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Of all this fervile herd, the worst is he
That in proud dulnefs joins with quality:
A conftant critic at the great man's board,
To fetch and carry nonfenfe for my lord:
What woful stuff this madrigal would be,
In fome ftarv'd hackney fonnetteer, or me!
But let a lord once own the happy lines,
How the wit brightens! how the style refines!
Before his facred name flies ev'ry fault,
́And each exalted stanza teems with thought!
The vulgar thus thro' imitation err;
As oft the learn'd, by being fingular:

So much they fcorn the crowd, that if the throng
By chance go right, they purpofely go wrong:
So fchifmatics the plain believers quit,
And are but damn'd for having too much wit.
Some praife at morning what they blame at night;
But always think the laft opinion right.
A Mufe by thefe is like a mistress us'd;
This hour the's idoliz'd, the next abus'd;
While their weak heads, like towns unfortified,
'Twixt fenfe and nonfenfe daily change their fide.
Afk them the caufe; they're wifer ftill, they fay;
And ftill to-morrow's wifer than to-day.
We think our fathers fools, fo wife we grow;
Our wifer fons, no doubt, will think us fo.
Once school-divines this zealous ifle o'erspread;
Who knew moft fentences was deepest read:
Faith, Gospel, all seem'd made to be disputed,
And none had fenfe enough to be confuted:
Scotifts and Thomifts now in peace remain
Amid their kindred cobwebs in Duck-lane.
If faith itself has diff'rent dreffes worn,
What wonder modes in wit fhould take their turn!
Oft, leaving what is natural and fit,
The current folly proves the ready wit;
And authors think the reputation fafe,
Which lives as long as fools are pleas'd to laugh.
Some valuing thofe of their own fide or mind,
Still make themselves the measure of mankind!
Fondly we think we honour merit then,
When we but praise ourselves in other men.
Parties in wit attend on those of state,
And public faction doubles private hate.
Pride, malice, felly, against Dryden rose,
In various fhapes of parfons, critics, beaux:
But fenfe furviv'd when merry jefts were past,
For rifing merit will buoy up at last.

Might he return, and blefs once more our eyes,
New Blackmores and new Milbourns muft arife:
Nay, fhould great Homer lift his awful head,
Zoilus again would ftart up from the dead.
Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue;
But, like a fhadow, proves the fubftance true:
For envied wit, like fol eclips'd, makes known
Th' oppofing body's groffnefs, not its own.

When first that fun too pow'rful beams difplays,
It draws up vapours which obfcure its rays;
But ev'n thofe clouds at laft adorn its way,
Reflect new glories, and augment the day.

Be thou the first true merit to befriend;
His praife is loft who stays til! all commend.
Short is the date, alas! of modern rhymes,
And 'tis but just to let them live betimes.
No longer now that golden age appears,
When patriarch wits furviv'd a thousand years:
Now length of fame (our fecond life) is loft,
And bare threefcore is all e'en that can boaft;
Our fons their fathers failing language see,
And fuch as Chaucer is fhall Dryden be.
So when the faithful pencil has defign'd
Some bright idea of the mafter's mind,
Where a new world leaps out at his command,
And ready Nature waits upon his hand;
When the ripe colours foften and unite,
And fweetly melt into juft fhade and light;
When mellowing years their full perfection give,
And each bold figure just begins to live;
The treach'rous colours the fair art betray,
And all the bright creation fades away!

Unhappy wit, like most wistaken things, Atones not for that envy which it brings. In youth alone its empty praise we boast; But foon the fhort-liv'd vanity is loft: Like fome fair flow'r the early fpring fupplies, That gaily blooms, but ev'n in blooming dies. What is this wit, which muft our cares employ? The owner's wife, that other men enjoy : Then most our trouble ftill when moft admir'd, And ftill the more we give, the more requir'd; Whofe fame with painsweguard, but lofe with cafe, Sure fome to vex, but never all to please: 'Tis what the vicious fear, the virtuous fhun; By fools 'tis hated, and by knaves undone !

