And praise the eafy vigor of a line,

Where Denham's ftrength, and Waller's fweetness-join.

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
"Tis not enough no harfhnefs gives offence,
The found muft feem an echo to the fenfe.

Soft is the ftrain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the fmooth ftream in fmoother numbers flows;
But when loud billows lafh the founding fhore,
The hoarfe rough verse should like the torrent roar.
When Ajax ftrives, fome rock's vaft weight to throw
The line too labours, and the words move flow;
Not fo when swift Camilla fcours the plain, 375
Flies o'er th'unbending corn,and fkims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus' various lays furprize,
And bid alternate paffions fall and rife!
While, at each change, the fon of Lybian Jove
Now burns with-glory, and then melts with love:
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now fighs steal out, and tears begin to flow:
Perfians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood fubdu'd by found;

→ Alexander's feast, or the power of mufic; an ode by Mr, Dryden,

The

The pow'r of mufic all our hearts allow;
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.
Avoid extreams; and fhun the fault of fuch,
Who ftill are pleas'd too little, or too much.
At ev'ry trifle fcorn to take offence,

That always fhows great pride or little fense;
Thofe heads, as ftomachs, are not fure the beft,
Which naufeate all, and nothing can digeft.
Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move,
For fools admire, but men of sense approve.
As things feem large which we thro' mists descry,
Dulness is ever apt to magnify.

Some the French writers, fome our own defpife;
The ancients only, or the moderns prize.
(Thus wit, like faith, by each man is apply'd
To one small fect, and all are damn'd befide.)
Meanly they feek the bleffing to confine,
And force that fun but on a part to shine,
Which not alone the fouthern wit fublimes,
But ripens fpirits in cold northern climes;
Which from the firft has fhone on ages past,
Enlights the prefent, and fhall warm the laft.
(Tho' each may feel encreases and decays,
And fee now clearer and now darker days)

C 3

400

Regard

Regard not then if wit be old or new,

But blame the false, and value still the true.

Some ne'er advance a judgment of their own,, But catch the spreading notion of the town; They reafon and conclude by precedent,

And own ftale nonfense which they ne'er invent:
Some judge of authors names, not works, and then
Nor praife, nor blame the writings, but the men,
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 hackny fonneteer, or me?
But let a Lord once own the happy lines,
How the wit brightens! how the ftyle refines!
Before his facred name flies ev'ry fault, 4255
And each exalted flanza teems with thought!
The vulgar thus through imitation err;
As oft' the learn'd by being fingular;

So much they scorn the crowd, that if the throng
By chance go right, they purposely go wrong:
So fchifmatics the plain believers quit,

And are but damn'd for having too much wit.

Some

Some praise at morning what they blame at night; But always think the laft opinion right.

A mufe by these is like a miftrefs us'd,

This hour fhe's idoliz'd, the next abus'd;
While their weak heads, like towns unfortify'd,
"Twixt fenfe and nonfenfe daily change their fide.
Ask them the caufe; they're wifer ftill, they fay,
And still 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 fchool-divines this zealous ifle o'erfpread;
Who knew most sentences was deepest read;
Faith, Gofpel, all, feem'd made to be difputed,
And none had fenfe enough to be confuted:
Scotifts, and Themifts, now, in peace remain

Amidft their kindred cobwebs in Duck-lane.

If Faith itself has diff'rent dreffes worn,

What wonder modes in wit fhould take their turn? 450 Oft', leaving what is natural and fit,

The current folly proves our ready wit;

And authors think their reputation fafe,

Which lives as long as fools are pleas'd to laugh.
Some valuing those of their own fide, or mind,
Still make themselves the measure of mankind:

Fondly we think we honour merit then,

When we but praise our selves in other men.
Parties in wit attend on those of state,

And publick faction doubles private hate.
Pride, malice, folly, against Dryden rose,

In various shapes of parfons, critics, beaus;
But fenfe furviv'd, when merry jefts were past;
For rifing merit will buoy up at laft.

Might he return and bless once more our eyes,
New Blackmores and new Milbourns muft arife:
Nay fhould great Homer lift his awful head,
Zoilus again would start up from the dead.
Envy will merit, as its fhade, pursue;
But like a fhadow, proves the fubftance true.
For envy'd wit, like sol eclips'd, makes known
Th' oppofing body's grofsnefs, not its own."
When first that fun too pow'rful beams difplays,
It draws up vapours which obfcure its rays;
But ev'n those clouds at laft adorn its way, 473
Reflect new glories, and augment the day.
Be thou the first true merit to befriend,
His praife is loft, who ftays till all commend.
Short is the date, alas! of modern rhymes,
And 'tis but just to let 'em live betimes.

No