The queen of love, who foon will fee Her own Adonis live in thee,

Will lightly her first loss deplore,
Will eafily forgive the boar :

Her eyes with tears no more will flow,
With jealous rage her breast will glow,
And on her tabby rival's face
She deep will mark a new disgrace.

TO THE HONOURABLE

CHARLES MONTAGUE, ESQ.

[OWE'ER, 'tis well that, while mankind
Thro' fate's perverfe meander errs,

He can imagin'd pleasures find

To combat against real cares.

II.

Fancies and notions he pursues,
Which ne'er had being but in thought;
Each, like the Grecian artist, woos
The image he himself has wrought.
III.

Against experience he believes;
He argues against demonstration:
Pleas'd when his reafon he deceives,
And fets his judginent by his paffion.
IV.

The hoary fool, who many days
Has ftruggled with continu'd forrow,
Renews his hope, and blindly lays
The defp'rate bet upon to-morrow.

V.

To-morrow comes: 'tis noon, 'tis night
This day like all the former flies;
Yet on he runs to feek delight
To-morrow, till to-night he dies.

VI.

Our hopes like tow'ring falcons aim
An objects in an airy height:

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The little pleafure of the game
Is from afar to view the flight.
VII.

Our anxious pains we all the day
In fearch of what we like employ ;
Scorning at night the worthlefs prey,
We find the labour gave the joy.

VIII.

At distance thro' an artful glass
To the mind's eye things well appear ;
They lofe their forms, and make a mafs
Confus'd and black, if brought too near.

XI.

If we fee right we see our woes:
Then what avails it to have eyes?
From ignorance our comfort flows:
The only wretched are the wife.

X.

We weary'd should lie down in death:
This cheat of life would take no more
If you thought fame but empty breath,
I Phillis but a perjur'd whore.

TO DR. SHERLOCK,

ON HIS PRACTICAL DISCOURSE CONCERNING

F

DEATH.

ORGIVE the mufe who, in unhallow'd ftrains, The faint one moment from his God detains; For fure what'er you do, where'er you are, 'Tis all but one good.work, one conftant pray'r. Forgive her; and entreat that God to whom Thy favour'd vows with kind acceptance come, To raife her notes to that fublime degree Which fuits a fong of piety and thee.

Wondrous good man whofe labours may repel The force of fin, may ftop the rage of hell; Thou, like the Baptift, from thy God waft fent, The crying voice to bid the world repent.

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Thee youth shall study, and no more engage
Their flatt'ring wifhes for uncertain age;
No more with fruitlefs care and cheated ftrife
Chafe fleeting pleasure thro' this maze of life;
Finding the wretched all they here can have
But prefent food, and but a future grave;
Each, great as Philip's victor fon, shall view
This abject world, and weeping afk a new.
Decrepit age fhall read thee, and confefs
Thy labours can affuage where med'cines ceafe
Shall blefs thy words, their wounded fouls' relief,
The drops that fweeten their laft dregs of life;
Shall look to heav'n, and laugh at all beneath,
Own riches gather'd trouble, fame a breath,
And life an ill whofe only cure is death.

Thy even thoughts with fo much plainnefs flow,
Their fenfe untutor'd Infancy may know;
Yet to fuch height is all that plainnefs wrought,
Wit may adinire, and letter'd Pride be taught.
Ealy in words thy ftyle, in fenfe fublime,
On its bleft fteps each age and fex may rise;
'Tis like the ladder in the Patriarch's dream,
Its foot on earth, its height above the skies,
Diffus'd its virtue, boundlefs is its pow'r ;
'Tis public health, and univerfal cure :
Of heav'nly mannà 'tis a second feast,
A nation's food, and all to ev'ry taste.

To its laft height mad Britain's guilt was rear'd, 40
And various death for various crimes fhe fear'd:
With your kind work her drooping hopes revive;
You bid her read, repent, adore, and live,
You wreft the bolt from Heav'n's avenging hand,
Stop ready death, and fave a finking land.

O! fave us ftill; ftill bless us with thy stay :
O! want thy heay'n till we have learn'd the way:
Refufe to leave thy deftin'd charge too soon,
And for the church's good defer thy own.
O! live, and let thy works urge our belief;
Live to explain thy doctrine by thy life;

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Till future infancy, baptiz'd by thee,, Grow ripe in years, and old in piety; Till Chriftians yet unborn be taught to die. Then in full age and hoary holiness Retire, great Teacher, to thy promis'd blifs; Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjur'd be thy duft, As thy own fame among the future juft, Till in laft founds the dreadful trumpet fpeaks; Till judgment calls, and quicken'd nature wakes; 60 Till thro' the utmost earth and deepest fea Our scatter'd atoms find their deftin'd way, In hafte to clothe their kindred fouls again, Perfect our ftate, and build immortal man : Then fearless thou, who well fuftaind'st the fight, 65 To paths of joy and tracks of endless light, Lead up all thofe who heard thee and believ'd; 'Midft thy own flock, great Shepherd, be receiv'd, And glad all heav'n with millions thou haft fav'd. 69

TO A PERSON

WHO WROTE ILL, AND SPAKE WORSE, AGAINST ME.
IE Philo untouch'd, on my peaceable shelf,
Nor take it amifs that fo little I heed thee;

I've no envy to thee, and fome love to myself:
Then why fhould I anfwer fince firft I must read thee?
Drunk with Helicon's waters, and double-brew'd bub,
Be a linguift, a poet, a critic, a wagi

To the folid delight of thy well-judging club,
To the damage alone of thy bookfeller Brag.
Purfue me with fatire; what harm is there in't?
But from all vivà voce reflection forbear;

There can be no danger from what thou shalt print;
There may be a little from what thou may'ft swear. 12

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ON THE SAME PERSON.

HILE fafter than his coftive brain indites
Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes

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His cafe appears to me like honeft Teague's,
When he was run away with by his legs.
Phoebus, give Philo o'er himfelf cominand;
Quicken his fenfes, or reftrain his hand;
Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink;
So he may ceafe to write, and learn to think.

TO THE

LADY ELIZABETH HARLEY,
SINCE MARCHIONESS OF CARMARTHEN,
On a Column of her Drawing.

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HEN future ages fhall with wonder view [drew? These glorious lines which Harley's daughte They fhall confefs that Britain could not raise A fairer column to the father's praise.

To the Right Honourable

THE COUNTESS DOWAGER

WIES

OF DEVONSHIRE,

ON A PIECE OF WIESSEN'S,

Whereon were all her grandfons painted.

VIESSEN and Nature held a long contest
If the created or he painted best;

With pleasing thought the wondrous combat grew,
She ftill form'd fairer, he ftill liker drew..

In these fev'n brethren they contended laft ;
With art increas'd their utmost skill they try'd,
And both well pleas'd they had theinfelves furpafs'd,
The goddess triumph'd, and the painter dy'd.
That both their skill to this vaft height did raife,
Be ours the wonder, and be yours the praife:
For here, as in fome glafs, is well defcry'd
Only yourself thus often multiply'd.

When Heav'n had you and gracious Anna made,
What more exalted beauty could it add?

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