If wit fo much from ign'rance undergo, Ah let not learning too commence its foc! Of old, thofe met rewards who could excel, And fuch were prais'd who but endeavour'd well: Tho' triumphs were to gen'rals only due, Crowns were referv'd to grace the foldiers too. Now, they who reach Parnaffus' lofty crown, Employ their pains to fpurn fome others down; And while felf-love each jealous writer rules, Contending wits become the fport of fools: But ftill the worst with most regret commend, For each ill author is as bad a friend. To what bafe ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd thro' facred luft of praife! Ah! ne'er fo dire a thirst of glory boast, Nor in the critic let the man be loft. Good-nature and good sense must ever join : To err is human; to forgive, divine.

VARIATION.

The rhyming clowns that gladded Shakespear's age Now all are banifh'd to th' Hibernian shore !

No more with crambo entertain the stage.

Who now in anagrams their patron praise,
Or fing their miftrefs in acroftic lays;

Ev'n pulpits pleas'd with merry puns of yore

Thus leaving what was natural and fit,
The current folly prov'd their ready wit:
And authors thought their reputation fafe,
Which liv'd as long as fools were pleas'd to laugh.

But

But if in noble minds fome dregs remain,
Not yet purg'd off, of spleen and four difdain,
Difcharge that rage on more provoking crimes,
Nor fear a dearth in thefe flagitious times.
No pardon vile obfcenity fhould find,
Tho' wit and art confpire to move your mind;
But dulnefs with obscenity must prove
As fhameful fure as impotence in love.
In the fat age of pleafure, wealth, and eafe,
Sprung the rank weed, and thriv'd with large
increase:

When love was all an eafy monarch's care;
Seldom at council, never in a war,

Jilts rul'd the ftate, and statesmen farces writ;
Nay, wits had penfions, and young lords had wit:
The fair fat panting at a courtier's play,
And not a mask went unimprov'd away:
The modeft fan was lifted up no more;
And virgins smil'd at what they blush'd before.
The following licence of a foreign reign
Did all the dregs of bold Socinus drain;
Then unbelieving priests reform'd the nation,
And taught more pleafant methods of falvation;
Where Heaven's free fubjects might their rights
difpute,

Left God himself fhould feem too abfolute :
Pulpits their facred fatire learn'd to spare,'
And vice admir'd to find a flatt'rer there!
Encourag'd thus, wit's Titans brav'd the skies,
And the prefs groan'd with licens'd blafphemies.
Thefe monsters, critics! with your darts engage,
Here point your thunder, and exhauft your rage!
Yet thun their fault, who, fcandaloufly nice,
Will needs mistake an author into vice:
All feems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow to the jaundic'd eye.
Learn then what morals critics ought to fhew,
For 'tis but half a judge's talk to know.
'Tis not enough, tae, judgment, learning, join;
In all you fpeak, let truth and candour shine:
That not alone what to your fenfe is due
All may allow, but feek your friendship too.

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Be filent always when you doubt your sense; And fpeak, tho' fure, with feeming diffidence: Some pofitive, perfifting fops we know,

Who, if once wrong, will needs be always fo; But you with pleasure own your errors paft, And make each day a critique on the last.

'Tis not enough your counfel ftill be true; Blunttruths more mifchief than nice falfehoods do: Men must be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot. Without good-breeding, truth is difapprov'd; That only makes fuperior fenfe belov'd.

Be niggards of advice on no pretence; For the worst avarice is that of fenfe. With mean complacence ne'er betray your truft, Nor be fo civil as to prove unjust. Fear not the anger of the wife to raise; Those beft can bear reproof who merit praise.

'Twere well might critics ftill this freedom take; But Appius reddens at each word you speak, And ftares tremendous, with a threat'ning eye, Like fome fierce tyrant in old tapestry. Fear moft to tax an honourable fool, Whofe right it is, uncenfur'd, to be dull; Such, without wit, are poets when they pleafe, As without learning they can take degrees. Leave dang'rous truths to unfuccessful fatires, And flattery to fulfome dedicators, [more Whom, when they praise, the world believes no Than when they promife to give fcribbling o'er.. 'Tis beft fometimes your cenfure to reftrain, And charitably let the dull be vain : Your filence there is better than your fpite; For who can rail fo long as they can write? Still humming on, their drowzy courfe they keep, And lafh'd fo long, like tops, are lafh'd afleep. Falfe fteps but help them to renew the race; As, after ftumbling, jades will mend their pace. What crowds of thefe, impenitently bold, In founds and jingling fyllables grown old, Still run on poets in a raging vein, Ev'n to the dregs and fqueezings of the brain; Strain out the laft dull droppings of their fenfe,. And rhyme with all the rage of impotence !

