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TO

THE RIGHT HON. JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ

HIS MAJESTY's PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STATE.

I

DEAR SIR,

CANNOT with that any of

my writings fhould laft longer than the memory of our friendship and, therefore, I thus publicly bequeath them to you, in return for the many valuable inftances of your affection.

That they may come to you with as little difadvantage as poffible, I have left the care of them to one*, whom, by the experience of some years, I know well qualified to answer my intentions. He has already the honour and happiness of being under your protection; and, as he will very much stand in need of it, I cannot with him better, than that he may continue to deferve the favour and countenance of fuch a patron.

I have no time to lay out in forming fuch compliments, as would but ill fuit that familiarity between us, which was once my greatest pleasure, and will be my greatest honour hereafter. Inftead of them, accept of my hearty wishes, that the great reputation you have acquired fo early, may increase more and more: and that you may long ferve your country with thofe excellent talents, B 2

*Mr. Tickell.

and

and unblemished integrity, which have fo powerfully recommended you to the most gracious and amiable Monarch that ever filled a throne. May the franknefs and generofity of your fpirit continue to soften and fubdue your enemies, and gain you many friends, if poffible, as fincere as yourself. When you have found fuch, they cannot wish you more true happinefs than I, who am, with the greatest zeal,

Dear SIR,

Your moft entirely affectionate friend,

and faithful obedient fervant,

June 4, 1719

J. ADDISON.

P

E

M S

BY

MR. A D D IS ON.

H

TO MR. DRY D E N.

OW long, great Poet, fhall thy facred lays

Provoke our 'wonder, and tranfcend our praise?

Can neither injuries of time, or age,

Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage?

Not fo thy Ovid in his exile wrote,

Grief chill'd his breaft, and check'd his rifing thought:
Pensive and fad, his drooping Mufe betrays
The Roman genius in its last decays.,

Prevailing warmth has still thy mind poffeft,
And fecond youth is kindled in thy breatt;
Thou mak'ft the beauties of the Romans known,
And England boasts of riches not her own;
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majesty,
And Horace wonders at himfelf in thee.
Thou teacheft Perfius to inform our ifle
In fmoother numbers, and a clearer ftyle;
And Juvenal, inftructed in thy page,
Edges his fatire, and improves his rage.
Thy copy cafts a fairer light on all,
And ftill out-fhines the bright original.

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