Dido in vain may weep, and ask Relief;
I blame her Folly, whilft I fhare her Grief.
A virtuous Author, in his charming Art,
To please the Sense needs not corrupt the Heart:
His Heat will never cause a guilty Fire:
To follow Virtue then be your defirè.
In vain your Art and Vigor are expreft;
Th' obfcene Expreffion fhows th' infected Breast.
But above all, bafe Jealoufies avoid,
In which detracting Poets are employ❜d.
A noble Wit dares lib'rally commend;
And fcorns to grudge at his deserving Friend.
Bafe Rivals, who true Wit and Merit hate,
Caballing ftill against it with the Great,
Maliciously afpire to gain Renown,
By ftanding up, and pulling others down.
Never debafe your felf by treacherous Ways,
Nor by fuch abject Methods feek for Praise :
Let not your only bus'nefs be to Write;
Be Virtuous, Juft, and in your Friends delight.
'Tis not enough your Poems be admir'd;
But ftrive your Converfation be defir'd:
Write for immortal Fame; nor ever chufe
Gold for the Object of a gen'rous Mufe.
I know a noble Wit may, without Crime,
Receive a lawful Tribute for his Time :
Yet I abhor thofe Writers, who despise
Their Honour; and alone their Profit prize;
Who their Apollo bafely will degrade,
And of a noble Science, make Trade.
Before kind Reason did her Light difplay,
And Government taught Mortals to obey,
Men, like wild Beafts, did Nature's Laws purfue,
They fed on Herbs, and Drink from Rivers drew;
Their brutal Force, on Luft and Rapine bent,
Committed Murders without Punishment:
Reason at laft, by her all-conqu❜ring Arts,
Reduc'd thefe Savages, and tun'd their Hearts;
Mankind from Bogs, and Woods, and Caverns calls,
And Towns and Cities fortifies with Walls:
Thus fear of Juftice made proud Rapine cease,
And shelter'd Innocence by Laws and Peace.
Thefe Benefits from Poets we receiv'd,
From whence are rais'd thofe Fictions fince believ'd,
That Orpheus, by his foft harmonious Strains,
Tam'd the fierce Tigers of the Thracian Plains;
Amphion's Notes, by their melodious Pow'rs,
Drew Rocks and Woods, and rais'd the Theban Tow'rs:
These Miracles from numbers did arife:
Since which, in Verse Heav'n taught his Mysteries,
And by a Prieft, poffefs'd with rage Divine,
Apollo spoke from his Prophetick Shrine.
Soon after Homer the old Heroes prais'd,
And noble Minds by great Examples rais'd;
Then Hefiod did his Gracian Swains incline
To Till the Fields, and Prune the bounteous Vine.
Thus ufeful Rules were by the Poets aid,
In eafie numbers, to rude Men convey'd,
And pleafingly their Precepts did impart;
First charm'd the Ear, and then ingag'd the Heart:
The Muses thus their Reputation rais'd,
And with juft Gratitude in Greece were prais'd.
With pleasure Mortals did their Wonders fee,
And Sacrific'd to their Divinity:
But Want, at laft, bafe Flatt'ry entertain'd,
And old Parnaffus with this Vice was ftain'd:
Defire of Gain dazling the Poets Eyes,
Their Works were fill'd with fulfome Flatteries.
Thus needy Wits a vile Revenue made,
And Verfe became a mercenary Trade.
Debafe not with fo mean a Vice thy Art:
If Gold must be the Idol of thy Heart,
Fly, fly th' unfruitful Heliconian Strand,
Those Streams are not inrich'd with golden Sand:
Great Wits, as Well as Warriors, only gain
Laurels and Honours for their Toil and Pain:
But, what? an Author cannot live on Fame,
Or pay a Reck'ning with a lofty Name:
A Poet to whom Fortune is unkind,
Who when he goes to Bed has hardly din'd;
Takes little Pleasure in Parnaffus Dreams,
Or relishes the Heliconian Streams.
Horace had Eafe and Plenty when he writ,
And free from Cares for Mony or for Meat,
Did not expect his Dinner from his Wit.
'Tis true; but Verfe is cherish'd by the Great,
And now none Famish who deferve to Eat:
What can we fear, when Virtue, Arts, and Senfe,
Receive the Stars propitious Influence;
When a fharp-fighted Prince, by early Grants
Rewards your Merits, and prevents your Wants?