Such fhameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad abandon'd critics too.
The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read,
With loads of learned lumber in his head,
With his own tongue ftill edifies his ears,
And always lift'ning to himself appears.
All books he reads, and all he reads affails,
From Dryden's Fables down to Durfey's Tales:
With him, most authors fteal their works, or buy;
Garth did not write his own Difpenfary.
Name a new Play, and he's the Poet's friend,
Nay fhew'dhis faults; but when would Poetsmend?
No place fo facred from fuch fops is barr'd,
Noris Paul's church more fafe than Paul's church-
yard:

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead;
For Fools rufh in where Angels fear to tread.
Distrustful fense with modeft caution speaks,
It still looks home, and thort excursions makes;
But rattling nonfenfe in full vollies breaks,
And never fhock'd, and never turn'd afide,
Burfts out, refiftlefs, with a thund'ring tide..

But where's the man who counfel can beftow,
Still pleas'd to teach, and yet not proud to know?
Unbiafs'd or by favour or by fpite;
Nor dully prepoffefs'd, nor blindly right;
Tho' learn'd well-bred, and tho' well-bred fincere,
Modeftly bold, and humanly fevere;
Who to a friend his faults can freely fhew,
And gladly praife the merit of a foc?
Bleft with a tafte exact, yet unconfin'd;
A knowledge both of books and human kind;
Gen'rous converfe; a foul exempt from pride;
And love to praife, with reafon on his fide?

VARIATION.

In vain you fhrug and fweat, and strive to fly : Thefe know no manners but of poetry.

They'll ftop a hungry chaplain in his grace, To treat of unities of time and place.

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Such

Such once were Critics; fuch the happy few Athens and Rome in better ages knew. The mighty Stagyrite first left the shore,

Rome's ancient Genius, o'er its ruins spread, Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head. Then Sculpture and her fifter-arts revive;

Spread all his fails, and durft the deeps explore *; Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;

He fteer'd fecurely, and difcover'd far,
Led by the light of the Mæonian Star.
Poets, a race long unconfin'd and free,
Still fond and proud of favage liberty,
Receiv'd his laws, and ftood convinc'd; 'twas fit,
Who conquer'd Nature fhould prefide o'er Wit.
Horace ftill charms with graceful negligence,
And without method talks us into fenfe,
Will, like a friend, familiarly convey
The truest notions in the cafieft way.
He who, fupreme in judgment as in wit,
Might boldly cenfure, as he boldly writ;
Yet judg'd with coolnefs, tho' he fung with fire;
His Precepts teach but what his Works inspire.
Our Critics take a contrary extreme;
They judgewith fury,but they write with phlegm;
Nor fuffers Horace more in wrong tranflations
By wits, than critics in as wrong quotations.

See Dionyfius Homer's thoughts refine,
And call new beauties forth from ev'ry line!
Fancy and art in gay Petronius please;
The fcholar's learning, with the courtier's ease.
In grave Quintilian's copious work we find
The jufteft rules and cleareft method join'd :
Thus ufeful arms in magazines we place,
All rang'd in order, and difpos'd with grace;
But lefs to please the eye than arm the hand;
Still fit for ufe, and ready at command.

Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine infpire, And bless their Critic with a Poet's fire. An ardent Judge, who, zealous in his truft, With warmth gives fentence, yet is always juft: Whofe own example ftrengthens all his laws; And is himself that great Sublime he draws.

Thus long fucceeding Critics juftly reign'd, Licence reprefs'd, and useful laws ordain'd. Learning and Rome alike in empire grew, And Arts ftill follow'd where her Eagles flew : From the fame foes, at laft, both felt their doom; And the fame age faw Learning fall, and Rome. With Tyranny then Superftition join'd; As that the body, this enflav'd the mind: Much was believ'd, but little understood; And to be dull was conftrued to be good † : A fecond deluge Learning thus o'er-run, And the Monks finifh'd what the Goths begun.

