:

And others, ftudious to encerase their Store,
Plough the rough Ocean for Peruvian Ore ;
How bleft thy Fate whom calmer Hours attend,
Peace thy Companion, Fame thy faithful Friend;
While in thy Twick'nham Bow'rs, devoid of Care,
You feast the Fancy, and enchant the Ear;
Thamer gently rolls her filver Tide along,
And the charm'd Naiads liften to thy Song.

Here

"Here peaceful pafs the gentle Hours away, While tuneful Science measures out the Day! Here happy Bard, as various Fancies lead, You paint the blooming Maid, or flow'ry Mead! Sound the rough Clangour of tumultuous War,* Or Sing the ravis'd Tendrils of the Fair! § Now melting move the tender Tear to flow, And wake our Sighs with Eloifa's woe. I But chief to Dulness ever Foe decreed, The Apes of Science with thy Satire bleed; † P-rs, Poets, Panders, mingle in the Throng, Smart with thy Touch, and tremble at thy Song. ** Yet vain, O Pope! is all thy fharpeft Rage, Still ftarv'ling Dunces perfecute the Age; Faithful to Folly, or enrag'd with Spite,

Still taftelefs Timons build, and Tibbalds write; tt Still Welftead tunes his Beer-infpired Lays, And Ralph, in Metre, holds forth Stanhope's Praife:

* Homer. Rape of the Lock Eloifa to Abelard.

† Dunciad.

** Epiftles.

tt Still Weltead, nothing fo much as the Figure they And Ralph make in the Dunciad, where Mr. Pope has condefcended to drag them from Obfcurity, and damn them with Immortality; yet they have both ventur'd out in Print fince they were enter'd Dunces on Record; the one in a few bad Verfes again ft Mr. Pope's Tafte, the other in a dull Epistle to Lord Chesterfield; but both thefe Pieces are as entirely loft to Fame and Memory, as their Authors are to Modefty and Common Senfe.

Two Authors, remarkable for

Ah !

Ah! hapless Victim to the Poet's Flame,
While his Eulogiums crucify thy Fame.

Shall embrio Wits thy ftudious Hours engage,
Live in thy Labours, and prophane thy Page;
While Virtue, ever-lov'd, demands thy Lays,
And claims the tuneful Tribute of thy Praise?
Can Pope be filent, and not grateful lend,
One Strain to fing the Patriot and the Friends
Who nobly anxious in his Country's Caufe,
Maintains her Honours, and defends her Laws:
Could I, my Bard, but equal Numbers raise,

Then would I fing for oh! I burft to praise:

Sing how a Pult'ney charms the lift'ning Throng,
While Senates hang enraptur'd on his Tongue,
With Tully's Fire how each Oration glows,
In Tully's Mufic, how each Period flows;
Instruct each Babe to lifp the Patriot's Name,
Who in each Bofom breathes a Roman Flame.

So when the Genius of the Roman Age Stemm'd the ftrong Torrent of tyranuic Rage, In Freedom's Caufe each glowing Breaft he warm'd And like a Pult'ney, then a Brutus charm'd.

How bleft, while we a British Brutus fee,
And all the Roman ftands confeft in Thee!

Equal thy Worth, but equal were thy Doom,
To fave Britannia as he rescu'd Rome;

He from a Tarquin fuatch'd the deftin'd Prey,
Britannia, ftill laments a W----'s Sway.

Arife, my tuneful Bard, nor thus in vain
Let thy Britannia, whom thou lov'ft, complain:
If Thou in moanful Lays relate her Woe,
Each Heart fhall bleed, each Eye with Pity flow:
If to Revenge you swell the founding Strain,
Revenge and Fury fire each British Swain:
Obfequious to thy Verse each Breast shall move,
Or burn with Rage, or foften into Love.

Olet Britannia be her Poet's Care!

And lafh the Spoiler, while you fave the Fair.

Lo! where he ftands, amidst the fervile Crew;
Nor Blushes ftain his Cheek with crimson Hue,
While dire Corruption all around he spreads,
And e'ry ductile Confcience captive leads:
Brib'd by his Boons, behold the venal Band,
Worship the Idol they could once command:

Se