Some judge of authors names, not works, and then A constant Critic at the great man's board, 415 420 As oft the Learn'd by being fingular; 425 So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng By chance go right, they purposely go wrong: So Schifmatics the plain believers quit, And are but damn'd for having too much wit. Some praise at morning what they blame at night; 430 But always think the laft opinion right. A Mufe by these is like a mistress us'd, This hour the 's idoliz'd, the next abus'd; While their weak heads like towns unfortify'd, 'Twixt fenfe and nonfenfe daily change their fide. 435 Ask them the caufe; they're wifer ftill, they fay; And ftill to-morrow's wifer than to-day. VARIATIONS. Ver. 413. Ed. 1. Nor praise nor damn, &c. We We think our fathers fools; fo wife we grow; 440 Scotifts and Thomifts, now in peace remain, Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck-lane. 445 If Faith itself has different dreffes worn, What wonder modes in Wit should take their turn? The current folly proves the ready wit; 450 Which lives as long as fools are pleas'd to laugh. When we but praise ourselves in other men. 455 Parties in Wit attend on thofe of State, And public faction doubles private hate. VARIATION. Ver. 447. Between this and ver. 448. Pride, The rhyming Clowns that gladded Shakespeare's age, No more with crambo entertain the stage. Who now in Anagrams their Patron praise, Or fing their. Miftrefs in Acroftic lays; Ev'n pulpits pleas'd with merry puns of yore;. Pride, Malice, Folly, against Dryden rofe, Might he return, and bless once more our eyes, Envy will merit, as its fhade, purfue; But, like a fhadow, proves the fubftance true: 460 465 470 Be thou the first true merit to befriend; His praife is loft, who stays till all commend. 475 Short is the date, alas, of modern rhymes, And 'tis but just to let them live betimes. No longer now that golden age appears, When Patriarch-wits furviv'd a thousand years: 480 And bare threefcore is all ev'n that can boaft; VARIATION. Ver. 485. Ed. 1. Some fair idea, &c. 485 Where Where a new world leaps out at his command, And sweetly melt into just shade and light; When mellowing years their full perfection give, 490 The treacherous colours the fair art betray, Unhappy wit, like most mistaken things, Like fome fair flower the early spring supplies, That gayly blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies. 495 What is this Wit, which muft our cares employ? 500 The most our trouble still when most admir'd, Whose fame with pains we guard, but lose with ease, VARIATIONS. 505 "Tis Ver. 490. Ed. I. When mellowing time does, &c. Ver. 492. The treacherous colours in few years decay, Ver. 495. Repays not half that envy, &c. Ver. 498. Like fome fair flower that in the spring does rife. Ver. 500. What is this wit that does our cares employ? Ver. 502. The more his trouble as the more admir'd; Where wanted, fcorn'd; and envy'd where acquir'd; Maintain'd with pains, but forfeited with ease, &c. 'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous fhun, If Wit fo much from ignorance undergo, Nor in the Critic let the man be loft. To err, is human; to forgive, divine. But if in noble minds fome dregs remain Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and four disdain ; VARIATIONS. Ver. 508. Ed. 1. Too much does Wit, &c. Ver. 521. Are mortals urg'd by facred, &c. 510 515 520 No |