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النشر الإلكتروني

Flies like the nimble journies of the light;
And is, like that, unfpent too in its flight.
Whatever truths have been, by art or chance,
Redeem'd from error, or from ignorance,
Thin in their authors, like rich veins of ore,
Your works unite, and ftill discover more.
Such is the healing virtue of your pen,
To perfect cures on books, as well as men.
Nor is this work the leaft: you well may give
To men new vigor, who make stones to live.
Thro you, the Danes, their fhort dominion loft,
A longer conqueft than the Saxons boast.
Stonehenge, once thought a temple, you have found
A throne, where kings, our earthly gods, were
crown'd;

Where by their wond'ring subjects they were feen'
Joy'd with their ftature, and their princely mien..
Our fovereign here above the rest might stand,
And here be chofe again to rule the land.

These ruins shelter'd once his facred head,
When he from Wor'fter's fatal battle fled;
Watch'd by the genius of this royal place,
And mighty vifions of the Danish race.
His refuge then was for a temple shown:
But, he reftor'd, 'tis now become a throne.

EPISTLÉ the THIRD.

LADY

то THE

CASTLE MAI N,

Upon her encouraging his first PLAY.

A$

S feamen, fhipwreck'd on fome happy fhore,

Discover wealth in lands unknown before;
And, what their art had labor'd long in vain,
By their misfortunes happily obtain :

So my much-envy'd mufe, by ftorms long toft,
Is thrown upon your hofpitable coast,
And finds more favor by her ill fuccefs,
Than fhe could hope for by her happiness.
Once Cato's virtue did the gods oppose;
While they the victor, he the vanquish'd chose :
But
you have done what Cato could not do,
To choose the vanquish'd, and restore him too.
Let others still triumph, and gain their cause
By their deferts, or by the world's applause;
Let merit crowns, and juftice laurels give,
But let me happy by your pity live.
True poets empty fame and praise despise,
Fame is the trumpet, but your smile the prize.

1

You fit above, and fee vain men below
Contend for what you only can bestow:
But those great actions others do by chance,
Are, like your beauty, your inheritance:
So great a foul, fuch fweetnefs join'd in one,
Could only fpring from noble Grandifon.
You, like the stars, not by reflection bright,
Are born to your own heaven, and your own light;
Like them are good, but from a nobler cause,
From your own knowlege, not from nature's laws.
Your power you never use, but for defence,
To guard your own, or other's innocence :
Your foes are fuch, as they, not you,

And virtue may repel, tho not invade.

have made,

Such courage did the antient heroes show,

Who, when they might prevent, would wait the blow:

With fuch affurance as they meant to say,
We will o'ercome, but fcorn the fafeft way.
What further fear of danger can there be ?
Beauty, which captives all things, fets me free.
Pofterity will judge by my success,

I had the Grecian poet's happiness,

Who, waving plots, found out a better way;
Some God defcended, and preferv'd the play.

When first the triumphs of your fex were fung

By those old poets, beauty was but

young,

And few admir'd the native red and white,
Till poets drefs'd them up to charm the fight;
So beauty took on truft, and did

engage
For fums of praises till she came to age.
But this long-growing debt to poetry
You justly, madam, have discharg'd to me,
When your applause and favor did infuse
New life to my condemn'd and dying muse.

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T

то

his ALEXANDER.

HE blaft of common cenfure could I fear,
Before your play my name should not appear;
For 'twill be thought, and with fome color too,
I the bribe I firft receiv'd from you;
pay

That mutual vouchers for our fame we ftand,
And play the game into each other's hand;
And as cheap pen'orths to ourselves afford,
As Beffus and the brothers of the fword,

Such libels private men may well endure,
When states and kings themselves are not fecure:
For ill men, confcious of their inward guilt,
Think the beft actions on by-ends are built.
And yet my filence had not 'fcap'd their spite;
Then, envy had not fuffer'd me to write;
For, fince I could not ignorance pretend,
Such merit I must envy or commend.
So many candidates there ftand for wit,
A place at court is fcarce fo hard to get:
In vain they crowd each other at the door;
For e'en reverfions are all begg'd before:
Defert, how known foe'er, is long delay'd;
And then too fools and knaves are better pay'd.
Yet, as fome actions bear so great a name,
That courts themselves are just, for fear of shame;
So has the mighty merit of your play
Extorted praise, and forc'd itself away.
'Tis here as 'tis at fea; who farthest goes,
Or dares the most, makes all the reft his foes.
Yet when fome virtue much outgrows the reft,
It shoots too faft, and high, to be expreft;
As his heroic worth ftruck envy dumb,

Who took the Dutchman, and who cut the boom.

Such

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