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If on ce, to blefs Pigmalion's longing arms,
The marble foften'd into living charms;
And warm with life the purple current ran
In circling streams through every flinty vein;
If, with his own creating hands display'd,
He hugg'd the statue, and embrac'd a maid;
And with the breathing image fir'd his heart,
The pride of nature, and the boast of art:
Hear my request, and crown my wondrous flame,
The fame its nature, be thy gift the fame;
Give me the like unufual joys to prove,
And though irregular, indulge my love.
Delighted Venus heard the moving prayer,
And foon refolv'd to eafe the lover's care,
To fet Mifs Tabby off with every grace,
To drefs, and fit her for the youth's embrace.
Now the by gradual change her form forfook,
Firft her round face an oval figure took;
The roguish dimples next his heart beguile,
And each grave whisker foften'd to a smile;
Unusual ogles wanton'd in her eye,
Her folemn purring dwindled to a figh:
Sudden, a huge hoop-petticoat difplay'd,
A wide circumference! intrench'd the maid,
And for the tail in waving circles play'd.
Her fur, as deftin'd ftill her charms to deck,
Made for her hands a muff, a tippet for her neck.
In the fine lady now her fhape was loft,

And by fuch strange degrees fhe grew a toast;

Was all for ombre now; and who but she,
To talk of modes and fcandal o'er her tea;
To fettle every fashion of the fex,
And run through all the female politics;
To fpend her time at toilet and baffet,
To play, to flaunt, to flutter, and coquet :
From a grave thinking moufer, she was grown
The gayeft flirt that coach'd it round the town.
But fee how often fome intruding woe,
Nips all our blooming profpects at a blow!
For as the youth his lovely confort led
To the dear pleasures of the nuptial bed,
Juft on that infant from an inner house,
Into the chamber popt a heedlefs mouse.
Mifs Tabby faw, and brooking no delay,
Sprung from the fheets, and feiz'd the trembling prey:
Nor did the bride, in that ill-fated hour,
Reflect that all her moufing-days were o'er.
The youth, astonish'd, felt a new despair,
Ixion-like he grafp'd, and grafp'd but air;
He faw his vows and prayers in vain bestow'd,
And loft the jilting goddefs in a cloud.

To

To Mr. POPE, on his TRANSLATION of

TIS

HOMER'S ILIAD.

IS true, what fam'd Pythagoras maintain'd,
That fouls departed in new bodies reign'd:
We must approve the doctrine, fince we fee
The foul of godlike Homer breathe in thee.
Old Ennius first, then Virgil felt her fires;
But now a British Poet the infpires.

To you, O Pope, the lineal right extends,
Το you th' hereditary Mufe defcends.

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At a vast distance we of Homer heard,
Till you brought in, and naturaliz'd the Bard
Bade him our English rights and freedom claim,
His voice, his habit, and his air the fame.
Now in the mighty ftranger we rejoice,
And Britain thanks thee with a public voice.
See! too the Poet, a majestic shade,
Lifts up in awful pomp his laurel'd head,
To thank his fucceffor, who fets him free
From the vile hands of Hobbes and Ogilby;
Who vext his venerable afhes more,

Than his ungrateful Greece, the living Bard before.
While Homer's thoughts in thy bold lines are shown,
Though worlds contend, we claim him for our own;
Our blooming boys proud Ilion's fate bewail;
Our lifping babes repeat the dreadful tale,
Ev'n in their flumbers they pursue the theme,
Start, and enjoy a fight in every dream.

By

By turns the chief and bard their fouls inflame,
And every little bofom beats for fame.

Thus fhall they learn (as future times will fee)
From him to conquer, or to write from thee.

In every hand we see the glorious song,
And Homer is the theme of every tongue.
Parties in ftate poetic schemes employ,

And Whig and Tory fide with Greece and Troy ;
Neglect their feuds; and feem more zealous grown
To push those countries interefts than their own.
Our bufieft politicians have forgot

How Somers counfel'd, and how Marlborough fought;
But o'er their fettling coffee gravely tell,

What Neftor spoke, and how brave Hector fell.
Our fofteft beaux and coxcombs you inspire,

With Glaucus' courage, and Achilles' fire.

Now they refent affronts which once they bore,

And draw thofe fwords that ne'er were drawn before: Nay, ev'n our belles, inform'd how Homer writ,

Learn thence to criticize on modern wit.

Let the mad criticks to their fide engage

The envy, pride, and dulness of the age:
In vain they curfe, in vain they pine and mourn,
Back on themselves their arrows will return;
Whoe'er would thy establish'd fame deface,
Are but immortaliz'd to their difgrace.
Live, and enjoy their fpight, and share that fate,
Which would, if Homer liv'd, on Homer wait.

And lo! his fecond labour claims thy care,

Ulyffes' toils fucceed Achilles' war.

Hafte

Hafte to the work; the ladies long to fee
The pious frauds of chafte Penelope.

Helen they long have seen, whose guilty charms
For ten whole years engag'd the world in arms.
Then, as thy fame shall fee a length of days,
Some future Bard fhall thus record thy praise :
"In those bleft times when fmiling heaven and fate
Had rais'd Britannia to her happiest state,

"When wide around, fhe faw the world fubmit,
"And own her fons fupreme in arts and wit;
"Then Pope and Dryden brought in triumph home,
"The pride of Greece, and ornament of Rome;
"To the great task each bold translator came,
"With Virgil's judgment, and with Homer's flame;
"Here the pleas'd Mantuan fwan was taught to foar,
"Where scarce the Roman eagles tower'd before:
"And Greece no more was Homer's native earth,
"Though her feven rival cities claim'd his birth;
"On her feven cities he look'd down with fcorn,
"And own'd with pride he was in Britain born."

Part of the FIRST NEID of VIRGIL

A'

tranflated.

RMS and the man I fing, the firft who driven

By fate from Troy, the fugitive of heaven,

On land and fea by toils and tempests tost,
Came to the Latian and Lavinian coaft;
Forc'd by the Gods inceffant wars to wage,
And urg'd by Juno's unrelenting rage;

Ere

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