"Ye Poets, who my labours fee,

"Come share the triumph all with me!

"Ye Critics! born to vex the Mufe,

"Go mourn the grand ally you lose.

An ALLEGORY on MAN.

A

Thoughtful Being, long and fpare,

Our race of mortals call him Care:

(Were Homer living, well he knew

What name the Gods have call'd him too)
With fine mechanic genius wrought,

And lov'd to work, tho' no one bought.
This Being by a model bred

In Jove's eternal fable head,

Contriv'd a shape impow'r'd to breathe,

And be the worldling here beneath.
The Man rofe flaring, like a ftake;
Wond'ring to fee himself awake!
Then look'd fo wife, before he knew
The bus'nefs he was made to do;

That

That pleas'd to fee with what a grace
He gravely fhew'd his forward face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An Under-fomething of the sky.

But ere he gave the mighty nod,
Which ever binds a Poet's God:
(For which his curls ambrosial shake,
And mother Earth's obliged to quake:)
He faw old mother Earth arife,

She ftood confefs'd before his eyes;
But not with what we read she wore,
A castle for a crown before,

Nor with long streets and longer roads
Dangling behind her, like commodes:
As yet with wreaths alone fhe dreft,
And trail'd a landskip-painted veft.
Then thrice she rais'd, as Ovid said,
And thrice she bow'd, her weighty head.

Her honours made, great Jove, the cry'd, This thing was fashion'd from my fide;

His hands, his heart, his head are mine;
Then what haft thou to call him thine?
Nay rather afk, the Monarch faid,
What boots his hand, his heart, his head,
Were what I gave remov'd away ?

Thy part's an idle fhape of clay.

Halves, more than halves! cry'd honeft Care,

Your pleas wou'd make your titles fair,
You claim the body, you the foul,

But I who join'd them, claim the whole.
Thus with the Gods debate began,

On fuch a trivial caufe, as Man.
And can celeftial tempers rage?

Quoth Virgil, in a later age.

As thus they wrangled, Time came by; (There's none that paint him fuch as I, For what the fabling Ancients fung

Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.)
As yet his winters had not fhed

Their filver honours on his head;

He just had got his pinions free
From his old fire Eternity.

A ferpent girdled round he wore,

The tail within the mouth, before;

By which our almanacks are clear
That learned Ægypt meant the year.
A ftaff he carry'd, where on high
A glass was fix'd to measure by,
As amber boxes made a show

For heads of canes an age ago.

His veft, for day, and night, was py'd ;
A bending fickle arm'd his fide;

And Spring's new months his train adorn;

The other Seasons were unborn.

Known by the Gods, as near he draws, They make him umpire of the cause. O'er a low trunk his arm he laid,

Where fince his hours a dial made;

Then leaning heard the nice debate,
And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate.

Since body from the parent Earth,
And foul from Jove receiv'd a birth,
Return they where they first began ;
But fince their union makes the Man,
'Till Jove and Earth fhall part these two,
To Care who join'd them, Man is due.
He said, and sprung with swift career
To trace a circle for the year;

Where ever since the Seasons wheel,
And tread on one another's heel:

'Tis well, faid Jove, and for confent,
Thund'ring he shook the firmament.
Our umpire Time fhall have his way,
With Care I let the creature stay :
Let bus'ness vex him, av'rice blind,

Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind,

Let error act, opinion fpeak,

And want afflict, and fickness break,,

And anger burn, dejection chill,

And joy diftract, and forrow kill.