A Reply to a Copy of Verfes made in Imitation of Ode II. Book III. of HORACE. Angustam amice pauperiem pati, &c. And fent by Mr. TITLEY to Dr. BENTLEY. WHO By Dr. BENTLEY. HO ftrives to mount Parnaffus' hill, Muft fly with fwans, or eagle's wing. Who nature's treasures wou'd explore, Muft high, as lofty Newton foar, Who ftudies ancient laws and rites, Who travels in religious jars, (Truth mixt with error, fhade with rays,) Like Whiston wanting pyx or stars, In ocean wide or finks or ftrays, But But grant our heroe's hope long toil Yet what reward, or what renown! Envy, innate in vulgar fouls, Envy steps in and stops his rise; His luftre, and his worth decries. He lives inglorious, or in want, To college and old books confin'd; Dunces advanc'd, he's left behind: Yet left content, a genuine ftoic he, Great without patron, rich without South-fea. $ Infcription on a GROTTO of Shells at CRUXEASTON, the Work of Nine young Ladies. By Mr. P O P E. TERE fhunning idleness at once and praise, H This radiant pile nine rural fifters raise; The glitt'ring emblem of each spotless dame, Clear as her foul, and fhining as her frame; VOL. VI. L Beauty Beauty which Nature only can impart, ******************** VERSES occafioned by feeing a GROTTO built by Nine Sifters, O much this building entertains my fight, O! Nature, Nature, thou haft conquer'd Art ; She charms the fight alone, but you the heart. N. H. 米米 An Excuse for INCONSTANCY, 1737. By the Rev. Dr. LISLE. 'HEN Phoebus's beams are withdrawn from our fight, WHEN We admire his fair fifter, the regent of night; Tho' languid her beauty, tho' feeble her ray, Yet ftill fhe's akin to the God of the day. When When Sufan, like Cynthia, has finish'd her reign, The pictures of those whom in heart they adore, On which you arraign me: pray hear my defence. I can make a good meal upon mutton and port. b Were a law made to keep him there all round the year. a The feat of the honourable R. Ht. Wotton, the author's parish in the isle of Wights Goddess moft rever'd above, Bright parent of almighty Love, In melting softness I thy doves outvie, So I thy vot'ry will for ever be ; My fong, my life I'll confecrate to thee. AIR. Give me numbers ftrong and fweet, Bid, bid thy blind boy On |