The dialect, as well as fenfe, invents,
And, with his poem, a new fpeech prefents.
Hail then, thou matchlefs Bard, thou great unknown,
That give your country fame, yet fhun your own!
In vain; for every where your praise you find,
And, not to meet it, you must fhun mankind.
Your loyal theme each loyal reader draws,
And ev❜n the factious give your verse applause,
Whofe lightning ftrikes to ground their idol caufe:
The caufe for whofe dear fake they drank a flood
Of civil gore, nor fpar'd the royal blood;
The caufe, whofe growth to crush, our prelates wrote
In vain, almost in vain our heroes fought;
Yet by one ftab of your keen fatire dies:
Before your facred lines their fhatter'd Dagon lies.
Oh! if unworthy we appear to know
The fire, to whom this lovely birth we owe :
Deny'd our ready homage to express,
And can at beft but thankful be by guess;
This hope remains: May David's godlike mind,
(For him 'twas wrote) the unknown author find;
And, having found, fhower equal favours down
On wit fo vaft, as could oblige a crown.
Upon the AUTHOR of the MEDAL. ONC
E more our awful poet arms, t'engage The threatening hydra-faction of the age; Once more prepares his dreadful pen to wield, And every Mufe attends him to the field.
By art and nature for this task design'd,
Yet modeftly the fight he long declin'd;
Forbore the torrent of his verfe to pour,
Nor loos'd his fatire till the needful hour.
His fovereign's right, by patience half betray'd,
Wak'd his avenging genius to his aid.
Bleft Mufe, whofe wit with fuch a caufe was crown'd,
And bleft the cause that such a champion found!
With chofen verse upon the foe he fails,
And black fedition in each quarter galls;
Yet, like a prince with fubjects forc'd t'engage,
Secure of conquest he rebates his rage;
His fury not without diftinction fheds,
Hurls mortal bolts, but on devoted heads;
To lefs-infected members gentle found,
Or fpares, or elfe pours balm into the wound.
Such generous grace th' ingrateful tribe abuse,
And trefpafs on the mercy of his Muse :
Their wretched doggrel rhymers forth they bring,
To fnarl and bark against the poets' king;
A crew, that fcandalize the nation more,
Than all their treafon-canting priests before.
On these he fcarce vouchfafes a fcornful fmile,
But on their powerful patrons turns his style:
A ftyle fo keen, as ev'n from faction draws
The vital poison, stabs to th' heart their cause.
Take then, great Bard, what tribute we can raise ;
Accept our thanks, for you tranfcend our praise.
and of ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL.
HUS pious ignorance, with dubious praise,
Altars of old to Gods unknown did raise : They knew not the lov'd deity; they knew Divine effects a caufe divine did fhew;
Nor can we doubt, when fuch thefe numbers are, Such is their caufe, though the worst Mufe fhall dare Their facred worth in humble verfe declare.
As gentle Thames, charm'd with thy tuneful fong, Glides in a peaceful majesty along;
No rebel ftone, no lofty bank, does brave
The easy passage of his filent wave :
So, facred poet, fo thy numbers flow,
Sinewy, yet mild as happy lovers wooe;
Strong, yet harmonious too as planets move,
Yet foft as down upon the wings of love.
How fweet does virtue in your drefs appear;
How much more charming, when much lefs fevere !
Whilft you our fenfes harmlessly beguile,
With all th' allurements of your happy stile;
Y'infinuate loyalty with kind deceit,
And into sense th' unthinking many cheat.
So the sweet Thracian with his charming lyre
Into rude nature virtue did inspire ;
So he the favage herd to reafon drew,
Yet fcarce fo fweet, fo charmingly as you.
O that you would, with fome fuch powerful charm,
Enervate Albion to just valour warm!
Whether much-fuffering Charles fhall theme afford,
Or the great deeds of godlike James's fword.
Again fair Gallia might be ours, again
Another fleet might pafs the fubject main,
Another Edward lead the Britons on,
Or fuch an Offory as you did moan;
While in fuch numbers you, in fuch a strain,
Inflame their courage, and reward their pain.
Let falfe Achitophel the rout engage,
Talk easy Abfalom to rebel rage;
Let frugal Shimei curse in holy zeal,
Or modeft Corah more new plots reveal;
Whilft conftant to himself, fecure of fate,
Good David still maintains the royal state.
Though each in vain fuch various ills employs,
Firmly he ftand, and ev'n those ills enjoys;
Firm as fair Albion, midft the raging main,
Surveys incircling danger with difdain.
In vain the waves affault the unmov'd shore,
In vain the winds with mingled fury roar,
Fair Albion's beauteous cliffs fhine whiter than before.
Nor fhalt thou move, though hell thy fall conspire,
Though the worfe rage of zeal's fanatic fire;
Thou beft, thou greatest of the British race,
Thou only fit to fill great Charles's place.
Ah, wretched Britons! ah, too ftubborn ifle!
Ah, ftiff-neck'd Ifrael on bleft Canaan's foil!
Are thofe dear proofs of heaven's indulgence vain,
Reftoring David and his gentle reign?
Is it in vain thou all the goods dost know,
Aufpicious stars on mortals fhed below,
While all thy streams with milk, thy lands with honey flow?
No more, fond ifle! no more thyfelf engage
In civil fury, and inteftine rage:
No rebel zeal thy duteous land moleft,
But a fmooth calm foothe every peaceful breast.
While in fuch charming notes divinely fings
The best of poets, of the best of kings.
To Mr. DRYDEN, on his RELIGIO LAICL.
THOSE Gods the pious ancients did adore,
They learnt in verfe devoutly to implore,
Thinking it rude to use the common way
Of talk, when they did to fuch beings pray.
Nay, they that taught religion first, thought fit
In verfe its facred precepts to transmit:
So Solon too did his first statutes draw,
And every little ftanza was a law.
By these few precedents we plainly fee
The primitive defign of poetry;
Which, by reftoring to its native use,
You generously have refcued from abuse.
Whilst your lov'd Mufe does in fweet numbers fing, She vindicates her God, and godlike king,
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