At length Erafmus, that great injur'd name, The glory of the Priesthood, and the fhame! Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age, And drove those holy Vandals off the stage.

But fee! each Mufe, in Leo's golden days, Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays;

With sweeter notes each rifing Temple rung;
A Raphael painted, and a Vida fung.
Immortal Vida! on whofe honour'd brow
The Poet's bays and Critic's ivy grow,
Cremona now fhall ever boast thy name;
As next in place to Mantua, next in fame!

But foon by impious arms from Latium chas'd,
Their ancient bounds the banish'd Mufes pafs'd;
Thence Arts o'er all the northern world advance,
But Critic-learning flourish'd moft in France:
The rules a nation, born to ferve, obeys;
And Boileau ftill in right of Horace (ways.
But we, brave Britons, foreign laws defpis'd,
And kept unconquer'd and unciviliz'd;
Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold,
We ftill defied the Romans, as of old.
Yet fome there were, among the founder few
Of those who lefs prefum'd, and better knew,
Who durft affert the jufter ancient cause,
And here reftor'd Wit's fundamental laws;
Such was the Mufe whofe rules and practice tell,
"Nature's chief Mafter-piece is writing well."
Such was Rofcommon, not more learn'd than good,
With manners gen'rous as his noble blood;
To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,
And ev'ry author's merit, but his own.
Such late was Walsh, the Mufe's judge and friend,
Who juftly knew to blame or to commend;
To failings mild, but zealous for defert;
The clearest head, and the fincereft heart.
This humble praife, lamented shade! receive,
This praife at least a grateful Mufe may give.
The Mufe whofe early voice you taught to fing,
Prefcrib'd her heights, and prun'd hertender wing,
(Her guide now loft) no more attempts to rife,
But in low numbers thort excurfions tries: [view;
Content, if hence th' unlearn'd their wants may
The learn'd reflect on what before they knew:
Careless of cenfure, nor too fond of fame;
Still pleas'd to praife, yet not afraid to blame:
Averfe alike to flatter, or offend;

Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

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VARIATIONS.

That bold Columbus of the realms of wit,
Whofe first difcov'ry not exceeded yet,
Led by the light of the Mæonian Star,
He fteer'd fecurely, and difcover'd far.
He, when all Nature was fubdued before,

Like his great Pupil, figh'd, and long'd for more:

Fancy's wild regions yet unvanquish'd lay,
A boundless empire, and that own'd no sway.
Poets, &c.

+ Vain wits and critics were no more allow'd, When none but faints had licence to be proud.

I fing

Ifing-This verfe to CARYL, Mufe! is due;
This even Belinda may vouchfafe to view :
Slight is the fubject, but not fo the praise,
If She infpire, and He approve my lays.

Say what ftrange motive, Goddefs! could compel
A well-bred Lord t'affault a gentle Belle?
O fay what stranger caufe, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
In talks fo bold can little men engage* ?
And in foft bofoms dwells fuch mighty rage?
Sol thro' white curtains fhot a tim'rous ray †,
And op'd thofe eyes that muft eclipfe the day:
Now lapdogs gave themselves the roufing shake;
And fleepless lovers, juft at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the flipper knock'd the
ground,

And the prefs'd watch return'd a filver found.
Belinda ftill her downy pillow prefs'd,

Her guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy rest-
'Twas He had fummon'd to her filent bed

Soft yielding minds to water glide away,
And fip, with nymphs, their elemental tea.
The graver prude finks downward to a gnome,
In fearch of mischief still on earth to roam.
The light coquettes in fylphs aloft repair,
And sport and flutter in the fields of air.

Know further yet-whoever fair and chafte
Rejects mankind, is by fome fylph embrac'd:
For fpirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
Affume what fexes and what fhapes they please.
What guards the purity of melting maids
In courtly balls and midnight masquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring fpark,
The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
When kind occafion prompts their warm defires,
When music foftens, and when dancing fires?
'Tis but their fylph, the wife celeftials know,
Tho' honour is the word with men below. [face,
Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their
For life predeftin'd to the gnomes embrace.

