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If once, to bless Pigmalion's longing arms,
The marble soften’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 hoast of art :
Hear my request, and crown my wondrous Aame,
The same its nature, be thy gift the same;
Give me the like unusual joys to prove,
And though irregular, indulge my love.

Delighted Venus heard the moving prayer,
And soon resolv'd to ease the lover's care,
To set Miss Tabby off with every grace,
To dress, and fit her for the youth's embrace.

Now she by gradual change her form forsook,
First her round face an oval figure took ;
The roguish dimples next his heart beguile,
And each


whisker soften’d to a fnile;
Unusual ogles wanton'd in her eye,
Her solemn purring dwindled to a sigh :
Sudden, a huge loop-petticoat display d,
A wide circumference! intrench'd the maid,
And for the tail in waving circles play'd.
Her fur, as deftin'd still her charms to deck,
Made for her hands a muff, a tippet for her neck.

In the fine lady now her Mape was lost,
And by such strange degrees she grew a toast;


Was all for ombre now; and who but she,
To talk of modes and scandal o'er her tea;
To settle every fashion of the sex,
And run through all the female politics;
To spend her time at toilet and baffet,
To play, to flaunt, to flutter, and coquet :
From a grave thinking mouser, she was grown
The gayest fiirt that coach'd it round the town.

But see how often some intruding woe,
Nips all our blooming prospects at a blow!
For as the youth his lovely consort led
To the dear pleasures of the nuptial bed,
Just on that instant from an inner house,
Into the chamber popt a heedless mouse.
Miss Tabby faw, and brooking no delay,
Sprung from the sheets, and seiz’d the trembling prey:
Nor did the bride, in that ill-fated hour,
Reflect that all her mousing-days were o’er.
The youth, astonish'd, felt a new despair,
Ixion-like he graspd, and grasp'd but air ;
He saw his vows and prayers in vain bestow'd,
And lost the jilting goudets in a cloud.



To Mr. POPE, on his TRANSLATION of



IS true, what fam'd Pythagoras maintain'd,

That souls departed in new bodies reign'd: We must approve

the doctrine, fince we see
The soul of godlike Homer breathe in thee.
Old Ennius first, then Virgil felt her fires;
But now a British Poet the inspires.

To you, O Pope, the lineal right extends,
To you th' hereditary Muse descends.
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 same.
Now in the mighty ftranger we rejoice,
And Britain thanks thee with a public voice.

See! too the Poet, a majestic fade,

in awful


his laurel'd head, To thank his successor, who sets him free From the vile hands of Hobbes and Ogilby; Who vext his venerable ashes 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 Ilioa's fate bewail ; Our lisping babes repeat the dreadful tale, Ev’n in their numbers they pursue the theme, Start, and enjoy a fight in every dream,


By turns the chief and bard their souls inflame,
And every little bosom beats for fame.
Thus shall they learn (as future times will see)
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 side with Greece and Troy ;
Neglect their feuds; and seem more zealous grown
To push those countries interests than their own.
Our busiest politicians have forgot
How Somers counfeld, and how Marlborough fought;
But o'er their fettling coffee gravely tell,
What Nestor spoke, and how brave Hector fell.
Our softest beaux and coxcombs you inspire,
With Glaucus' courage, and Achilles' fire.
Now they resent affronts which once they bore,
And draw those swords 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 curse, in vain they pine and mourn,
Back on themselves their arrows will return;
Whoe'er would thy establish'd fame deface,
Are but immortalizid to their disgrace.
Live, and enjoy their spight, and share that fate,
Which would, if Homer liv’d, on Homer wait.

And lo! his second labour claims thy care,
Ulysses' toils succeed Achilles' war.


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Haste to the work; the ladies long to see The pious frauds of chaste Penelope. Helen they long have seen, whose guilty charms For ten whole years engag’d the world in arms. Then, as thy fame shall see a length of days, Some future Bard fhall thus record thy praise : “ In those blest times when smiling heaven and fate “ Had rais'd Britannia to her happiest state, “ When wide around, she saw the world submit, “ And own her sons supreme 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 swan was taught to soar,. " Where scarce the Roman eagles tower'd before : “ And Greece no more was Homer's native earth,

Though her seven rival cities claim'd his birth ; « On her seven cities he lcok'd down with scorn, “ And own’d with pride he was in Britain born.”



By fate from Troy, the fugitive of heaven,
On land and sea by toils and tempests tost,
Canje to the Latian and Lavinian coast;
Forc'd by the Gods incessant wars to wage
And urg'd by Juno's unrelenting rage;

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