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warning to the Critics, not to take too much pains for the future to destroy fuch things as will die of themselves; and a Memento mori to fome of my vain cotemporaries the Poets, to teach them that, when real merit is wanting, it avails nothing to have been encouraged by the great, commended by the eminent, and favoured by the public in general,

Nov, 10, 1716.

Variations in the Author's Manufcript Preface.

AFI

FTER pag. iv. 1. 6. it followed thus-For my part, I confefs, had I feen things in this view at first, the public had never been troubled either with my writings, or with this apology for them. I am fenfible how difficult it is to speak of ones felf with decency: but when a man must speak of himfelf, the best way is to speak truth of himself, or, he may depend upon it, others will do it for him. I'll therefore make this Preface a general confeffion of all my thoughts of my own Poetry, refolving with the fame freedom to expose myself, as it is in the power of any other to expofe them. In the first place, I thank God and nature, that I was born with a love to poetry; for nothing more conduces to fill up all the intervals of our time, or if rightly ufed, to make the whole courfe of life entertaining: Cantantes licet ufque (minus via lædet.) 'Tis a vast happiness to poffefs the pleafures of the head, the only pleasures in which a man is fufficient to himfelf, and the only part of him which, to his fatisfaction, he can employ all day long. The Mufes are amicæ omnium horarum; and, like our gay acquaintance, the best company in the world as long as one expects no real fervice from them. I confefs there was a time when I was in love with myself, and my first productions were the children of felf love upon innocence. I had made an Epic Poem, and Panegyrics on all the Princes in Europe, and thought myfelf the greateft genius that ever was. I can't but regret thofe delightful vifions of my childhood, which, like the fine colours we fee when our eyes are fhut, are vanifhed for ever. Many tryals and fad experience have fo undeceived me by degrees,

that I am utterly at a lofs at what rate to value myfelf. As for fame I fhall be glad of any I can get, and not repine at any I mifs; and as for vanity, I have enough to keep me from hanging myself, or even from wishing thofe hanged who would take it away. It was this that made me write. The sense of my faults made me correct: befides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write.

At p. v. l. 33. In the first place I own that I have ufed 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 reafon 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 fixty years may be afhamed to employ thirty in meafuring fyllables and bringing fenfe and rhyme together. We spend our youth in pursuit of riches or fame, in hopes to enjoy them when we are old; and when we are old, we find it is too late to enjoy any thing. I therefore hope the Wits will pardon me, if I reserve fome of my time to fave my foul; and that fome wife men will be of my opinion, even if I should "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,

W

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;
I little thought of launching forth agen,
Amidst advent'rous Rovers of the Pen:
And after fo much undeferv'd fuccefs,
Thus hazarding at last to make it lefs.
Encomiums fuit not this cenforious time,
Itfelf a Subject for fatyric rhyme;
Ignorance honour'd, Wit and Worth defam'd,
Folly triumphant, and ev'n.Homer blam'd!

But to this Genius, join'd with so much Art,
Such various Learning mix'd in ev'ry part,
Poets are bound a loud applaufe to pay;
Apollo bids it, and they must obey.

And yet fo wonderful, fublime a thing,

As the great ILIAD, fcarce could make me fing;
Except I justly could at once commend

A good Companion, and as firm a Friend.

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One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed
Can all defert in Sciences exceed.

'Tis great delight to laugh at fome mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.

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To Mr. POPE on his Paftorals.
N these more dull, as more cenforious days,

When few dare give, and fewer merit praise,
A Mufe fincere, that never Flatt'ry knew,

Pays what to friendship and defert is due.

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Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found
Art ftrength'ning Nature, Senfe improv❜d by Sound.
Unlike thofe Wits, whofe numbers glide along
So fmooth, no thought e'er interrupts the fong:
Laboriously enervate they appear,

And write not to the head, but to the ear:
Our minds unmov'd and unconcern'd they lull,
And are at best most musically dull :

So purling ftreams with even murmurs creep,
And hufh the heavy hearers into fleep.
As fmootheft fpeech is most deceitful found,
The fmootheft numbers oft are empty found.
But Wit and Judgment join at once in you,
Sprightly as Youth, as Age confummate too:
Your ftrains are regularly bold, and please
With unforc'd care, and unaffected ease
With proper thoughts, and lively images:
Such as by Nature to the Antients fhewn,
Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own:--

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