So that as the property is transferred, I could wish they would now let his memory alone. The veil which Death draws over the Good is fo facred, that to throw dirt upon the fhrine fcandalizes even Barbarians. And though Rome permitted her Slaves to calumniate her beft Citizens on the day of Triumph, yet the fame petulancy at their funeral would have been rewarded with execration and a gibbet. The Public may be malicious; but is rarely vindictive er ungenerous. It would abhor thefe infults on a writer dead, though it had borne with the ribaldry, or even fet the ribalds on work, when he was alive. And in this there was no great harm: for he must have a ftrange impotency of mind whom fuch miferable fcribblers can ruffle. Of all that grofs Boeotian phalanx who have written fcurrilously against me, I know not fo much as one whom a writer of reputation would not wish to have his enemy, or whom a man of honour would not be afhamed to own for his friend. I am indeed but flightly converfant in their works, and know little of the particulars of their defamation. To my Authorship they are heartily welcome. But if any of them have been fo abandoned by Truth as to attack my moral character in any inftance whatsoever, to ald and every one of these, and their abettors, I give the lye in form, and in the words of honeft Father Valerian, "Mentiris impudentiffime."

RECOMMENDATORY POEMS.

To Mr. POPE, on his PASTORALS.

IN thofe more dull, as more cenforious days,
When few dare give, and fewer merit praise,
A Mufe fincere, that never Flattery knew,
Pays what to friendship and defert is due.
Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found
Art ftrengthening Nature, Senfe improv'd by Sound.
Unlike thofe Wits, whofe numbers glide along
So fmooth, no thought e'er interrupts the fong:
Laboriously enervate they appear,

And write not to the head, but to the ear:
Our minds unmov'd and unconcern'd they lull,
And are at beft moft mufically dull:
So purling ftreams with even murmurs creep,
And hufh the heavy hearers into fleep.
As fmootheft fpeech is most deceitful found,
The fmootheft numbers oft are empty found.
But Wit and Judgment join at once in you,
Sprightly as Youth, as Age confummate too:
Your ftrains are regularly bold, and please
With unforc'd care, and unaffected ease,
With proper thoughts, and lively images:
Such as by Nature to the Ancients fhewn,
Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own:
For great men's fashions to be follow'd are,
Although difgraceful 'tis their cloaths to wear,

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25 Some

Some in a polish'd style write Pastoral,
Arcadia fpeaks the language of the Mall.
Like fome fair Shepherdefs, the Sylvan Muse

Should wear thofe flowers her native fields produce;
And the true measure of the fhepherd's wit

30

Should, like his garb, be for the Country fit:

Yet muft his pure and unaffected thought

More nicely than the common fwain's be wrought,
So, with becoming art, the Players dress

Yet long her Modesty those charms conceal'd;
Till by men's Envy to the world reveal'd;
For Wits induftrious to their trouble feem,
And needs will envy what they must esteem.

45

Live, and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate,
Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait;
Whose Muse did once, like thine, in plains delight,
Thine fhall, like his, foon take a higher flight;
So larks, which first from lowly fields arise,
Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies.

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W. WYCHERLEY.

То

To Mr. POPE, on his WINDSOR-FOREST.

H

AIL! facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before

Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore.
To our dark world thy fhining page is shown,
And Windfor's gay retreat becomes our own.
The Eaftern 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 strand,
And China's Earth was caft on common fand:
Tofs'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay,

10

And drefs'd the rocky fhelves, and pav'd the painted

bay.

Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boaft

A nobler cargo on our barren coaft:

From thy luxuriant Foreft we receive

More lafting glories than the Eaft can give.
Where'er we dip in thy delightful page,
What pompous fcenes our bufy thoughts engage!
The pompous fcenes in all their pride appear,
Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were.
Nor half fo true the fair Lodona fhows

The fylvan ftate that on her border grows,
While the the wond'ring fhepherd entertains
With a new Windfor in her watery plains:
The jufter lays the lucid wave furpafs,
The living fcene is in the Mufe's glafs.

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25 Nor