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To Mr. A. POPE, who correctedmy Verfes.


F e'er my humble Muse melodious fings,

'Tis when you animate and tune her strings;
If e'er the mounts, 'tis when you prune her wings.
You, like the fun, your glorious beams display,
Deal to the darkeft orb a friendly ray,

And cloathe it with the luftre of the day.
Mean was the piece, unelegantly wrought,
The colours faint, irregular the draught;
But your commanding touch, your nicer art,
Rais'd every stroke, and brighten'd every part.
So, when Luke drew the rudiments of man,
An angel finish'd what the faint began ;
His wondrous pencil, dipt in heavenly dyes,

Gave beauty to the face, and lightning to the eyes.

Confus'd it lay, a rough unpolish'd mass,

You gave the royal stamp, and made it pass;
Hence ev'n deformity a beauty grew,

She pleas'd, the charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd by


Though like Prometheus I the image frame,

You give the life, and bring the heavenly flame.
Thus when the Nile diffus'd his watery train
In ftreams of plenty o'er the fruitful plain;
Unfhapen forms, the refufe of the flood,
Iffued imperfect from the teeming mud;

But the great fource and parent of the day,
Fathion'd the creature, and inform'd the clay.*
`Weak of herself, my Muse forbears her flight,
Views her own lowness, and Parnaffus' height;
But when you aid her song, and deign to nod,
She spreads a bolder wing, and feels the prefent God.
So the Cumaan prophetess was dumb,
Blind to the knowledge of events to come;


To nobler themes thy Mufe triumphant foars,
Mounts through the tracts of air, and heaven explores.
Say, has fome feraph tun'd thy facred lyre?
Or deign'd to touch thy hallow'd lips with fire?
For fure such founds exalt th' immortal string,
As heaven approves, and raptur'd angels fing.
Ah! how I liften, while the mortal lay
Lifts me from earth above the folar way!
Ah! how I look with fcorn on pompous crowns,
And pity monarchs on their fplendid thrones;
While, thou my guide, I trace all nature's laws,
By juft gradations, to the fovereign cause!
Pleas'd I furvey how varying schemes unite,
Worlds with the atoms, angels with the mite,
And end in God, high thron'd above all height,
Who fees, as Lord of all, with equal eye,
Now a proud tyrant perish, then a fly.
Methinks I view the patriarch's ladder rife,
Its bafe on earth, its fummit in the skies:
Each wondrous ftep by glorious angels trod,
And heaven unfolding to the throne of God,
Be this thy praife! I haunt the lovely bower,
Sport by the fpring, or paint the blooming flower,
Nor dares the Mufe attempt an arduous height, &c.


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Then fome kind power ftall gun my ghof te glados,

Where, frated by Eviar in ng.

Fam'd Adálím attunts to patriot ihales

His lyre, and Albion's glory fings.

There round, majefic fhades, and heroes forms,
Will throng, to learn what pilot guides,
Watchful, Britannia's helm through factious forms,
And curbs the murmuring rebel tides.

I tell how Townshend treads the glorious path
That leads the great to deathlefs fame,
And dwell at large on fpotle's English taith,
While Walpole is the favourite theme.

How, nobly rising in their country's caufè,
The stedfast arbiters of right

Exalt the juft and good, to guard her laws,
And call forth merit into light.
I 3

A lond

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Of all the pleas'd Elyfium flies.-

But, friend, what place had you, replies fome ghost, When merit was the way to rife?

What deanery, or prebend, thine, declare?

Good heavens! unable to reply, How like a stupid idiot I should stare ? An anfwer, good my lord, fupply.


FROM peace, and focial joy, Medusa flies,

And loves to hear the ftorm of anger rife; Thus hags and witches hate the smiles of day, Sport in loud thunder, and in tempests play.



ILLIA, with uncontefted fway, Like Rome's fam'd tyrant reigns; Beholds adoring crouds obey,

And heroes proud to wear her chains : Yet ftoops, like him, to every prize, Busy to murder beaux and flies.

She aims at every trifling heart,

Attends each flatterer's vows; And, like a picture drawn with art, A look on all that gaze bestows:

O! may

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Cach brutes in human danas, tu'.3ptians, worth.n anes.

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HLẻ Denia fines it tinctoriarumbo,

And Carts her tunently eTES AL Lome team!

Then lote betund her in refine,

Sees through the fucks whale rrouds admiring?
You in your netancholy (G-7,

And at the name ..f nan, 27, 1
Gr, then the conv auper aunners,
Say coldly---Sure the fellow stunners {
Unteen! hough eer meer approaches:
James, I'm abroau earn he coaches.
As Come young leader, when as juries
Cunili, through want of antroveries,
Attents, unti te dunks we til'i uil,
The afizes, Watminster, and Guldhail;
While graver lawyers keep meir àquiè, and
Collect the guineas by the thousand.

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