'F e'er in thy fight I found favour, Apollo,

From the knaves and the fools, and the fops of the time,
From the drudges in profe, and the triflers in rhyme:
From the patch-work and toils of the royal fack-bibber,
Those dead birth-day odes, and the farces of CIBBER:
From fervile attendance on men in high places,
Their worships, and honours, and lordships, and graces:
From long dedications to patrons unworthy,
Who hear and receive, but will do nothing for thee;
From being carefs'd to be left in the lurch,

The tool of a party, in ftate or in church :
From dull thinking blockheads, as fober as Turks,
And petulant bards who repeat their own works:
From all the gay things of a drawing-room show,
The fight of a Belle, and the fmell of a Beau:
From busy back-biters, and tatlers, and carpers,
And fcurvy acquaintance of fidlers and sharpers:
From old politicians, and coffee-house lectures,
The dreams of a chymift, and fchemes of projectors:
From the fears of a jail, and the hopes of a penfion,
The tricks of a gamefler, and oaths of an enfign:

From fhallow free-thinkers in taverns difputing,
Nor ever confuted, nor ever confuting:

From the conftant good fare of another man's board,
My lady's broad hints, and the jefts of my lord:
From hearing old chymifts prelecting de oleo,
And reading of Dutch commentators in folio:
From waiting, like GAY,' whole years at White-hall ;
From the pride of gay wits, and the envy of fmall:
From very fine ladies with very fine incomes,

Which they finely lay out on fine toys and fine trincums:
From the pranks of ridottoes and court-masquerades,
The fnares of young jilts, and the spite of old maids:
From a faucy dull stage, and submitting to share
In an empty third night with a beggarly play'r:
From CURL and fuch Printers as wou'd ha' me curs'd
To write fecond parts, let who will write the firft:
From all pious patriots, who would to their beft,
Put on a new tax, and take off an old teft:
From the faith of informers, the fangs of the law,
And the great rogues, who keep all the leffer in awe :
From a poor country cure, that living interment,
With a wife and no profpect of any preferment:
From fcribbling for hire, when my credit is funk,
To buy no new coat, and to line an old trunk:
From 'fquires, who divert us with jokes at their tables,
Of hounds in their kennels, and nags in their stables :
From the nobles and commons, who bound in strict league are
To fubfcribe for no book, yet subscribe to Heidegger :

From

From the cant of fanaticks, the jargon of fchools,
The cenfures of wifemen, and praises of fools:
From criticks who never read Latin or Greek,
And pedants, who boast they read both all the week:
From borrowing wit, to repay it like BUDGEL,
Or lending, like POPE, to be paid by a cudgel:
If ever thou didst, or wilt ever befriend me,
From these, and fuch evils, APOLLO, defend me,
And let me be rather but honest with no-wit,
Than a noisy nonfenfical half-witted poet.

An EPISTLE to a LADY.

WHEN

'HEN the heart akes with anguish, pines with grief, And heav'n and you alike deny relief;

When ev'n the flatt'rer Hope is no where found,

'Tis hard to feel the smart, and not lament the wound.
Permit me then to figh one last adieu,

Nor fcorn a forrow friendship owes to you :
A friendship modesty might well return;
A forrow, cruelty itself might mourn.

Think how the mifer, pierc'd with inward pain,
Looks down with horror on the troubled main,
Or wildly roams along the rocky coaft,
T'explore his treasures in the tempest loft;

Hates his own fafety, chides the waves that roll'd
Himself afhore, but funk his dearer gold.
Like him afflicted, penfive, and forlorn,
I look on life and all its pomp with scorn.
You was the sweetner of each bufy scene;
You gave the joy without, the pain within.
Pleasure and you were both so near ally'd,
That when I loft the one, the other dy'd ;
Pain too has lavish'd all her killing ftore;
Nor can fhe add, nor can I fuffer more.

In vain I view'd you with as chaste a fire,
As angels mingle, or as faints admire ;
By reafon prompted, paffion had no part,
A virtuous ardour, that refin'd the heart.
In vain I fought a friendship free from fault,
Where fex and beauty were alike forgot:
A friendship by the nobleft union join'd,
The female softness, and the manly mind.
Courage to conquer evils, or endure;

Sweetness to footh the pain, and smiles to cure.
Scandal, a bufy fiend, in Truth's difguife,
Like Fame all cover'd o'er with cars and eyes,
Learns the fond tale, and spreads it as fhe flies.
Nor fpreads alone, but alters, adds, defames,
Affects to pity, tho' her duty blames.
Feigns not to credit all she fees or hears,
But hopes the evil only in her fears.

Pretends

Pretends to weigh the fact in even scale,
And wish, at least, that juftice may prevail.
Infinuates, diffembles, lyes, betrays,
Plays the whole hypocrite fuch various ways,
That Innocence itself muft fuffer wrong,
And Honour bleed the prey of Slander's tongue.

Such is my fate, fo grievous my diftref,
Condemn'd to fuffer, but deny'd redress :
Too fond of joy, too fenfible of pain,

Το part with all that's dear, and not complain:
Too delicate to injure what I love,

To ask the pity fame will ne'er approve.

What more remains, then, but to drop my claim,
And by my conduct justify my flame ?

Burst the dear bands that to my heart-frings join,
And facrifice my peace to purchase thine?

As the fond mother, who delirious eyes
Her dying babe, will scarce believe it dies:
But ftrains it ftill with tranfport in her arms,
Dwells on its lips and numbers o'er its charms;
Pleads that it flumbers, and expects, in vain,
To fee the little cherub live again :
So my torn heart must all the forrows prove
That torture conftancy, or fadden love:
Yet fondly follow your dear image still,
Fancy I hear you fpeak, I fee you fmile:
Doat on a phantom, idolize the name,

And wish the fhade and substance were the fame.