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Our learned Coke, from whom we scribblers draw
follows, (See Horace, Ode Dec. Sext.--the case Apollo's) “ The God of Verse disclaims a plodding wretch, “ Nor keeps his bow for ever on the stretch."
However great my thirst of honest fame, I bow with rev'rence to each letter'd name ; To worth, where'er it be, with joy submit,, But own no curst monopolies of wit. Nor think, my friend, if I but rarely quote, And little reading shines through what I've wrote, 'That I bid peace to ev'ry learned shelf, Because I dare form judgments for myself. -Oh! were it mine, with happy skill to look Up to the one, the UNIVERSAL Book ! Open to all—to him, to me, to you, -For NATURE's
open in the general view Then would I scorn the antients' vaunted store, And boast my thefts, where they but robb'd before.
Mean while with them, while Grecian sounds
impart Th' eternal passions of the human heart,
Bursting the bonds of ease and lazy rest,
TO * * * *
About to publish a Volume of Miscellanies.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1755.
SINCE now, all scruples cast away,
Let not your verse, as verse now goes,
The mimic bard with pleasure sees Mat. Prior's unaffected ease :
Assumes his style, affects a story,
circumstance before ye,
Others have sought the filthy stews To find a dirty slip-shod Muse. Their groping genius, while it rakes The bogs, the common-sew'rs, and jakes, Ordure and filth in rhyme exposes, Disgustful to our eyes and noses ; With many a dash—that must offend us, And much
* Hiatus non deflendus. O Swift! how would'st thou blush to see, Such are the bards who
This Milton for his plan will chuse:
Or, if their thunder chance to roll,
How few, (say, whence can it proceed ?) Who copy Milton, e'er succeed ! But all their labours are in vain : And wherefore so ?-The reason's plain. Take it for granted, 'tis by those Milton's the model mostly chose, Who can't write verse, and won't write prose.
Others, who aim at fancy, chuse