hanged who would take it away. It was this that made me write. The fenfe of my faults made me correct befides that it was as pleasant to me to correct as to write.

At p. 9. 1. 2.-In the first place I own that I have used my beft 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, bufinefs, want of health, or any fuch idle excufes. But the true reason 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 ashamed to employ thirty in measuring fyllables and bringing fenfe and rhyme together. We spend our youth in purfuit 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 referve fome of my time to fave my foul; and that fome wife men will be of my opinion, even if I fhould 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,

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

W

ITH Age decay'd, with Courts and bus'nefs 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, Itself a fubject for fatiric rhyme; Ignorance honour'd, Wit and Worth defam'd, Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blam'd! But to this Genius, join'd with fo 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;

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VER. 11.] This is the common-place cant of men tir'd with business and courts.

"This is mere moral babble." Comus, p. 806.

Except I juftly could at once commend
A good Companion, and as firm a Friend.
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 praife.

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I

TO MR. POPE.

ON HIS PASTORALS.

N these more dull, as more cenforious days,
When few dare give, and fewer merit praise,
A Muse fincere, that never Flatt'ry knew,
Pays what to friendship and defert is due.
Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found

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Art ftrength'ning Nature, Senfe improv'd by Sound.

Unlike those 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 moft mufically dull:

So purling ftreams with even murmurs creep,
And hufh the heavy hearers into fleep.
As smoothest speech is most deceitful found,
The smootheft numbers oft are empty found.
But Wit and Judgment join at once in you,
Sprightly as Youth, as Age confummate too:

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Your

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Your ftrains are regularly bold, and please
With unforc'd care, and unaffected eafe,
With proper thoughts, and lively images:
Such as by Nature to the Ancients fhewn,
Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own:
For great mens fashions to be follow'd are,
Altho' difgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear.
Some in a polifh'd ftyle write Pastoral,
Arcadia speaks the language of the Mall;
Like fome fair Shepherdefs, the Sylvan Muse
Should wear thofe flow'rs her native fields produce;
And the true measure of the Shepherd's wit
Should, like his garb, be for the Country fit:
Yet muft his pure and unaffected thought
More nicely than the common fwains be wrought.
So, with becoming art, the Players dress,

In filks the shepherd, and the fhepherdefs;

Yet ftill unchang'd the form and mode remain,
Shap'd like the homely ruffet of the swain.
Your rural Muse appears to justify

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The long loft graces of Simplicity:
So rural beauties captivate our fenfe

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With virgin charms, and native excellence.

Yet long her Modesty those charms conceal'd, 'Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd;

For Wits induftrious to their trouble feem,

And needs will envy what they must esteem.

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..VER. 28, Sylvan Mufe] From Boileau's Art of Poetry, Chant. 2. 1. 1. Pope feems to have corrected these lines.

VOL. I.

C

Live

Live and enjoy their fpite! nor mourn that fate, Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait; Whose Muse did once, like thine, in plains delight; Thine fhall, like his, foon take a higher flight; So Larks, which first from lowly fields arise, Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies.

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W. WYCHERLEY.

H

TO MR. POPE,

ON HIS WINDSOR-FOREST.

AIL, facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before

Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic fhore.
To our dark world thy fhining page is shown,
And Windfor's gay retreat becomes our own.
The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care,
And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here:
A various spoil adorn'd our naked land,
The pride of Perfia glitter'd on our strand,
And China's earth was caft on common fand:
Tofs'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay,

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10

And drefs'd the rocky fhelves, and pav'd the painted

bay.

Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boast

A nobler cargo on our barren coaft:

From thy luxuriant Forest we receive

More lafting glories than the Eaft can give.

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Where