Proud for a jeft obfcene, a patron's nod,

To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.

Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can fee

Th' extremes of wit and meanness join'd in thee! 420
Flames that could mount, and gain their kindred skies,
Low creeping in the putrid fink of vice:

A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain,
The pimp of pow'r, the prostitute to gain :
Wreaths, that should deck fair Virtue's form alone, 425
To ftrumpets, traitors, tyrants, vilely thrown:
Unrival'd parts, the fcorn of honest fame;
And genius rife, a monument of shame!

More happy France: immortal BOILEAU there Supported genius with a fage's care:

430

Him with her love propitious SATIRE blest,
And breath'd her airs divine into his breast:
Fancy and sense to form his line conspire,
And faultlefs judgment guides the pureft fire.
But fee, at length, the British Genius fmile,
And fhow'r her bounties o'er her favour'd ifle :
Behold for POPE fhe twines the laurel crown,
And centers every poet's pow'r in one:

Each Roman's force adorns his various page;
Gay fmiles, collected ftrength, and manly rage.

4

435

440

Despair

Defpairing Guilt and Dulness loath the fight,
As spectres vanish at approaching light:
In this clear mirror with delight we view.

Each image juftly fine, and boldly true:

Here Vice, drag'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree, 445 Beholds and hates her own deformity:

While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line

With modest joy furveys her form divine.

But oh! what thoughts, what numbers fhall I find,

But faintly to exprefs the poet's mind!

Who yonder star's effulgence can display,

Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?

Who paint a god, unless the god infpire?

450

455

What catch the light'ning, but the speed of fire?
So, mighty POPE, to make thy genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers - but thy own.
Each Mufe for thee with kind contention strove,
For thee the Graces left th' IDALIAN grove;
With watchful fondness o'er thy cradle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant tongue: 460
Next, to her bard majestic Wisdom came;

The bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame :
With tafte fuperior scorn'd the venal tribe,

Whom fear can fway, or guilty greatness bribe;

At

At fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the stream, and trifle in the gale:
Sublimer views thy daring spirit bound;
Thy mighty voyage was creation's round;
Intent new worlds of wisdom to explore,

And bless mankind with Virtue's facred store;
A nobler joy than wit can give, impart;
And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic wit fhoots momentary fires,

And like a meteor, while we gaze, expires:
Wit kindled by the fulph'rous breath of Vice,

465

470

475

Like the blue light'ning, while it fhines, destroys:

But genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,

Burns clear and conftant, like the fource of day

Like this, its beam prolific and refin'd

Feeds, warms, infpirits, and exalts the mind;

480

Mildly difpels each wint'ry paffion's gloom,
And opens all the virtues into bloom.

This praise, immortal POPE, to thee be giv'n:
Thy genius was indeed a gift from heav'n.

Hail, bard unequall'd, in whofe deathless line
Reason and wit with strength collected shine :
Where matchlefs wit but wins the second praise,
Loft, nobly loft, in Truth's fuperior blaze.

485

Did

Did FRIENDSHIP e'er mislead thy wand'ring Muse? That friendship fure may plead the great excufe, 490 That facred friendship which infpir'd thy fong,

Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.

Error like this ev'n truth can scarce reprove;

'Tis almoft virtue when it flows from love.

Ye deathlefs names, ye fons of endless praife, 495
By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays!
Say, fhall an artlefs Mufe, if you inspire,
Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire?
Or if, O WARBURTON, inspir'd by You,
The daring Muse a nobler path pursue,
By You inspir'd, on trembling pinion foar,
The facred founts of focial blifs explore,
In her bold numbers chain the tyrant's rage,
And bid her country's glory fire her page:

If fuch her fate, do thou, fair Truth, defcend,
And watchful guard her in an honest end:
Kindly fevere, inftruct her equal line

To court no friend, nor own a foe but thine.
But if her giddy eye should vainly quit
Thy facred paths, to run the maze of wit;
If her apoftate heart should e'er incline
To offer incense at Corruption's fhrine;

500

505

510

Urge,

.

Urge, urge thy pow'r, the black attempt confound, And dash the smoaking cenfer to the ground.

Thus aw'd to fear, inftructed bards may fee, 515 That guilt is doom'd to fink in infamy.

A Character of Mr. POPE'S WRITINGS.

BEING

An Episode from the Poem call'd SICKNESS, Book II.

By the Rev. Mr. THOMPSON.

-In meafur'd time

(So heav'n has will'd) together with their fnows,
The everlasting hills fhall melt away:
This folid globe diffolve, as ductile wax
Before the breath of Vulcan; like a scroll
Shrivel th' unfolded curtains of the sky;
Thy planets, NEWTON, tumble from their spheres;
The moon be perifh'd from her bloody orb;

The fun himself, in liquid ruin, rush

And deluge with destroying flames the globe

Peace then, my foul, nor grieve that POPE is dead.

If