When offers are difdain'd, and love denied":
Then gay ideas crowd the vacant brain,
While peers,and dukes, and all theirfweepingtrain,
And garters, ftars, and coronets appear,
And in foft founds "your grace" falutes their ear.
'Tis these that early taint the female soul,
Inftruct the eyes of young coquettes to roll,.
Teach infant-cheeks a bidden blush to know,
And little hearts to flutter at a beau.

Oft, when the world imagine women stray,
The fylphs thro' myftic mazes guide their way
Thro' all the giddy circle they pursue,
And old impertinence expel by new.
What tender maid but muft a victim fall

The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head-Thefe fwell their profpects and exalt their pride,
A youth more glitt'ring than a birth-night beau,
That even in flumber caus'd her cheek to glow,
Seem'd to her ear his winning lips to lay,
And thus in whifpers faid, or feem'd to fay:
Fairett of mortals, thou diftinguish'd care
Of thoufand bright inhabitants of air!
If e'er one vifion touch thy infant thought,
Of all the Nurfe and all the Prieft have taught;
Of airy elves by moonlight fhadows feen,
The filver token, and the circled green,
Or virgins vifited by Angel-pow'rs, [flow'rs;
With golden crowns, and wreaths of heavenly
Hear and believe thy own importance know,
Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.
Some fecret truths, from learned pride conceal'd,
To maids alone and children are reveal'd:
What tho' no credit doubting wits may give?
The fair and innocent fhall ftill believe.
Know then, unnumber'd spirits round thee fly,
The light Militia of the lower sky:
Thefe, tho' unfeen, are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the ring.
Think what an equipage thou haft in air,
And view with fcorn two pages and a chair.
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclos'd in woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a foft tranfition, we repair
From earthly vehicles to thefe of air.

To one man's treat, but for another's ball?
When Florio fpeaks, what virgin could withstand,
If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand ?
With varying vanities, from ev'ry part,
They fhift the moving toy-fhop of their heart;
Where wigs with wigs, with fword-knots sword-
knots ftrive,

Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
This erring mortals levity may call;
Oh blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all.

Of thefe am I, who thy protection claim;
A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
Late as I rang'd the crystal wilds of air,
In the clear mirror of thy ruling ftar

Think not, when woman's tranfient breath is fled, I faw, alas! fome dread event impend,

That all her vanities at once are dead;
Succeeding vanities fhe ftill regards,
And, tho the plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.
Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,
And love of ombre, after death furvive;
For when the fair in all their pride expire,
To their first elements their fouls retire:
The fprites of fiery termagants in flame
Mount up, and take a falamander's name.

Ere to the main this morning fun defcend;
But heaven reveals not what, or how, or where:
Warn'd by thy Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
This to difclofe is all thy guardian can:
Beware of all, but most beware of man! [long,

He faid; when Shock, who thought the slept too
Leap'd up, and wak'd his mistress with his tongue,
'Twas then, Belinda, if report fay true,
Thy eyes firft open'd on a billet-doux;

VARIATIONS.

And dwells fuch rage in fofteft bofoms then,
And lodge fuch daring fouls in little men?
+ Sol thro' white curtains did his beams difplay,
And op'd thofe eyes which brighter fhose than they;

Shock just had given himself the rousing shake,
And nymphs prepar'd their chocolate to take;
Thrice the wrought flipper knock'd against the ground,
And ftriking watches the tenth hour refound.

Wounds,

Wounds, charms, and ardours, were no fooner read,
But all the vision vanish'd from thy head.
And now, unveil'd, the toilet ftands difplay'd;
Each filver vafe in myftic order laid.
First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores,
With head uncover'd, the cofmetic pow'rs:
A heavenly image in the glafs appears;
To that the bends, to that her eyes the rears;
Th' inferior prieftefs, at her altar's fide,
Trembling, begins the facred rites of pride.
Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here
The various off'rings of the world appear;
From each the nicely culls with curious toil,
And decks the goddess with the glitt'ring spoil.
This cafket India's glowing gems unlocks,
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box:
The tortoife here and elephant unite,
Transform'd to combs, the fpeckled and the white:
Here files of pins extend their fhining rows,
Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billet-doux.
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms;
The fair each moment rifes in her charms,
Repairs her finiles, awakens ev'ry grace,
And calls forth all the wonders of her face:
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,

And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
The bufy Sylphs furround their darling care;
Thefe fer the head, and thofe divide the hair;
Some fold the fleeve, whilft others plait the gown;
And Betty's prais d for labours not her own.

