hanged who would take it away. It was this that made me write. The fenfe of my faults made me correct: befides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write. At p. 9. 1. 2. In the firft place I own that I have used my best endeavours to the finishing these pieces. That I made what advantage I could of the judgment of authors dead and living; and that I omitted no means in my power to be informed of my errors by my friends and my enemies: And that I expect no favour on account of my youth, business, want of health, or any fuch idle excufes. But the true reason they are not yet more correct is owing to the confideration how fhort a time they, and I, have to live. A man that can expect but sixty years may be ashamed to employ thirty in measuring fyllables and bringing fenfe and rhyme together. We spend our youth in purfuit of riches or fame, in hopes to enjoy them when we are old, and when we are old, we find it is too iate to enjoy any thing. I therefore hope the Wits will pardon me, if I referve fome of my time to fave my foul; and that fome wife men will be of my opinion, even if I fhould think a part of it better spent in the enjoyments of life than in pleafing the critics. ON MR. POPE AND HIS POEMS, BY HIS GRACE JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. 'ITH Age decay'd, with Courts and bus'ness tir'd, Caring for nothing but what Ease requir'd; Too dully ferious for the Mufe's fport, And from the Critics fafe arriv'd in Port; And yet fo wonderful, fublime a thing As the great ILIAD, fcarce could make me fing; 5 15 VER. 11. This is the common-place cant of men tir'd with bufinefs and courts. This is mere moral babble." Comus, p. 806. Except I justly could at once commend Can all defert in Sciences exceed. 'Tis great delight to laugh at fome mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise. 20 IN TO MR. POPE. ON HIS PASTORALS. N these more dull, as more cenforious days, When few dare give, and fewer merit praise, A Muse fincere, that never Flatt'ry knew, Pays what to friendship and defert is due. Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found Art strength'ning Nature, Senfe improv'd by Sound. Unlike thofe Wits, whofe numbers glide along So smooth, no thought e'er interrupts the fong: Laboriously enervate they appear, And write not to the head, but to the ear: 5 10 Our minds unmov'd and unconcern'd they lull, So purling streams with even murmurs creep, As fmootheft fpeech is most deceitful found, 15 Your Your strains are regularly bold, and please 20 Altho' difgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear. 25 30 Some in a polish'd style write Pastoral, Yet ftill unchang'd the form and mode remain, The long loft graces of Simplicity: 35 So rural beauties captivate our sense 40 With virgin charms, and native excellence. Yet long her Modesty those charms conceal'd, 'Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd; For Wits induftrious to their trouble feem, And needs will envy what they must esteem. 45 -VER. 28. Sylvan Mufe] From Boileau's Art of Poetry, Chant. 2. 1. 1. Pope feems to have corrected these lines. VOL. I. с Live Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate, Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait; Whofe Mufe did once, like thine, in plains delight; Thine fhall, like his, foon take a higher flight; So Larks, which first from lowly fields arise, Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies. 50 W. WYCHERLEY. TO MR. POPE, ON HIS WINDSOR-FOREST. HALL, facred Bard! a Muse unknown before Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic fhore. 6 To our dark world thy fhining page is shown, bay. Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boast A nobler cargo on our barren coast: More lasting glories than the East can give. 10 15 Where |