And, mixing with buffoons and pimps prophane, Well may we change, but we shall never mend. Yet, if you can but bear the prefent Stage, } } In In short, we'll grow as moral as we can, EPIGRAM, On the Dutchefs of PORTSMOUTH'S Picture. URE we do live by Cleopatra's age, SURE Since Sunderland does govern now the stage: She of Septimius had nothing made, Pompey alone had been by her betray'd. Were the a poet, fhe would furely boast, That all the world for pearls had well been loft. EPITAPH. Intended for Mr. DRYDEN'S Wife. ERE lies wife here let her lie! HERE my Now the 's at reft, and fo am I. DESCRIPTION of old JACOB TONSON*. WITH ITH leering look, bull-fac'd, and freckled fair, With two left-legs, with Judas-colour'd hair, And frowzy pores that taint the ambient air. * On Tonfon's refufing to give Dryden the price he afked for his Virgil, the Poet fent him the above; and added, "Tell the dog, that he who wrote them, can "write more." The money was paid. VERSES TO MR. DRYDEN. To the unknown AUTHOR of ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL. TAKE it as earnest of a faith renew'd, Your theme is vaft, your verse divinely good : 'Tis what the world would be, but wants the art; Fil'd off the ruft, and the right party chose. Turn not your feet too inward, nor too fplay. David, that rebel Ifrael's envy mov'd; The The beauties of your Abfalom excel : But more the charms of charming Annabel : Of Annabel, than May's first morn more bright, Of Annabel, the angel of my dream. And to your mafter-piece thefe fhadows fend. ** * NAT. LEE. Mr Duke's verfes to Mr Dryden may be feen in the volume of his Poems. To the concealed AUTHOR of ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL. HAIL, heaven-born Mufe! hail, every facred page! The glory of our ifle and of our age. Th' infpiring fun to Albion draws more nigh, The north at length teems with a work, to vie With Homer's flame and Virgil's majesty. While Pindus' lofty heights our poet fought, (His ravish'd mind with vaft ideas fraught) Our language fail'd beneath his rifing thought. This checks not his attempt; for Maro's mines ' He drains of all their gold, t' adorn his lines : Through each of which the Mantuan Genius fhines. The rock obey'd the powerful Hebrew guide, Her finty breast diffolv'd into a tide : Thus on our ftubborn language he prevails, And makes the Helicon in which he fails; The dialect, as well as fenfe, invents, And, with his poem, a new fpeech prefents. Hail then, thou matchlefs Bard, thou great unknown, The caufe, whofe growth to crush, our prelates wrote In vain, almoft in vain our heroes fought; Yet by one flab of your keen fatire dies: Before your facred lines their shatter'd Dagon lies. The fire, to whom this lovely birth we owe : And can at beft but thankful be by guess; N. TATE. Upon the AUTHOR of the MEDAL. NCE more our awful poet arms, t'engage The threatening hydra-faction of the age; Once more prepares his dreadful pen to wield, And every Mufe attends him to the field. U 2 By |