IX.

But hold, my Mufe, thy needlefs flight restrain,

Unless, like him, thou couldft a verse indite :
To think his fancy to defcribe is vain,
Since nothing can difcover light, but light.

X.

'Tis want of genius that does more deny : 'Tis fear my praise fhould make your glory lefs. And therefore, like the modeft Painter, I Muft draw the veil, where I cannot express.

HENRY GRAHME.

To MR. DRYDE N.

No undifputed Monarch govern'd yet

With universal sway the realms of wit;
Nature could never fuch expence afford;
Each feveral province own'd a several lord.
A Poet then had his poetic wife,
One Mufe embrac'd, and married for his life.
By the stale thing his appetite was cloy'd,
His fancy leffen'd, and his fire destroy'd.
But nature grown extravagantly kind,
With all her treasures did adorn your mind,
The different powers were then united found,
And you Wit's univerfal monarch crown'd.

Your

Your mighty fway your great desert secures,
And every Mufe and every Grace is yours,
To none confin'd, by turns you all enjoy,
Sated with this, you to another fly.
So Sultan-like in your feraglio ftand,

While wishing Muses wait for your command.
Thus no decay, no want of vigour find,
Sublime your fancy, boundless is your mind.
Not all the blafts of time can do you wrong;
Young, fpite of age; in spite of weakness, strong.
Time, like Alcides, ftrikes you to the ground:
You, like Antæus, from.each fall rebound.

H. ST. JOHN.

To MR. DR Y DE N,

ON HIS

VIRGIL.

"TIS

IS faid that Phidias gave fuch living grace
To the carv'd image of a beauteous face,
That the cold marble might even seem to be
The life; and the true life, the imagery.

You pafs'd that artist, Sir, and all his powers,
Making the best of Roman Poets ours;
With fuch effect, we know not which to call
The imitation, which th' original.

What

What Virgil lent, you pay in equal weight,
The charming beauty of the coin no less ;
And fuch the majefty of your impress,
You feem the very author you tranflate.

'Tis certain, were he now alive with us, And did revolving destiny constrain,

To dress his thoughts in English o'er again, Himself could write no otherwife than thus.

His old encomium never did appear

So true as now; Romans and Greeks, fubmit. Something of late is in our language writ, More nobly great than the fam'd Iliads were.

JA. WRIGHT.

VIRGIL'S

VIRGIL'S

PASTORAL S.