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If life Pygmalion's ivory favourite fir'd,
Sure fome enamour'd Godt his draught inspir'd !
Or, if you rafhly caught Promethean flame,
Shade the fweet theft, and mar the beauteous frame!
Yet if those cheering lights the prospect fly,
Ah!-let no pleasing view the lofs supply.
Some dreary den, fome defert waste prepare,
Wild as my thoughts, or dark as my despair.
But ftill, my friend, still the sweet object stays,
Still ftream your colours rich with Clio's rays!
Sure at each kindling touch your canvafs glows!
Sure the full form, inftinct with spirit, grows!
Let the dull artift puzzling rules explore,
Dwell on the face, and gaze the features o'er;
You eye the foul-there genuine nature find,
You, through the meaning muscles, ftrike the mind.
Nor can one view fuch boundless power confine,
All Nature opens to an art like thine!
Now rural scenes in fimple grandeur rise!
Vales, hills, lawns, lakes, and vineyards feast our eyes,
Now halcyon Peace a smiling aspect wears!
Now the red scene with war and ruin glares!
Here Britain's fleets o'er Europe's feas prefide!
There long-loft cities rear their ancient pride;
You from the grave can half redeem the flain,
And bid great Julius charm the world again :
Mark out Pharfalia's, mark out Munda's fray,
And image all the honours of the day.
But if new glories moft our warmth excite;
If toils untry'd to nobleft aims invite;
Would you in envy'd pomp unrival'd reign,
Oh, let Horatius grace the canvass plain !
His form might ev'n idolatry create,
In lineage, titles, wealth, and worth elate!
Empires to him might virgin honours owe,
From him arts, arms, and laws, new influence know.
For him kind funs on fruits and grains fhall fhine,
And future gold lie ripening in the mine:
For him fine marble in the quarry lies,
Which, in due ftatues, to his fame fhall rife.
Through thofe bright features Cæfar's fpirit trace,
Each conquering fweetnefs, each imperial grace,
All that is foft, or eminently great,
In love, in war, in knowledge, or in state.
Thus fhall your colours, like his worth amaze ! Thus fhall you charm, enrich'd with Clio's praife! Clear, and more clear, your golden genius fhines, While my dim lamp of life obfcure declines : Dull'd in damp fhades, it wastes, unfeen, away, While yours, triumphant, grows one blaze of day.
With the TRAGEDY of SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, expecting him to correct it.
S the foul, ftript of mortal clay,
Grows all divinely fair,
And boundless roves the milky way,
And views fweet profpects there,
This hero, clogg'd with droffy lines,
By thee new vigour tries;
As thy correcting hand refines,
Bright scenes around him rise.
Thy touch brings the wifh'd ftone to pafs,
So fought, fo long foretold;
It turns polluted lead or brafs,
At once to pureft gold.
SPOKEN AT THE REVIVAL OF
SHAKESPEARE'S KING HENRY THE SIXTH, At the THEATRE-ROYAL in DRURY-LANE.
Printed before the Play from a fpurious Copy.
10-night a patient ear, ye Britons lend,
And to your great forefathers' deeds attend.
Here, cheaply warn'd, ye bleft defcendants view,
What ills on England, Civil Difcord drew.
To wound the heart, the martial Mufe prepares;
While the red fcene with raging flaughter glares.
Here, while a monarch's fufferings we relate,
Let generous grief his ruin'd grandeur wait.
While Second Richard's blood for vengeance calls,
Doom'd for his grandfire's guilt, poor Henry falls. 10
In civil jars avenging judgment blows,
And royal wrongs entail a people's woes.
Henry, unvers'd in wiles, more good than great,
Drew on by meeknefs his difaftrous fate.
Thus when you fee this land by faction toft,
Her nobles flain, her laws, her freedom loft;
Let this reflection from the action flow,
We ne'er from foreign fces could ruin know.
Oh, let us then inteftine difcord thun,
We ne'er can be, but by ourselves, undone !
Occafioned by his Grace the Duke of RUTLAND'S receiving the SMALL-POX by INOCULATION.
IN Animalcules, Mufe, difplay
Spirits, of name unknown in fong!
Reader, a kind attention pay,.
Nor. think an useful comment long..
Far lefs than mites, on mites they prey;.
Minutest things may fwarms contain :
When o'er your ivory teeth they stray,
Then throb your little nerves with pain..
Fluids, in drops, minutely fwell;
Thefe fubtil beings each contains ;
In the fmall fanguine globes they dwell,
Roll from the heart, and trace the veins.
Through every tender tube they rove,
In finer fpirits ftrike the brain;
Wind quick through every fibrous grove,
And feek, through pores, the heart again.