 10 to 25. The multitude of critics, and causes of them, ver. 26 to 45. That we are to study our own taste, and know the limits of it, ver. 46 to 67. Nature the best guide of judgement, ver. 68 to 87. Improved by art and rules, which are but methodized nature, ver. 88.

Rules derived from the practice of ancient poets, ver. 88 to 110. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a critic, particularly Homer and Virgil, ver. 120 to 138. Of licences, and the use of them by the ancients, ver. 140 to 180. Reverençe due to the ancients, and praise of them, ver. 181, &c.

»TIS hard to say, if greater want of skill

Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two, less dangerous is th' offence
To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
Some few in that, but numbers err in this,
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;

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