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Poets are bound a loud applause to pay ; 15 Apollo bids it, and they must obey.

And yet fo wonderful, fublime a thing,

As the great ILIAD, fcarce 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 defert in Sciences exceed.

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

To Mr. POPE, on his Paftorals.

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N these more dull, as more cenforious days, When few dare give, and fewer merit praise, A Muse fincere, that never Flatt'ry knew, Pays what to friendship and desert is due. Young, yet judicious; in your verfe are found Art ftrength'ningNature, Sense improv'd by Sound. Unlike those Wits, whose numbers glide along So fmooth, no thought e'er interrupts the fong: 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 best most musically dull :

So purling ftreams with even murmurs creep,
And hush the heavy hearers into sleep.

As smoothest speech is most deceitful found, 15
The fmootheft numbers oft are empty found.
But Wit and Judgment join at once in you,
Sprightly as Youth, as Age confummate too :
Your ftrains are regularly bold, and please
With unforc'd care, and unaffected ease, 20
With proper thoughts, and lively images :
Such as by Nature to the Antients fhewn,
Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own:
For great mens fashions to be follow'd are,
Altho' difgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear.
Some in a polish'd style write Paftoral,
Arcadia speaks the language of the Mall;
Like fome fair Shepherdefs, the Sylvan Muse,
Should wear those flow'rs her native fields produce;
And the true measure of the shepherd's wit 30
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

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In filks the fhepherd, and the shepherdefs; 35

Yet ftill unchang'd the form and mode remain,' Shap'd like the homely ruffet of the swain. Your rural Muse appears to justify

The long loft graces of Simplicity:

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So rural beauties captivate our sense
With virgin charms, and native excellence.
Yet long her Modesty thofe charms conceal'd,
'Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd;
For Wits induftrious 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 Muse did once, like thine, in plains delight;
Thine shall, like his, foon take a higher flight;
So Larks, which firft from lowly fields arife, 50
Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies.

W. WICHERLEY.

To Mr. POPE, on his Windfor-Forest.

AIL, facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before

HAIL

Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore. To our dark world thy fhining page is shown,

And Windfor's gay retreat becomes our own.

The Eaftern pomp had just bespoke our care, 5
And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here:
A various fpoil adorn'd our naked land,
The pride of Perfia glitter'd on our strand,
And China's Earth was caft on common fand:
Tofs'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay, 10
And drefs'd the rocky fhelves, and pav'd the
painted bay.

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

From thy luxuriant Foreft we receive

More lafting glories than the Eaft can give. 15
Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page,
What pompous scenes our busy thoughts engage!
The pompous fcenes in all their pride appear,
Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were.
Nor half fo true the fair Lodona fhows

grows,

The fylvan ftate that on her border
While the the wond'ring fhepherd entertains
With a new Windfor in her wat'ry plains;
Thy jufter lays the lucid wave furpass,

The living scene is in the Muse's glass.
Nor fweeter notes the echoing Forefts chear,
When Philomela fits and warbles there,

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2.5

Than when you fing the greens aud op'ning glades,

And give us Harmony as well as Shades:

A Titian's hand might draw the

grove,

but you

Can paint the grove, and add the Mufic too.

With vast variety thy pages shine; A new creation starts in ev'ry line.

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How fudden trees rife to the reader's fight,
And make a doubtful scene of shade and light,
And give at once the day, at once the night!
And here again what sweet confufion reigns,
In dreary deferts mix'd with painted plains!
And fee! the deferts caft a pleafing gloom,
And shrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom: 40
Whilft fruitful crops rife by their barren fide,
And bearded groves difplay their annual pride.

Happy the man, who ftrings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields inspire !

Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell 45 Amidst the rural joys you fing fo well.

I in a cold, and in a barren clime,

Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme,

Here on the Western beach attempt to chime.

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