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His merits ballanc'd, you shall find,
The laureate leaves him far behind.
Concannen, more aspiring bard,
Soars downwards deeper by a yard.
Smart Jemmy Moor with vigour drops,
The rest pursue as thick as hops.
With heads to points the gulph they enter,
Link'd perpendicular to the center;
And, as their heels elated rife,
Their heads attempt the nether skies.

O, what indignity and shame,
To prostitute the Muse's name!
By flatt'ring, whom Heav'n defign'd
The plagues and scourges of mankind;
Bred up in ignorance and floth, ,
And ev'ry vice that nurses both,

Fair Britain, in thy monarch bleft,
Whose virtues bear the strictest test;
Whom never faction could be patter,
Nor minister nor poet flatter.
What justice in rewarding merit!
What magnanimity of spirit!
What lineaments divine we trace
Through all his figure, mien, and face !
Though peace with olive bind his hands,
Confest the conq’ring hero ftands.
Hydafpes, Indus, and the Ganges,
Dread from his hand impending changes.
From him the Tartar, and Chinese,
Short by the knees, intreat for peace.

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T'he consort of his throne and bed
A perfect goddess born and bred,
Appointed sov'reign judge to fit
On learning, eloquence, and wit.
Our eldest hope, divine Jülus,
(Late, very late, O, may he rule us !)
What early manhood has he shown,
Before his downy beard was grown!
Then think what wonders will be done
By going on as he begun,
An heir for Britain to secure
As long as sun and moon endure.

The remnant of the royal blood
Comes pouring on me like a food.
Bright goddesses, in number five;
Duke William, sweetest prince alive.

Now sing the Minister of state,
Who shines alone without a mate.
Observe with what majestic port
This atlas stands, to prop the court :
Intent the public debts to pay
Like prudent Fabius, by delay.
Thou great vicegerent of the king,
Thy praises ev'ry muse shall sing !
In all affairs thou sole director,
Of wit and learning chief protector ;
Though small the time thou haft to spare,
The church is thy peculiar care.
Of pious prelates what a stock
You chuse to rule the sable flock?


You raise the honour of the peerage,
Proud to attend you at the steerage.
You dignify the noble race,
Content yourself with humbler place.
Now learning, valour, virtue, sense,
To titles give the sole pretence.
St. George beheld thee, with delight,
Vouchsafe to be an azure knight,
When on thy breast and fides herculean
He fixt the star and string cerulean.
Say, poet, in what other nation
Shone ever such a constellation !
Attend, ye Popes, and Youngs, and Gays,
And tune your harps, and strow your bays :
Your panegyrics here provide :
You cannot err on Flattery's fide.
Above the stars exalt your style,
You still are low ten thousand mile.
On Lewis all his bards bestow'd,
Of incense, many a thousand load;
But Europe mortify'd his pride,
And swore the fawning rascals ly'd.
Yet what the world refus'd to Lewis,
Applied to George, exactly true is.
Exactly true! invidious poet !
'Tis fifty thousand times below it.

Translate me now some lines, if you can,
From Virgil, Martial, Ovid, Lucan.
They could all pow'r in Heav'a divide,
And do no wrong to either side:

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They I'll give my

They teach you how to split a hair,

and Jove an equal share. Yet, why should we be lac'd fo strait ?

And reason good; for many a year
Jove never intermeddled here:
Nor, though his priests be duly paid,
Did ever we defire his aid :
We now can better do without him,
Since Woolfton gave us arms to rout him.

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This poem, as Mr. Pope tells us himself, coft much

attention and labour; and, from the easiness that appears in it, one would be apt to think as much.


P. 7HO shall decide, when Doctors disagree,

And foundeft Casuists doubt, like you and

me? You hold the word, from Jove to Momus giv'n, That man was made the standing jest of Heav'n; And gold but sent to keep the fools in play, For some to heap, and some to throw away.

But I, who think more highly of our kind, (And, surely, Heav'n and I are of a mind) Opine, that Nature, as in duty bound, Deep hid the shining mischief under ground: But when, by man's audacious labour, won, Flam'd forth this rival to its Sire, the Sun, Then careful Heav'n supply'd two forts of Men; To squander These, and Those, to hide agen.

Like doctors, thus, when much dispute has pass'd, We find our tenets just the same at last. Both fairly owning, Riches, in effect, No grace of Heav'n, or token of th’ Elect; VOL.I. K


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