Such secrets are not easily found out ;
But, once discover'd, leave no room for doubt.
Troth stamps conviction in your ravish'd breaft,
And peace and joy attend the glorious guest.

Truth ftill is one ; truth is divinely bright;
No cloudy doubts obscure her native light ;
While in your thoughts you find the least debate,
You may confound, but never can translate.
Your style will this through all difguises fhew,,
For none explain more clearly than they know.
He only proves he understands a text,
Whose exposition leaves it unperplex'd.
They who too faithfully on names infift,
Rather create than dissipate the mist;
And grow unjust by being over-nice,
(For superstitious virtue turns to vice).
Let Craffus* * ghoft and Labienus tell
How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell ;
Since Rome hath been so jealous of her fame,
That few know Pacorus' or Monæses' name.

Words in one language elegantly us'd,
Will hardly in another be excus'd.
And some that Rome admir'd in Cæsar's time.
May neither suit our genius nor our clime.
The genuine sense, intelligibly told,
Shews a translator both discreet and bold.

Excursions

Hor, iii. Od, 6.

Excursions are inexpiably bad ; And 'uis much safer to leave out thàni add. & Abstruse and mystic thoughts you must express siwe With painful care, bút seeming easiness : 134; For truth shines brightest thro' the plaineit .dress. i Th’ Ænean Muse, when she appears in state, Makes all Jove's thunder on her verses wait: itt Yet writes sometimes as soft and moving things 'As Venus fpeaks, or Philomela fings.

17 Your author always will the best advise, Fall when he falls, and when he rises rise. Affected noise is the most wretched thing That to contempt can empty scribblers bring. Vowels and accents, regularly plac’d, On even fyllables (and still the last) Though gross innumerable faults abound, In spite of nonsense, never fail of found. But this is meant of even verse alone, As being most harmonious and most known : For if you will unequal numbers try, There accents on odd syllables muft lie. Whatever filter of the learned Nine Does to your fuit a willing ear incline, Urge your fuccefs, deserve a lafting name, She'll crown a grateful and a constant flame. But if a wild uncertainty prevail. And turn your veering heart with ev'ry gale, You lose the fruit of all

your

former care For the sad prospect of a just despair.

A quack

A quack (too scandalously mean to name) Had, by man-midwifery, got wcalth and fame : As if Lucina had forgot her trade, The labouring wife invokes his suret aid. Well-season'd bowls the goslip's spirits raise, Who, while the guzzles, chats the doctor's praise ; And largely what she wants in words fupplies, With maudlin-eloquence of trickling eyes. But what a thoughtless animal is man! How very

a&tive in his own trepan ! For, greedy of physicians frequent foes, From female mellow praise he takes degrees ; Struts in a new unlicens'd gown, and then, From faving women, falls to killing men. Another such had left the nation thin, In spite of all the children he brought in. His pills as thick as hand-granadoes flew : And where they fell, as certainly they flew ; His name ftruck every where as great a damp As Archimedes through the Roman camp. With this, the doctor's pride began to cool ;." For smarting foundly may convince a fool. But now repentance came too late for grace ; And meager famine star'd him in the face : Fain would he to the wives be reconcil'd, But found no husband left to own a child. The friends that got the brats were poison’d too ; In this sad case, what could our vermin do?

Worrled

Worried with debts, and past all hope of bail,
Th' unpitied wretch lies rotting in a jail :
And there, with basket-alms scarce kept alive,
Shews how mistaken talents ought to thrive.

I pity, from my soul, unhappy men.
Çompellid by want to prostitute their pen ;
Who must, like lawyers, either fiarve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead !
But you, Pompilian, wealthy pamper'd heirs,
Who to your country owe your swords and cares,
Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce,
For rich ill poets are without excuse,
'Tis very dangerous, tampering wlih a muse;
The profit's small, and you have much to lose :
For though true wit adorns your birth and place,
Degenerate lines degrade th' attainted race.
No poet any passion can excite
But what they feel transport them when they write,
Have you

been led through the Cumaan cave,
And heard the impatient maid divinely rave?
I hear her now! I see her rolling eyes :
And panting, Lo! the god, the gud, she cries ;
With words not hers, and more than human sound,
She makes th' obcdient ghosts peep trembling thro' the

ground. But, tho' we muil obey when Heaven commands, And man in vain the sacred call withstands,

Beware

Beware what fpirit rages in your

breast;
For ten inspir’d, ten thousand are posseft.
Thus make the proper use of each extreme,
And write with fury, but correct with phlegm.
As when the cheerful hours too freely pass,
And sparkling wine smiles in the tempting glass,
Your pulse advises, and begins to beat
Through ev'ry swelling vein a loud retreat :
So when a mufe propitiously invites,
Improve her favours, and indulge her flights ;
But when you find that vigorous heat abate,
Leave off, and for another summons wait.
Before the radiant sun a glimmering lamp,
Adulterate metals to the sterling stamp,
Appear not meaner than mere human lines,
Compar’d with those whose inspiration shines :
These

nervous, bold ; those languid and remiss ;
There, cold falutes; but here a lover's kiss.
Thus have I feen a rapid headlong tide
With foaming waves the pallive Soane divide;
Whose lazy waters without motion lay,
While he, with eager force, urg'd his impetuous way,

The privilege that ancient poets claim,,
Now turnd to licence by too just a name;
Belongs to none but an establish'd fame,
Which scorns to take it
Absurd expressions, crude, abortive thoughts,
All the lewd legion of exploded faults,

Bafe,