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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 pleafant to me to correct as to write.
At p. 9. 1. 2.-In the first 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 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 fhort a time they, and I, have to live. A man that can expect but fixty years may be ashamed to employ thirty in measuring fyllables and bringing fenfe and rhyme together. We spend our youth in purfuit 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 referve fome of my time to fave my foul; and that fome wife men will be of my opinion, even if I fhould think a part of it better fpent in the enjoyments of life than in pleafing the critics.
And yet fo wonderful, fublime a thing
VER. 11.] This is the common-place cant of men tir'd with business and courts.
"This is mere moral babble." Comus, p. 806.
Except I juftly could at once commend
'Tis great delight to laugh at fome mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.
TO MR. POPE.
ON HIS PASTORALS.
N these more dull, as more cenforious days, I' 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 verse are found Art strength'ning Nature, Senfe improv'd by Sound. Unlike thofe Wits, whofe numbers glide along So fmooth, no thought e'er interrupts the fong: Laboriously enervate they appear,
And write not to the head, but to the ear:
So purling ftreams with even murmurs creep,
Your ftrains are regularly bold, and please
The long loft graces of Simplicity:
..VER. 28, Sylvan Mufe] From Boileau's Art of Poetry, Chant. 2. 1. 1. Pope feems to have corrected these lines.
Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate, Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait; Whose Muse did once, like thine, in plains delight; Thine fhall, like his, foon take a higher flight; So Larks, which firft from lowly fields arife, Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies.
TO MR. POPE,
ON HIS WINDSOR-FOREST.
AIL, facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before HA Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic fhore. To our dark world thy fhining page is shown, And Windfor's gay retreat becomes our own. The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care, And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here: A various fpoil adorn'd our naked land, The pride of Perfia glitter'd on our strand, And China's earth was caft on common fand: Tofs'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay, And drefs'd the rocky fhelves, and pav'd the painted
Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boaft