Sing then his Glory, celebrate his Fame;
Your nobleft Theme is his immortal Name.
Let mighty Spencer raise his reverend Head,
Cowley and Denham ftart up from the Dead 5.
Waller his Age renew, and Off'rings bring,
Our Monarch's Praise let bright-ey'd Virgins fing
Let Dryden with new Rules our Stage refine,
And his great Models form by this Defign;
But where's a Second Virgil, to Rehearse
Our Hero's Glories in his Epic Verfe?
What Orpheus fing his Triumphs o'er the Main,
And make the Hills and Forefts move again;
Shew his bold Fleet on the Batavian Shore,
And Holland trembling as his Cannons roar;
Paint Europe's Ballance in his fteady Hand,
Whilft the two Worlds in expectation ftand
Of Peace or War, that wait on his Command?
But, as I fpeak, new Glories ftrike my Eyes,
Glories, which Heav'n it felf does give, and prize
Bleffings of Peace; that with their milder Rays
Adorn his Reign, and bring Saturnian Days:
Now let Rebellion, Difcord, Vice, and Rage,
That have in Patriots Forms debauch'd our Age,
Vanish with all the Minifters of Hell: *
His Rays their pois'nous Vapours fhall difpel:
'Tis He alone our Safety did create,
His own firm Soul fecur'd the Nation's Fate,
Oppos'd to all the boutfeans of the State,
Authors, for him your great Endeavours raife;
The loftieft Numbers will but reach his Praife.
For me, whofe Verse in Satyr has been bred,
And never durft heroic Measures tread;
Yet you fhall fee me, in that famous Field
With Eyes and Voice, my best affiftance yield;
Offer you Leffons, that my infant Muse
Learnt, when she Horace for her Guide did chufe:
Second your Zeal with Wishes, Heart and Eyes,
And afar off hold up the glorious Prize.
But pardon too, if, Zealous for the Right,
A ftri& Obferver of each noble Flight,
From the fine Gold I feparate th' Allay,
And show how hafty Writers fometimes ftray:
Apter to Blame, than knowing how to Mend;
A fharp, but yet a neceffary Friend.
The Imperfect ENJOYMENT.
Ruition was the Queftion in debate,
Which like fo hot a Cafuift I did ftate,
That she with freedom urg'd as my Offence,
To teach my Reason to fubdue my Senfe.
But yet this angry Cloud which did proclaim
Vollies of Thunder, melted into Rain;
And this adulterate Stamp of feeming nice,
Made feigned Virtue but a Bawd to Vice.
For by a Complement that's feldom known,
She thrufts me out, and yet invites me homes
And thofe Delays do but advance Delight,
As Prohibition fharpens Appetite.
For the kind Curtain raised my Efteem
To wonder at the opening of the Scene.
When of her Breafts her Hands the Guardians were, Yet I falute each fullen Officer,
Though like the flaming Sword before mine Eyes,
They block the Paffage to my Paradife.
Nor could thofe Tyrant-Hands fo guard the Coyn,.
But Love, where't cannot purchase, may purloin.
For though her Breafts be hid, her Lips are Prize,
To make me rich beyond my Avarice;
Yet my Ambition my Affection fed
To conquer both the White Rofe and the Red,.
Th' Event prov'd true: For on the Bed the fate,
And feem'd to covet, what fhe feem'd to hate:
Heat of Refiftance hath increas'd her Fire,
And weak Defence is turn'd to ftrong Defire.
What unkind Influence could interpofe,
When two fuch Stars did in Conjunction close;
Only too hafty zeal my Hopes did foil;
Preffing to feed her Lamp, fpilt my Oil:
And, that (which moft Reproach upon me hurl'd)-
Was dead to her, gives Life to all the World:
Nature's chief Prop, and Motions primeft Source,
In me both loft their Figure, and their Force.
Sad Conqueft! when it is the Victor's Fate
To die at th' entrance of the opening Gate!
Like prudent Colporations, had we laid
A common Stock by, we'd improv'd our Trade:
But as a prodigal Heir, I spent by th' by,
What Home directed wou'd ferve her and I.
When next on fuch Affaults I chance to be,
Give me lefs Vigour, more Activity:
For Love turns impotent when ftrain'd too high;
His very Cordials make him fooner die :
Evaporates in Fume the Fire too great:
Loves Chymiftry thrives beft in equal Heat.
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