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And see! with wreaths by glorious toils acquir❜d, Kind heaven rewards the genius it inspir'd; Bestows thee all thy fondest wish could claim, Unenvied fortune, and unspotted fame;

Thy aged sire's embrace, thy sovereign's praise, And from a stranger-muse unpurchas'd lays.

DENNIS

TO

MR. THOMSON,

Who had procured him a Benefit-Night.

REFLECTING on thy worth, methinks I find
Thy varied Seasons in their author's mind.
Spring opes her blossoms, various as thy Muse,
And, like thy soft compassion, sheds her dews.
Summer's hot drought in thy expression glows,
And o'er each page a tawny ripeness throws.
Autumn's rich fruits th' instructed reader gains,
Who tastes the meaning purpose of thy strains.
Winter-but that no semblance takes from thee;
That hoary season yields a type of me.
Shatter'd by time's bleak storms I withering lay,
Leafless, and whitening in a cold decay !
Yet shall my propless ivy, pale and bent,
Bless the short sunshine which thy pity lent.

EPISTLE XXXIII.

ΤΟ

SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

ON

SEEING HIS PICTURE OF

MR. DRYDEN,

Drawn with the Bays in his Hand.

BY

BAINBRIGG BUCKEREDGE, ESQ.

NAY, sure 'tis he! the living colors move,
And strike our souls with wonder and with love!
Has his soft lyre dissolv'd Death's fatal chain,
And given our Orpheus to the world again?
Such is thy art, great Kneller, as relieves
His mourning friends, and into joy deceives.
They who beneath the heaviest sorrow bend,
Who grieve not for the Poet, but the Friend.
When they behold this piece, their tears restrain,
And doubt a while if they lament in vain.
So those whom Fate destroys, thy hand can save,
And lengthen out a life beyond the grave.

Oh! do thou place on Dryden's learned brow The sacred bays; for none dare envy now. Thus He to future ages shall be shown, Immortal in Thy Works, as in His Own.

EPISTLE XXXIV.

TO THE

DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.

PARDON, great Duke, if Britain's style delights;
Or, if the Imperial title more invites,

Pardon, great Prince! the failings of a Muse,
That dares not hope for more than your excuse,
Forc'd at a distance to attempt your praise,
And sing your victories in mournful lays,
To cast in shadows, and allay the light

That wounds with nearer rays the dazzled sight,
Nor durst in a direct and open strain
Such acts with her unhallow'd notes prophane :
In towering verse let meaner heroes grow,
And to elaborate lines their greatness owe;
Your actions, own'd by every nation, want
Praises no greater than a foe may grant.

Oh! when shall Europe, by her Marlborough's sword,

To lasting peace and liberty restor❜d,

Allow her weary Champion a retreat,

To his lov'd country and his rising seat?

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