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To let no noble flave come near,
Then Bounce ('tis all that Bounce can crave)
And though no doctors, Whig or Tory ones,
Have immortality affign'd
To any beaft but Dryden's hind *:
Yet master Pope, whom Truth and Senfe
Man and his works he 'll foon renounce,
And roar in numbers worthy Bounce.
"A milk-white hind, immortal and unchang'd."
Hind and Panther, ver. 1.
+ Orig. Sticks; purpofely mif-fpelt, to make it "the
❝ dread of dogs."
LEARNED INGENIOUS AUTHOR
LICENTIA POETICA DISCUSSED,
TRUE TEST OF POETRY.
Written in 1709.
HE vulgar notion of poetic fire
Is, that laborious Art can ne'er aspire,
Nor conftant ftudies the bright bays acquire;
Dr. William Coward, a phyfician of fome eminence. He was author of a great variety of treatifes on various fubjects, medical, poetical, and religious. The latter having been principally of a fceptical nature, he is generally ranked amongst the Deiftical writers. N.
Through your Perspective we can plainly fee,
To steep Parnaffus you direct the way
So fmooth, that venturous travellers cannot stray,
GARTH TO MR. GAY.
WHEN Fame did o'er the spacious plains
The lays the once had learn'd, repeat;
And liften'd to the tuneful ftrains,
And wonder'd who could fing fo fweet: "Twas thus. The Graces held the lyre,
Th' harmonious frame the Mufes ftrung, The Loves and Smiles compos'd the choir;
And Gay tranfcrib'd what Phoebus fung.
TO MY INGENIOUS AND WORTHY FRIEND
WILLIAM LOWNDS, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF THAT CELEBRATED TREATISE IN FOLIO, CALLED THE LAND-TAX BILL.
HEN Poets print their works, the fcribbling crew Stick the bard o'er with bays, like Christmas-pew: Can meagre poetry such fame deferve?
Can poetry, that only writes to ftarve ?
And fhall no laurel deck that famous head,
By finging every Grecian chief and town;
Their feats, their cities, parishes, and shires.
Thy copious preamble fo fmoothly runs,
Lords, Knights, and Squires, th' Affeffor's power obey,
Though forc'd to hear, we 're not oblig'd to read.
Ev'n Button's wits are nought, compar'd to thee, Who ne'er were known or prais'd but o'er his tea; While thou through Britain's distant isle fhalt spread, In every hundred and divifion read.
Criticks in Claffics oft' interpolate,
But every word of thine is fix'd as Fate.
Some works come forth at morn, but die at night,
In blazing fringes round a tallow-light.
Some may perhaps to a whole week extend,