For great mens fashions to be follow'd are,
Altho' difgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear.
Some in a polish'd ftyle write Paftoral,
Arcadia speaks the language of the Mall;
Like fome fair Shepherdefs, the Sylvan Muse,
Should wear those flow'rs her native fields produce;
And the true measure of the Shepherd's wit
Should, like his garb, be for the Country fit:
Yet must his pure and unaffected thought
More nicely than the common fwains be wrought.
So, with becoming art, the Players dress
In filks the fhepherd, and the fhepherdess;
Yet ftill unchang'd the form and mode remain,
Shap'd like the homely ruffet of the fwain.
Your rural Mufe appears to justify
The long loft graces of Simplicity:
So rural beauties captivate our sense
With virgin charms, and native excellence.
Yet long her Modefty thofe charms conceal'd,
'Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd;
For Wits induftrious to their trouble feem,
And needs will envy what they must esteem.
Live and enjoy their fpite! nor mourn that fate, Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait; Whose Muse did once, like thine, in plains desight; Thine fhall, like his, foon take a higher flight; So Larks, which firft from lowly fields arise, 50 Mount by degrees, and reach at laft the skies.
W. WYCHERLEY.
To Mr. POPE, on his Windfor-Foreft.
AIL, facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before
Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic fhore.
To our dark world thy fhining page is shown,
And Windfor's gay retreat becomes our own.
The Eastern pomp had juft bespoke our care,
And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here:
A various fpoil adorn'd our naked land,
The pride of Perfia glitter'd on our ftrand,
And China's Earth was caft on common fand:
Tofs'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay,
And drefs'd the rocky fhelves, and pav'd the painted bay.
Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boast
A nobler cargo on our barren coast:
From thy luxuriant Forest we receive
More lafting glories than the Eaft can give.
Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page,
What pompous fcenes our bufy thoughts engage!
The pompous scenes in all their pride appear,
Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were.
Nor half so true the fair Lodona shows
The fylvan ftate that on her border grows,
While fhe the wond'ring fhepherd entertains
With a new Windfor in her watʼry plains;
Thy jufter lays the lucid wave furpass,
The living scene is in the Mufe's glass.
Nor sweeter notes the echoing forefts cheer,
When Philomela fits and warbles there,
Than when you fing the greens and op'ning glades, And give us Harmony as well as Shades:
A Titian's hand might draw the grove, but you 30 Can paint the grove, and add the Mufic too.
With vaft variety thy pages fhine;
A new creation starts in ev'ry line.
How fudden trees rife to the reader's fight,
And make a doubtful scene of shade and light, 35
And give at once the day, at once the night!
And here again what sweet confufion reigns,
In dreary deferts mix'd with painted plains!
And fee! the deserts caft a pleasing gloom,
And fhrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom :
Whilft fruitful crops rife by their barren fide,
And bearded groves display their annual pride.
Happy the man, who strings his tuneful lyre,
Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields in-
Thrice happy you! and worthy beft to dwell
Amidst the rural joys you fing fo well.
I in a cold, and in a barren clime,
Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme,
Here on the Western beach attempt to chime.
O joyless flood! O rough tempestuous main !
Border'd with weeds, and folitudes obfcene!
Snatch me, ye Gods! from thefe Atlantic shores,
And shelter me in Windfor's fragrant bow'rs;
Or to my much-lov'd Ifis' walks convey,
And on her flow'ry banks for ever lay.
Thence let me view the venerable scene,
The awful dome, the groves eternal green:
Where facred Hough long found his fam'd retreat,
And brought the Mufes to the fylvan feat,
Reform'd the wits, unlock'd the Claffic store,
And made that Mufic which was noife before.
There with illuftrious Bards I spent my days,
Nor free from cenfure, nor unknown to praife,
Enjoy'd the bleffings that his reign bestow'd,
Nor envy'd Windfor in the foft abode.
The golden minutes smoothly danc'd away,
And tuneful Bards beguil'd the tedious day :
They fung, nor fung in vain, with numbers fir'd
That Maro taught, or Addison infpir'd.
Ev'n I effay'd to touch the trembling string:
Who could hear them, and not attempt to fing?
Rouz'd from these dreams by thy commanding ftrain,
I rife and wander thro' the field or plain;
Led by thy Mufe from sport to sport I run,
Mark the ftretch'd Line, or hear the thund'ring gun.
Ah! how I melt with pity, when I fpy
On the cold earth the flutt'ring Pheasant lie ;
His gaudy robes in dazzling lines appear,
And ev'ry feather fhines and varies there.
Nor can I pafs the gen'rous courfer by,
But while the prancing fteed allures my eye,
He ftarts, he's gone! and now I fee him fly
O'er hills and dales, and now I lofe the course,
Nor can the rapid fight pursue the flying horfe.
Oh could thy Virgil from his orb look down,
He'd view a courfer that might match his own!
Fir'd with the fport, and eager for the chace,
Lodona's murmurs ftop me in the race.
Who can refufe Lodona's melting tale?
The foft complaint fhall over time prevail;
The Tale be told, when fhades forfake her fhore, The Nymph be fung, when she can flow no more.
Nor fhall thy fong, old Thames! forbear to fhine, At once the subject and the fong divine.
Peace, fung by thee, shall please ev'n Britons more Than all their shouts for Victory before.
Oh! could Britannia imitate thy ftream,
The World fhould tremble at her awful name:
From various fprings divided waters glide,
In diff'rent colours roll a diff'rent tide,
Murmur along their crooked banks a while,
At once they murmur and enrich the Ifle;
A while diftinct thro'
But meet at laft, and fweetly flow in one;
There joy to lofe their long-diftinguifh'd names, 105 And make one glorious, and immortal Thames.
To Mr. POPE.
In Imitation of a Greek Epigram on HOMER.
HEN Phoebus, and the nine harmonious maids, Of old affembled in the Thespian fhades; What theme, they cry'd, what high immortal air, Befit thefe harps to found, and thee to hear? Reply'd the God; "Your loftieft notes employ, 5 "To fing young Peleus, and the fall of Troy.”
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