One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed ''Tis great delight to laugh at some mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise. IN , 1 To Mr. POPE, on his Pastorals. IN these more dull, as more cenforious days, When few dare give, and fewer merit praise, A Muse sincere, that never Flatt'ry knew, Pays what to friendship and defert is due. Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found 5 Art strength’ning Nature, Sense improv'd by Sound. Unlike those Wits, whose numbers glide along So smooth, no thought e'er interrupts the song: Laboriously enervate they appear, And write not to the head, but to the ear : Our minds unmoy'd and unconcern'd they lull, And are at best moft mufically dull; So purling streams with even murmurs creep, And lush the heavy hearers into sleep. As smoothest speech is moft deceitful found, 15 The smootheft numbers oft are empty found. But Wit and Judgment join at once in you, Sprightly as Youth, as Age consummate too : Your strains are regularly bold, and please in With unforc'd care, and unaffected eafe, With proper thoughts, and lively images : Such as by Nature to the Ancients shown, Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own : For 20 30 For great mens fashions to be followed are, Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate, W. WYCHERLEY. 40 To To Mr. POPE, on his Windsar-Fores. HS TAIL, facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore. To our dark world thy shining page is shown, And Windsor's gay retreat becomes our own. The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care, 5 And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here: A various spoil adorn’d our naked land, The pride of Persia glitter'd on our strand, And China's Earth was cast on common fand: Toss'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay, IO And dress’d the rocky shelves, and pav'd the paint } ed bay, Thy treasures next arriv’d, and now we boast Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page, grows, While she the wond'ring shepherd entertains With a new IVindsor in her wat'ry plains ; Thy juster lays the lucid wave surpass, The living scene is in the Muse’s glass. 25 Nor sweeter notes the echoing Forests chear, When Philomela fits and warbles there, † Than grove, but Than when you sing the greens and op'ning glades, you Can paint the grove, and add the Music too. 31 With vast variety thy pages shine ; A new creation starts in ev'ry line. How sudden trees rise to the reader's sight, And make a doubtful scene of shade and light, And give at once the day, at once the night! And here again what sweet confusion reigns, In dreary deserts mix’d with painted plains ! And see the deserts cast a pleasing gloom, And shrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom : 40 Whilft fruitful crops rise by their barren fide, And bearded groves display their annual pride: Happy the man, who strings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields in } spire! } Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell 45 Snatch me, ye Gods! from these Atlantic fhores, 55 Thence let me view the venerable scene, The awful.dome, the groves eternal green: Where Where sacred Houzh long found his fam'd retreat, 65 ftrain, I rise, and wander thro' the field or plain Led by the Muse from sport to sport I run, Mark the stretch'd line, or hear the thund’ring gun. Ah ! how I melt with pity, when I spy 76 On the cold earth the flutt'ring Pheasant lie; His gaudy robes in dazling lines appear, And every feather flines and varies there. Nor can I pass the gen'rous courser by, 80 But while the prancing iteed allures my eye, He starts, he's gone! and now I see him fly O'er hills and dales, and now I lose the course, Nor can the rapid fight pursue the flying horse. Oh cou'd thy Virgil from his orb look down, 85 He'd view a courser that might match his own! Fir'd with the sport, and eager for the chace, Ledina's murmurs itop me in the race, Who |