NSPIR’D by what melodious Hughes has sung,
I'll tune a lyre, that long has lain unstrung :
Awak’d from drowsy noth, and soothing rest,
Poetic transports fire my ravish'd breast !
What pleasure must retiring DRYDEN find,
To see that art his skilfu! Muse refin'd,
So much improv'd by those he leaves behind !
So when a father fees a careful fon
Enlarge those coffers, which were first his own,
With joy to heaven he lifts bis aged eyes,
Blesses his prosperous heir, and calmly' dies.
May all your fortune, like your numbers, fine,
And smoothly flow, 'without one rugged line !
Till we confess the genius is the fame,
That guides your fortune, and poetic flame. 15
So when of old fome sportive amorous god
Vouchsaf'd awhile to leave his bleft abode,
In whatsoever form the guest appear’d,
His heavenly lustre fhone, and was rever'd,