The righteous gods, that innocence require, Protect the goodness which themselves inspire Unguarded virtue human arts defies,
Th' aceus'd is happy, while th; accufer dies.
The Bard who fspread her fame to distant shores ; Since nobler pens, their mournful lays fufpend,
My honeft zeal, if not my verfe, commend,
Forgive the poet, and approve the friend.
Your care had long his fleeting life reftrain'd,
One table fed you, and one bed contain'd;
For his dear fake long restless nights you bore,
While rattling coughs his heaving veffels tore,
Much was his pain, but your affliction more.
Oh! had no fummons from the noify gown
Call'd thee, unwilling, to the naufeous town,
Thy love had o'er the dull disease prevail'd,
Thy mirth had cur'd where baffled physic fail'd ;
But fince the will of Heaven his fate decreed,
To thy kind care my worthless lines fucceed;
Fruitless our hopes, though pious our effays,
Yours to preserve a friend, and mine to praise.
Oh! might I paint him in Miltonian verfe,
With strains like those he fung on Glo'ster's herse;
But with the meaner tribe I 'm forc'd to chime,
And, wanting ftrength to rife, defcend to rhyme.
With other fire his glorious Blenheim fhines,
And all the battle thunders in his lines;
His nervous verfe great Boileau's ftrength transcends,
And France to Philips, as to Churchill, bends.
Oh! various bard, you all our powers control,
You now disturb, and now divert the foul:
Milton and Butler in thy mufe combine,
Above the last thy manly beauties shine;
For as I've seen, when rival wits contend,
One gayly charge, one gravely wife defend;
This on quick turns and points in vain relies,
This with a look demure, and steady eyes,
With dry rebukes, or fneering praife, replies.
So thy grave lines extort a jutter smile,
Reach Butler's fancy, but surpass his style;
He fpeaks Scarron's low phrase in humble strains,
In thee the folemn air of great Cervantes reigns.
What founding lines his abject themes exprefs!
What fhining words the pompous Shilling dress!
There, there my cell, immortal made, outvies
The frailer piles which o'er its ruins rife.
In her beft light the Comic Mufe appears,
When she, with borrow'd pride, the buskin wears.
So when nurfe Nokes, to act young Ammon tries, With fhambling legs, long chin, and foolish eyes; With dangling hands he strokes th' Imperial robe, And, with a cuckold's air, commands the globe;
pomp and found the whole buffoon display'd, And Ammon's fon more mirth than Gomez made.
Forgive, dear fhade, the scene my folly draws,
Thy ftrains divert the grief thy afhes caufe:
When Orpheus fings, the ghosts no more complain,
But, in his lulling mufic, lofe their pain:
So charm the fallies of thy Georgic Muse,
So calm our forrows, and our joys infuse...
Here rural notes a gentle mirth inspire,
Here lofty lines the kindling reader fire,
Like that fair tree you praife, the poem charms,
Cools like the fruit, or like the juice it warms.
Bleft clime, which Vaga's fruitful ftreams improve, Etruria's envy, and her Cofmo's love;
Redftreak he quaffs beneath the Chiant vine,
Gives Tuscan yearly for thy Scudmore's wine,
And ev❜n his Tasso would exchange for thine.
Rife, rife, Rofcommon, fee the Blenheim Mufe,
'The dull constraint of monkish rhyme refuse;
See, o'er the Alps his towering pinions foar,
Where never English poet reach'd before ::
See mighty Cofmo's counsellor and friend,
By turns on Cofmo and the Bard attend ;
Rich in the coins and bufts of ancient Rome,
In him he brings a nobler treasure home;
In them he views her gods, and domes defign'd,
In him the foul of Rome, and Virgil's mighty mind;;:
To him for ease retires from toils of state,
Not half so proud to govern, as translate,.
Our Spenfer, first by Pisan poets taught,
To us their tales, their ftyle, and numbers brought.
To follow ours, now Tuscan bards defcend,
From Philips borrow, though to Spenfer lend,
Like Philips too the yoke of rhyme difdain;
They firft on English bards impos'd the chain,
First by an English bard from rhyme their freedom
gain.
Tyrannic rhyme, that cramps to equal chime
The gay, the soft, the florid, and sublime;
Some fay this chain the doubtful fenfe decides,
Confines the fancy, and the judgement guides;
I'm fure in needlefs bonds it poets ties,
Procruftes like, the ax or wheel applies,
To lop the mangled fenfe, or stretch it into fize:
At beft a crutch, that lifts the weak along,
Supports the feeble, but retards the strong;
And the chance thoughts, when govern'd by the close,
Oft rife to fuftian, or defcend to profe.
Your judgement, Philips, rul'd with steady sway,
You us'd no curbing rhyme, the Muse to stay,
To ftop her fury, or direct her way.
Thee on the wing thy uncheck'd vigor bore,
To wanton freely, or fecurely foar.
So the ftretch'd cord the fhackle-dancer tries,
As prone to fall, as impotent to rife;
When freed he moves, the sturdy cable bends
He mounts with pleasure, and fecule defcends ;
|