'Twas then plain DONNE in honeft vengeance rofe, His Wit harmonious, tho' his Rhyme was profe: He 'midst an Age of Puns and Pedants wrote With genuine fenfe, and Roman ftrength of thought.
Yet fcarce had SATIRE well relum'd her flame, (With grief the Muse records her Country's fhame) Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence,
And treach'rous Wit began her war with Sense.
Then rose a shameless mercenary train,
Whom latest Time fhall view with just disdain:
A race fantastick, in whofe gaudy line
Untutor'd thought, and tinfel beauty fhine;
Wit's shatter'd Mirror lies in fragments bright,
Reflects not Nature, but confounds the fight.
Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to fing: 425
'Twas all his praise to say,
"the oddest thing."
Proud for a jeft obfcene, a Patron's nod,
To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.
Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can fee 429 Th' extremes of wit and meannefs join'd in Thee!
Flames that could mount, and gain their kindred skies,
Low-creeping in the putrid fink of vice:
A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The Pimp of Pow'r, the Proftitute to Gain: 434
Wreaths, that should deck fair Virtue's form alone,
To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants, vilely thrown:
Unrival'd Parts, the fcorn of honest fame;
And Genius rife, a Monument of shame!
More happy France: immortal BOILEAU there Supported Genius with a Sage's care: Him with her love propitious SATIRE bleft, And breath'd her airs divine into his breast: Fancy and Senfe to form his line confpire, And faultlefs Judgment guides the purest Fire.
But fee, at length, the British Genius fmile, 445 And fhow'r her bounties o'er her favour'd Ifle: Behold for PoPE fhe twines the laurel crown, And centers ev'ry Poet's pow'r in one: Each Roman's force adorns his various page; Gay fmiles, collected ftrength, and manly rage.
Defpairing Guilt and Dulness loath the fight, 451
As Spectres vanish at approaching light:
In this clear Mirror with delight we view
Each image juftly fine, and boldly true:
Here Vice, drag'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree,
Beholds and hates her own deformity:
While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modeft joy furveys her form divine.
But oh, what thoughts, what numbers fhall I find
But faintly to exprefs the Poet's mind!
Who yonder Star's effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?
Who paint a God, unless the God inspire?
What catch the Lightning, but the speed of fire?
So, mighty POPE, to make thy Genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers—but thy own.466
Each Mufe for thee with kind contention ftrove,
For thee the Graces left th' IDALIAN grove;
With watchful fondness o'er thy cradle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant tongue.
Next, to her Bard majestic Wisdom came; 471
The Bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame :
With tafte fuperior fcorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can fway, or guilty greatness bribe ;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the stream, and trifle in the gale :
Sublimer views thy daring Spirit bound;
Thy mighty Voyage was Creation's round;
Intent new Worlds of Widom to explore,
And blefs Mankind with Virtue's facred store
A nobler joy than Wit can give, impart;
And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic Wit shoots momentary fires,
And, like a Meteor, while we gaze, expires:
Wit kindled by the fulph'rous breath of Vice, 485
Like the blue lightning, while it shines, destroys:
But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,
Burns clear and conftant, like the fource of day:
Like this, its beam prolifick and refin'd,
Feeds, warms, infpirits, and exalts the mind; 490
Mildly difpels each wint'ry Paffion's gloom,
opens all the Virtues into bloom.
This Praife, immortal POPE, to thee be giv'n:
Thy Genius was indeed a Gift from Heav'n.
Hail, Bard unequal'd, in whose deathless line 495
Reason and Wit with strength collected shine ;
Where matchlets Wit but wins the fecond praife,
Toil, nobly lot, in Truth's iuperior blaze.
Did FRIENDSHIP e'er mislead thy wand'ring Mufe? That Friendship fure may plead the great excuse : That facred Friendship which infpir'd thy Song, Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.
Error like this ev'n Truth can scarce reprove; 'Tis almoft Virtue when it flows from Love.
Ye deathless Names, ye Sons of endless praise, By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays! 506 Say, shall an artless Muse, if you infpire, Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire? Or if, O WARBURTON, infpir'd by You, The daring Muse a nobler path pursue, By You infpir'd, on trembling pinion foar, The facred founts of focial blifs explore, In her bold numbers chain the Tyrant's rage, And bid her Country's glory fire her page:
If such her fate, do thou, fair Truth, descend, 515
And watchful guard her in an honest end:
Kindly fevere, inftruct her equal line
To court no Friend, nor own a Foe but thine.
But if her giddy eye fhould vainly quit
Thy facred paths, to run the maze of wit; 520
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