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And, while, her honour he rehearses,
Implores her to infpire his verses.

Yet free from this poetic madness,
Next page he fays in fober fadness,
That the and all her fellow-gods
Sit idling in their high abodes,
Regardless of this world below,
Our health or hanging, weal or woe;
Nor once difturb their heavenly fpirits
With Scapin's cheats, or Caefar's merits.
Nor e'er can Latin poets prove,
Where lies the real feat of love.
Jecur they burn, and Cor they pierce,
As either beft lupplies their verse :
And, if folks afk the reafon for't,
Say, one was long, and t'other short.
Thus, I prefume, the British mufe,
May take the freedom ftrangers use.
In profe our property is greater;
Why fhould it then be lefs in metre?
If Cupid throws a single dart;

We make him wound the lover's heart:
But if he takes his bow and quiver;
'Tis fure he must transfix the liver :
For rhime with reafon may difpenfe;
And found has right to govern sense.

But let your friends in verfe suppose, What ne'er fhall be allow'd in profe; Anatomifts can make it clear,

The Liver minds his own affair:
Kindly fupplies our public uses;

And parts and strains the vital juices ;

Still lay fome useful bile afide,
To tinge the chyle's infipid tide:

Elfe we should want both gibe and satire;
And all be burft with pure good nature.
Now gall is bitter with a witness;
And love is all delight and fweetness;
My Logic then has lost its aim,
If fweet and bitter be the fame:
And, he, methinks, is no great fcholar,
Who can mistake defire for choler.

The like may of the Heart be faid;
Courage and terror there are bred.
All thofe, whofe hearts are loofe and low,
Start, if they hear but the Tat too;
And mighty physical their fear is:
For, foon as noife of combat near is,
Their hearts defcending to their breeches,
Muft give their ftomach cruel twitches.
But heroes who o'ercome or die,

Have their hearts hung extremely high:
The ftrings of which, in battles heat,

Against their very Corflets beat ;

Keep time with their own trumpet's measure;

And yield 'em moft exceffive pleasure.

Now if tis chiefly in the heart,

That courage does itself exert ;
'Twill be prodigious hard to prove,
That this is eke the throne of love.
Would nature make one place the feat
Of fond defire, and fell debate?

Moft people only take delight in

Those hours, when they are tir'd with fighting!

And has no man, but who has kill'd
A father, right to get a child?

Thefe notions then I think but idle:
And love fhall ftill poffefs the middle.
This truth more plainly to discover,
Suppofe your hero were a lover,
Though he before had gall and rage,
Which death, or conqueft must affuage;
He grows difpirited and low ::

He hates the fight, and fhuns the foe.
In fcornful floth Achilles flept;
And for his wench, like Tall-boy, wept:
Nor would return to war and flaughter;
Till they brought back the parfon's daughter..
Antonius fled from Actium's coaft,
Auguftus preffing, Afia loft.

His fails by. Cupid's hand unfurl'd,.
To keep the fair, he gave the world.

Edward our fourth, rever'd and crown'd; Vig'rous in youth, in arms renown'd; While England's voice, and Warwick's care Defign'd him Gallia's beauteous heir; Chang'd peace and pow'r for rage and wars, Only to dry one widow's tears.

France's fourth Henry we may see,
A fervant to the fair d'Eftree;
When quitting Coutras profp'rous field,
And fortune taught at length to yield,
He from his guard and midnight tent,
Difguis'd o'er hills and vallies went,
To wanton with the fprightly dame;
And in his pleasure loft his fame.

Bold is the critic, who dares prove,

These heroes were no friends to love;
And bolder he, who dares aver,

That they were enemies to war.

Yet, when their thought fhould, now or never, Have rais'd their Heart, or fir'd their Liver; Fond Alma to these parts was gone,

Which Love more juftly calls his own.

Examples I could cite you more;

But be contented with these four:

For when one's proofs are aptly chofen;

Four are as valid as four dozen.

One came from Greece, and one from Rome;

The other two grew nearer home.
For fome in ancient books delight,
Others prefer what moderns write;
Now I fhould be extremely loth,
Not to be thought expert in both.

THE

SECOND CAN TO.

B

UT fhall we take the Mufe abroad,
To drop her idly on the road?
And leave our fubject in the middle;
As Butler did his bear and fiddle?
Yet he, confummate mafter, knew,
When to recede, and where pursue:
His noble negligences teach,
What other toils defpair to reach.
He, perfect dancer, climbs the rope,
And balances your fear and hope :
If after fome diftinguifh'd leap,
He drops his pole, and feems to flip;
Straight gath'ring all his active strength,
He rifes higher half his length.
With wonder you approve his flight;
And owe your pleasure to your fright.
But like poor Andrew I advance,
Falfe mimic of my master's dance :
Around the cord a while I fprawl;
And thence, though low, in earnest fall.
My preface tells you, I digrefs'd:
He's half abfolv'd who has confefs'd.
I like, quoth Dick, your Simile
And in return, take two from me.

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