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Jones and Palladio to themselves restore,
And be whate'er Vitruvius was before:
"Till Kings call forth th' Ideas of your mind,
(Proud to accomplish what fuch hands design'd,)
Bid Harbours open, public Ways extend,
Bid Temples, worthier of the God, afcend;
Bid the broad arch the dang'rous Flood contain,
The mole projected break the roring Main;
Back to his bounds their subject sea command,
And roll obedient Rivers thro' the Land:
Thefe Honours, Peace to happy Britain brings,
These are Imperial Works, and worthy Kings.

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SEE the wild wafte of all devouring years!
How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears,
With nodding arches, broken temples fpread!
The very tombs now vanifh like their dead!
Imperial wonders rais'd on Nations spoil'd,
Where mix'd with Slaves the groaning Martyr toil'd:
Huge Theatres, that now unpeopled woods,
Now drain'd a distant country of her floods:
Fanes which admiring Gods with pride furvey,
Statues of men, scarce less alive than they!
Some felt the filent ftroke of mouldring age,
Some hoftile fury, fome religious rage.
Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.
Perhaps, by its own ruin fav'd from flame,
Some bury'd marble half preferves a name;
That name the learn'd with fierce difputes purfue,
And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.

Ambition figh'd: fhe found it vain to truft

The faithlefs column and the crumbling buft:
Huge moles whofe fhadow ftretch'd from shore to shore,
Their ruins perifh'd, and their place no more!
Convinc'd, the now contracts her vast design,
And all her triumphs fhrink into a Coin.
A narrow orb each crouded conquest keeps,
Beneath her palm here fad Judea weeps.
Now fcantier limits the proud arch confine,
And fcarce are seen the proftrate Nile or Rhine;
A fmall Euphrates thro' the piece is roll'd,
And little Eagles wave their wings in gold.

The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame,
Thro' climes and ages bears each form and name:
In one fhort view fubjected to our eye
Gods, Emperors, Heroes, Sages, Beauties, lic.
With fharpen'd fight pale Antiquaries pore,
Th' infcription value, but the rust adore.
This the blue varnish, that the green endears,
The facred ruft of twice ten hundred years!
To gain Pefcennius one employs his schemes,
One grafps a Cecrops in extatic dreams.

Poor Vadius, long with learned fpleen devour'd,
Can taste no pleasure fince his fhield was fcour'd:
And Curio, restless by the fair-one's fide,

Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.

Theirs is the Vanity, the learning thine : Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories fhine; Her Gods, and godlike Heroes rise to view, And all her faded garlands bloom a-new..

Nor blush, these studies thy regard engage;
These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage:
The verfe and sculpture bore an equal part,
And art reflected images to art.

Oh when shall Britain, confcious of her claim,
Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame ?
In living medals fee her wars enroll'd,
And vanquish'd realms fupply recording gold?
Here, rifing bold, the Patriot's honeft face;
There, Warriors frowning in hiftoric brafs:
Then future ages with delight shall fee
How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree:
Ör in fair feries laurel'd Bards be shown,

A Virgil there, and here an Addison.

Then fhall thy CRAGGS (and let me call him mine) On the caft ore, another Pollio shine;

With afpect open fhall erect his head,

And round the orb in lafting notes be read, "Statesman, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere, "In action faithful, and in honour clear; "Who broke no promife, ferv'd no private end, "Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend; "Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,

“And prais'd, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov'd.”

K 3

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