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A Reply to a Copy of Verses made in Imitation

of Ode II. Book III. of HORACE.

Angusiam amice pauperiem pati, &c.

And sent by Mr. TITLEY to Dr. BENTLEY.


WHO drives

HO to mount Parnaffus' hill,

And thence poetick laurels bring,
Must first acquire due force, and kill,

Must fly with swans, or eagle's wing.

Who nature's treasures wou'd explore,

Her mysteries and arcana know,
Must high, as lofty Newton foar,

Must stoop, as delving Woodward low.

Who studies ancient laws and rites,

Tongues, arts, and arms, and history,
Must drudge like Selden days and nights,

And in the endless labour die.

Who travels in religious jars,

(Truth mixt with error, fhade with rays) Like Whifton wanting pyx or stars,

In ocean wide or sinks or strays,


But grant our heroe's hope long toil

And comprehensive genius crown,
All sciences, all arts his spoil,

Yet what reward, or what renown?

Envy, innate in vulgar souls,

Envy steps in and stops his rise;
Envy, with poison'd tarnith fouls

His luftre, and his worth decries.

He lives inglorious, or in want,

To college and old books confin'd;
Instead of learn'd he's call'd pedant,

Dunces advanc'd, he's left behind :
Yet left content, a genuine stoic he,
Great without patron, rich without South-sea:

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Inscription on a Grotto of Shells at CruxEASTON, the Work of Nine



By Mr. POPE.


ERE Munning idleness at once and praise,

This radiant pile nine rural fifters raise ; The glitt'ring emblem of each spotless dame, Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame" ; VOL. VI.



Beauty which Nature only can impart,
And such a polish as disgraces Art ;
But Fate dispos'd them in this humble fort,
And hid in defarts what wou'd charm a court,

VERSES occafioned by seeing a GROTTA

built by Nine Sisters:

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O much this building entertains my fight,

Nought but the builders can give more delight :
In them the master-piece of Nature's shown,
In this I fee Art's master-piece in stone.
O! Nature, Nature, thou haft conquer'd Art;
She charms the light alone, but you the heart.

N. H,

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THEN Phæbus's beams are withdrawn from our fight,

We admire his fair fifter, the regent of night;
Tho' languid her beauty, tho' feeble her ray,
Yet ftill fhe's akin to the God of the day.


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When Susan, like Cynthia, has finish'd her reign,
Then Charlotte, like Phæbus; shall shine out again.
As Catholic bigots fall humble before
The pictures of those whom in heart they adore,
Which tho' known to be nothing but canvas and paint;
Yet are said to enliven their žeal to the faint;
So to Susan I bow, charming Charlotte, for fhe
Has just beauty enough to remind me of thee.
Inconstant and faithless in love's the pretence
On which you arraign me : pray


Such censures as these to my credit redound;
I acknowledge, and thank a good appetite for’t,
When ven’son and claret are not to be found,
I can make a good meal upon mutton and port.
Tho'a Highclear's so fine that a prince would not fcorn it,
Tho' nature and taste have combin'd to adorn it,
Yet the artist that owns it wou'd think it severe,
Were a law made to keep him there all round the yeáta
How enrag'd wou'd the rector of Boscoville look,
If the king should enjoin him to read but one book!
And how would his audience their fortune bemoan,
If he gave them no fermons but what were his own!
Tis variety only makes appetite laft,
And by changing our dishes we quicken our taste.

å seat of the honourable R.
Wotton, the author's parish in the isle of Wight.

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Goddess most rever'd above,

Bright parent of almighty Love,
Whose pow'r th’immortal Gods confess,

Hear and approve my fond address:
In melting softness I thy doves outvie,
Then teach me like thy swans to sing and Ay;
So I thy vot'ry will for ever be ;
My song, my life I'll consecrate to thee.

Give me numbers strong and sweet,
Glowing language, pointed wit;
Words that might a Vestal move,
And melt a frozen heart to love.

Bid, bid thy blind boy
All his vigour employ ;

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