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Fanes, which admiring Gods with pride furvey,
Statues of Men, scarce less alive than they !
Some felt the silent stroke of mouldering age,
Some hostile fury, some religious rage.
Barbarian blindness, Christian zeal conspire,
And Papal piety, and Gothic fire.
Perhaps, by its own ruins fav'd from flame.

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Some bury'd marble half preserves a name;
That Name the Learn’d with fierce disputes pursue,
And give to Titus old Vespasian's due.

Ambition figh’d: the found it vain to trust The faithless Column and the crumbling Bust: Huge moles, whose shadow stretch'd from shore to shore, Their ruins perish'd, and their place no more ! Convinc'd, the now contracts her vast design, And all her Triumphs shrink into a Coin. A narrow orb each crouded conquest keeps,

25 Beneath her Palm here fad Judea weeps. Now scantier limits the proud Arch confine, And scarce are seen the prostrate Nile or Rhine; A small Euphrates through the piece is rollid, And little Eagles wave their wings in gold.

The Medal, faithful to its charge of fame, Through climes and ages bears each form and name : In one short view subjected to our eye Gods, Emperors, Heroes, Sages, Beauties, lie. With sharpen 'd fight pale Antiquaries pore,

35 Th'inscription value, but the rult adore. This the blue varnish, that the green endears, The sacred rust of twice ten hundred years! VOL. II.

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To gain Pescennius one employs his Schemes,
One grasps a Cecrops in extatic dreams.
Poor Vadius, long with learned spleen devour'd,
Can taste no pleasure since his Shield was fcour’d:
And Curio, restless by the Fair-one's fide,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.
Their’s is the Vanity, the Learning thine:

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Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome’s glories shine :
Her Gods and godlike Heroes rise to view,
And all her faded garlands bloom anew.
Nor blush, these studies they regard engage;
These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage :
The verse and sculpture bore an equal part,
And Art reflected images to Art.

Oh, when thall Britain, conscious of her claim,
Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame?
In living medals see her wars enrolla,

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And vanquish'd realms supply recording gold ?
Here, rising bold, the Patriot’s honest face;
There, Warriors frowning in historic brass :
Then future ages with delight shall see
How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree ;
Or in fair series laurel'd Bards be shown,
A Virgil there, and here an Addison.
Then thall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine)
On the cast ore, another Pollio, thine ;
With aspect open shall erect his head,
And round the orb in lasting notes be read,
“ Statesman, yet friend to Truth! of soul sincere,
“ In action faithful, and in honour clear ;

“ Who

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“O'Who broke no promise, served no private end,
“ Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend;
“ Ennobled by himself, by all approv’d,
“ And prais’d, unenvy'd, by the Muse he lov’d.”

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EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT,

BEING THE

PROLOGUE

TO THE

SAT I RES.

AD VERTISEMENT

TO

The first Publication of this Epistle.
HIS paper is a fort of bill of complaint, begun,

,

the several occasions offered. I had no thoughts of publishing it, till it pleased some persons of Rank and Fortune (the Authors of Verses to the Imitator of Horace, and of an Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court] to attack, in a very extraordinary manner, not only my Writings (of which, being public, the Publick is judge) but my Perfon, Morals, and Family, whereof, to those who know me not, a truer information may be requisite. Being divided between the necessity to fay something of myself, and my own laziness to undertake so aukward a talk, I thought it the shortest way to put the last hand to this Epistle. If it have any thing pleasing,

it

it will be that by which I am most desirous to please, the Truth and the Sentiment; and if any thing offensive, it will be only to those I am least forry to offend, the vicious or the ungenerous.

Many will know their own pictures in it, there being not a circumstance but what is true: but I have, for the most part, spared their Names; and they may escape being laughed at, if they please.

I would have some of them know, it was owing to the request of the learned and candid Friend to whom it is inscribed, that I make not as free Use of theirs as they have done of mine. However, I shall have this advantage, and honour, on my side, that whereas, by their proceeding, any abuse may be directed at any man, no injury can poflibly be done by mine, since a nameless Character can never be found out, but by its truth and likeness.

P. SHYT.

HUT, shut the door, good John ! fatigued I said,

Tye up the knocker, fay I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages ! nay, 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out : Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,

S They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my Grot they glide, By land, by water, they renew the charge, They stop the chariot, and they board the barge. No place is sacred, not the Church is free, Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me;

Then

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