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NOT with more glories, in th`ethereal plain, The fun firft rifes o'er the purpled main, Than, iffuing forth, the rival of his beams Launch'd on the bofom of the filver Thames. Fair Nymphs, and well-drefs'd youths, around her But ev'ry eye was fix'd on her alone. [fhone; On her white breaft a fparkling crofs fhe wore, Which Jews might kifs, and Infidels adore. Her lively looks a fprightly mind difclofe, Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as thofe : Favours to none, to all the fmiles extends; Oft the rejects, but never once offends. Bright as the fun her eyes the gazers ftrike, And, like the fun, they fhine on all alike. Yet graceful eafe, and fwcetnefs void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide: If to her fhare fome female errors fall, Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.

This Nymph, to the deftruction of mankind, Nourish'd two Locks, which graceful hung behind In equal curls, and well confpir'd to deck With fhining ringlets the fmooth iv'ry neck. Love in thete labyrinths his flaves detains, And mighty hearts are held in flender chains. With hairy fpringes we the birds betray; Slight lines of hair furprife the finny prey; Fair treffes man's imperial race enfiare, And beauty draws us with a fingle hair.

Th'advent'rous Baron the bright locks admir'd; He faw, he wifh'd, and to the prize afpir'd. Refolv'd to win, he meditates the way, By force to ravish, or by fraud betray; For, when fuccefs a Lover's toil attends, Few afk if fraud or force attain'd his ends.

For this, ere Phoebus rofe, he had implor'd Propitious Heaven, and ev'ry pow'r ador'd; But chiefly Love-to Love an altar built Of twelve vaft French romances, neatly gilt. There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves; And all the trophies of his former loves: With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three am'rous fighs to raise the fire. Then proftrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes Soon to obtain, and long poffefs the prize. The pow'rs gave ear, and granted half his pray 'r; The reft, the winds difpers'd in empty air.

But now fecure the painted veffel glides, The fun-beams trembling on the floating tides; While melting mufic fteals upon the sky, And foften'd founds along the waters die; Smooth flow the waves, the Zephyrs gently play; Belinda fmil'd, and all the world was gay. All but the Sylph-with careful thoughts oppreft, Th'impending woe fat heavy on his breaft. He fummons ftraight his denizens of air; The lucid fquadrons round the fails repair: Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, That feem'd but Zephyrs to the train beneath. Some to the fun their infect-wings unfold, Waft on the breeze, or fink in clouds of gold; Tranfparent forms, too fine for mortal fight, Their fluid bodies half diffolv'd in light. Loofe to the wind their airy garments flew, Thin glitt'ring textures of the filmy dew, Dipp'd in the richest tincture of the skies, Where light difports in ever-mingling dyes; While ev'ry beam new tranfient colours flings, Colours that changewhene'er theywavetheirwings. Amid the circle on the gilded maft, Superior by the head, was Ariel plac'd; His purple pinions op'ning to the fun, He rais'd his azure wand, and thus begun :

Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear:
Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and dæmons hear!
Ye know the fpheres and various tasks affign'd
By laws eternal to th' aërial kind.

Some in the fields of pureft æther play,
And bafk and whiten in the blaze of day:
Some guide the courfe of wand'ring orbs on high,
Or roll the planets thro' the boundless fky:
Some, lefs refin'd, beneath the moon's pale light,
Purfue the stars that fhoot athwart the night,
Or fuck the mifts in groffer air below,
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow,
Or brew fierce tempefts on the wint'ry main,
Or o'er the glebe diftil the kindly rain:
Others on earth o'er human race prefide,
Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide:

VARIATION.

From hence to line 46 (The reft the winds difpers'd in empty air) the Poem stood originally; all after,

o the end of this Canto, being additional.

Of

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