While many a Wretch who bears the Poet's Name,
Deaf to the Voice of Reason, and of Fame,
Meerly to furbish out fome paultry Scene,
New patches Otway with deforni'd Racine,
Befmears with foreign Sauce coarfe Englife Ware,
Or like a Ruffian pillages Voltaire ;

The heavenly Muse alone unpinion'd fings,
Nor stoops to thefe imaginary Kings;

She opens honeft Truth's obftructed Source,
Points Satire's Edge, and wings her Javelin's Force.
Some think, << on Infects cruth'd without a Foe,
"That Juftice idly hurls her weighty Blow
"So fhort, fo fleeting their al otted Date,
"Why urge a Playwrit's necefiary Fate,
"O'er their high Creft Oblivion spreads her Rod,
"Soon are the Footsteps vanish'd where they trod,
"They and their Farces mixing with the Wind,
"All difappear, nor leave a Wreck behind,
Where plung'd in Chaos many a Fathom deep
"Myriads of Frenchified Abortions fleep.
Yet if thefe Plagiaries exalted high
On borrow'd Fame's weak Pedestals rely;
Wherefore on Mortals defperately brave
Lavish that Mercy which they never gave?
When Crops fo rank, exub'rant Dulness yields,
Who weilds the Critic's Falchion nobly Weilds.,

Defigns like thefe my Pencil rudely plan'd,
The Execution afks an abler Hand.

Enough for me, if in thefe nameless Shades,
Far from the Manfions of Aonia's Maids,
Ingenuous Truth her artlefs Charms display,
And fleady Reafon guide the temper'd Lay:
Or fhewn by ftrong Imagination's Light
Ages far diftant crowd the mental Sight,
When Rouffeau tells the * happy State of Man
By Prieftcraft forg'd ere Right Divine began?
Ere Tyrants claim'd the fovereign Throne of God,
And crufh'd the Nations with an Iron Rod.

Thus unobferv'd by mad Ambition's Gaze,
'Tis mine to rove thro' Fortune's humbler Maze,
Affert the Freedom of the dauntlefs Mufe,
And read, or write fuch Whifies as I chufe.

** may you with more fuccefsful Aim
Approach the Temple of wide echoing Fame,
And cull the Wreaths, where pleafing Fiction glows
In fairy Realms, which liberal Genius ftrews ;
Whofe darted Impulse springing thro' the Mind,
Leaves flowly plodding Induftry behind.

*Difcours fur l' Origine & les Fondemens de l' Inegalite par

les Hommes.

AN

A N

IMITATION of SPENSER.

A

I.

Well known Vafe of fovraign Use I fing,

Pleafing to Young and Old, and Jordan hight. The lovely Queen, and eke the haughty King Snatch up this Veffel in the murky Night:

Ne lives there poor, ne lives there wealthy Wight, But ufes it in mantle brown or green;

Sometimes it ftands array'd in gloffy white; And eft in mighty Dortours may be seen Of China's fragile earth, with azure Flowrets fheen.

II.

The Virgin comely as the dewy Rose, Here gently sheds the foftly-whifp'ring Rill; The Frannion, who ne Shame ne Bluthing knows, At once the Potter's gloffy Vafe does fill ; It whizzes like the Waters from a Mill. Here frouzy Housewives clear their loaded Reins; The Beef-fed Juftice, who fat Ale doth swill, Grafps the round-handled Jar, and tries, and strains, While flowly dribbling down the scanty Water drains.

III.

The Dame of Fraunce fhall without Shame convey This ready Needment to its proper Place;

Yet fhall the Daugliters of the Land of Fay Learn better Amenaunce and decent Grace; Warm Blushes lend a Beauty to their Face, For Virtue's comely Tints their Cheeks adorn; Thus o'er the diftant Hillocks you may trace The purple Beamings of the infant Morn: Sweat are our blooming Maids-the sweetest Crea

tures born.

IV.

None but their Husbands or their Lovers true
They truft with Management of their Affairs;
Nor even these their Privacy may view,

When the foft Beavies feek the Bow'r by Pairs ;
Then from the Sight accoy'd, like tim'rous Hares,
From Mate or Bellamour alike they fly;

Think not, good Swain, that these are scornful Airs, Think not for Hate they fhun thine am❜rous Eye, Soon fhall the Fair Return nor done thee, Youth, to

While Belgic frows acrofs a Charccal Stove

(Replenish'd like the Veftal's lafting Fire)

(dye.

Bren for whole Years and Scorch the Parts of Love,

No longer Parts that can delight infpire,

Eift Cave of Blifs, now Monumental Pyre;
O British Maid, for ever clean and neat,
For whom I aye will wake my fimple Lyre,
With double Care preserve that Dun Retreat,

Fair Venus' myftic Bow'r Dan Cupid's feather'd Seat. vi.

So may your Hours foft-fliding feal away,
Unknown to gnarring Slander and to Bale,
O'er Seas of blifs Peace guide her Gondelay,
Ne bitter Dole impeft the paffing Gale.
O! fweeter than the Lillies of the Dale,
in your foft Breasts the Fruits of Joyance grow.
Ne fell Despair be here with Vifage pale,

Brave be the Youth for whom your Bofoms glow, Ne cther Joy but you the faithful Striplings know.

12

An