fures of the head, the only pleafures in which a man is fufficient to himself, and the only part of him which, to his fatisfaction, he can employ all day long. The Mufes are amicæ omnium horarum; and, like our gay acquaintance, the best company in the world as long as one expects no real fervice from them. I confefs there was a time when I was in love with myself, and my first productions were the children of felf-love upon innocence. I had made an Epic Poem, and Panegyrics on all the Princes in Europe, and thought myfelf the greatest genius that ever was. I can't but regret thofe delightful vifions of my childhood, which, like the fine colours we fee when our eyes are fhut, are vanished for ever. Many trials and fad experience have fo undeceived me by degrees, that I am utterly at a loss at what rate to value myself. As for fame, I fhall be glad of any I can get, and not repine at any I mifs; and as for vanity, I have enough to keep me from hanging myfelf, or even from wifhing those hanged who would take it away. It was this that made me write. The fenfe of my faults made me correct befides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write.

At p. 9. l. 12.—In the firft place I own that I have used my best endeavours to the finishing these pieces. That I made what advantage I could of the judgment of authors dead and living; and that I omitted no means in my power to be informed of

my

my errors by my friends and my enemies: And that I expect no favour on account of my youth, business, want of health, or any fuch idle excufes. But the true reason they are not yet more correct is owing to the confideration how short a time they, and I, have to live. A man that can expect but fixty years may be afhamed to employ thirty in measuring fyllables and bringing fense and rhyme together. We spend our youth in pursuit of riches or fame, in hopes to enjoy them when we are old, and when we are old, we find it is too late to enjoy any thing. I therefore hope the Wits will pardon me, if I reserve fome of my time to fave my foul; and that some wife men will be of my opinion, even if I fhould think a part of it better spent in the enjoyments of life than in pleafing the critics.

ON MR. POPE AND HIS POEMS,

BY HIS GRACE

JOHN SHEFFIELD,

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

WITH Age decay'd, with Courts and busʼness tir'd, Caring for nothing but what Eafe requir'd;

Too dully ferious for the Mufe's fport,

agen,

And from the Critics fafe arriv'd in Port;
I little thought of launching forth
Amidst advent'rous Rovers of the Pen:
And after so much undeferv'd fuccefs,
Thus hazarding at last to make it less.
Encomiums fuit not this cenforious time,
Itself a fubject for fatiric rhyme;
Ignorance honour'd, Wit and Worth defam'd,
Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blam'd!
But to this Genius, join'd with so much Art,
Such various Learning mix'd in ev'ry part,
Poets are bound a loud applause to pay;
Apollo bids it, and they must obey.

And yet fo wonderful, fublime a thing
As the great ILIAD, fcarce could make me fing;
Except I justly could at once commend
A good Companion, and as firm a Friend.
One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed
Can all defert in Sciences exceed.

'Tis great delight to laugh at fome men's ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.

IN

TO MR. POPE,

ON HIS PASTORALS.

5

thefe more dull, as more cenforious days,
When few dare give, and fewer merit praise,
A Muse fincere, that never Flatt'ry knew,
Pays what to friendship and defert is due.
Young, yet judicious; in your verfe are found
Art strength'ning Nature, Senfe improv'd by Sound.
Unlike thofe Wits, whofe numbers glide along
So smooth, 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 best most musically dull:

So purling ftreams with even murmurs creep,
And hush the heavy hearers into fleep.
As smootheft speech is most deceitful found,
The smootheft numbers oft are empty found.
But Wit and Judgment join at once in you,
Sprightly as Youth, as Age confummate too :
Your strains are regularly bold, and please
With unforc'd care, and unaffected eafe,
With proper thoughts, and lively images:

10

15

20

Such

Such as by Nature to the Ancients fhewn,
Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own:
For great men's fafhions to be follow'd are,

Altho' difgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear.

25

Some in a polish'd style 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 muft 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 fhepherde's;

Yet still unchang'd the form and mode remain,
Shap'd like the homely ruffet of the swain.

Your rural Muse appears to juftify

30

35

The long loft graces of Simplicity:

So rural beauties captivate our sense

40

With virgin charms, and native excellence.

Yet long her Modesty thofe charms conceal'd, "Till by men's Envy to the world reveal'd;

For Wits industrious to their trouble feem,

And needs will envy what they must esteem.

Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate,

Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait;

45

VER. 28. Sylvan Mufe] From Boileau's Art of Poetry, Chant, 2. 1. 1.