491

Wit kindled by the fulph'rous breath of Vice,
Like the blue Light'ning, while it fhines, destroys:
But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,
Burns clear and constant, like the fource of day:
Like this, its beam prolific and refin'd,
Feeds, warms, infpirits, and exalts the mind;
Mildly dispels each wintry Paffion's gloom,
And opens all the Virtues into bloom.

495

This Praise, immortal POFE, to thee be giv❜n:
Thy Genius was indeed a Gift from Heav'n.
Hail, Bard unequal'd, in whofe deathlefs line
Reason and Wit, with ftrength collected fhine; 500
Where matchlefs Wit but wins the second praise,
Loft, nobly loft, in Truth's fuperior blaze.
Did FRIENDSHIP e'er mislead thy wand'ring Mufe?
That Friendship fure may plead the great excufe:
That facred Friendfhip which infpir'd thy Song,
Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.

506

Error like this ev'n Truth can fcarce reprove;
"Tis almoft Virtue when it flows from Love.
Ye deathless Names, ye Sons of endless praife,
By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays!

510

Say, shall an artlefs Mufe, if you infpire,
Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire?
Or if, O WARBURTON, infpir'd by You,
The daring Mufe a nobler path pursue,
By You infpir'd, on trembling pinion foar,
The facred founts of focial blifs explore,

515

In

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 incenfe at Corruption's fhrine;

520

525

Urge, urge thy pow'r, the black attempt confound,
And dafh the fmoaking Cenfer to the ground.
Thus aw'd to fear, inftructed Bards may fee,
That Guilt is doom'd to fink in Infamy.

530

A LETTER

ΤΟ

3

A NOBLE LOR D,

ON OCCASION OF SOME LIBELS WRITTEN AND PROPAGATED AT COURT, IN THE YEAR 1732-3.

MY LORD,

b

Nov. 30, 1733.

YOUR Lordship's epistle has been published some days, but I had not the pleasure and pain of feeing it till yesterday: Pain, to think your Lord ship should attack me at all; Pleasure, to find that

you

a This Letter (which was first printed in the Year 1733) bears the fame place in our Author's prose that the Epiftle to Dr. Arbuthnot does in his poetry. They are both Apologetical, repelling the libellous flanders on his Reputation with this difference, that the Epiftle to Dr. Arbuthnot, his friend, was chiefly directed against Grub-freet Writers, and this letter to the Noble. Lord, his enemy, against Court Scriblers. For the reft, they are both Mafter-pieces in their kinds; That in verse, more grave, moral, and fublime; This in profe, more lively, critical, and pointed; but equally conducive to what he had most at heart, the vindication of his moral Character: the only thing he thought worth his care in literary altercations; and the first thing he would expect from the good offices of a furviving Friend.

W.

b Intitled, An Epiftle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton Court, Aug. 28, 1733, and printed the November following for J. Roberts Fól.

W.

you can attack me fo weakly. As I want not the humility, to think myself in every way but one your inferior, it seems but reasonable that I fhould take the only method either of self-defence or retaliation, that is left me against a perfon of your quality and power. And as by your choice of this weapon, your pen, you generoufly (and modeftly too, no doubt) meant to put yourself upon a level with me; I will as foon believe that your Lordfhip would give a wound to a man unarmed, as that you would deny me the use of it in my own defence.

I prefume you will allow me to take the fame liberty in my answer to fo candid, polite, and ingenious a Nobleman, which your Lordship took in yours, to so grave, religious, and refpectable a clergyman: As you answered his Latin in English, permit me to anfwer your Verfe in Profe. And though your Lordfhip's reafons for not writing in Latin might be ftronger than mine for not writing in Verfe, yet I may plead Two good ones, for this conduct: the one that I want the talent of spinning a thousand lines in a Day', (which, I think, is as much Time as this fubject deferves,) and the other, that I take your Lordfhip's Verfe to be as much Profe as this letter. But no doubt it was your choice, in writing to a friend, to renounce all the pomp of Poetry, and give us this excellent model of the familiar.

c Dr. S.

d And Pope with juftice of fuch lines may fay, His Lordfhip fpins a thousand in a day.

When

Epift. p. 6.