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Reftore the Lock! fhe cries; and all around
Reftore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in fo loud a strain
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But fee how oft ambitious aims are crois'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is loft!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is fought, but fought in vain :
With fuch a prize no mortal must be bleft,
So Heaven decrees! with Heaven who can conteft
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treafur'd there.
There heroes' wits are kept in pond'rous vafes,
And beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes.
There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers' hearts with ends of ribband bound;
The courtier's promifes, and fick man's pray'rs,
The fmiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

[drew,

Why bade ye elfe, ye pow'rs! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire?
Ambition firft iprung from your bleft abodes,
The glorious fault of angels and of gods!
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen pris'ners in the body's cage;
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres ;
Like castern kings, a lazy ftate they keep,
And, clofe confin'd in their own palace, fleep.
From these perhaps (ere Nature bade her die)
Fate inatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,
And fep'rate from their kindred dregs below,
So flew the foul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

Eur thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good,
Thou mean deferter of thy brother's blood!
See on there ruby lips the trembling breath,
Thefe cheeks, now fading at the blaft of death;
Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before,
And thofe love-darting eyes muft roll no more.
Thus, if eternal Justice rules the ball,
Thus fhall your wives and thus your children fall;
On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,
And frequent hearfes fhall befiege your gates;
There pallengers fhall ftand; and, pointing, fay
(While the long fun'rals blacken all the way),

But truft the Mufe-fhe faw it upward rife, Tho' mark'd by none but quick poetic eyes: So Rome's great founder to the heavens withTo Proculus alone confeft in view. A fudden ftar, it fhot thro' liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's Locks first rofe fo bright, The heavens befpangling with dishevelled light. The Sylpus behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd purfue its progrefs thro' the skies. This the Beau-monde shall from the Mall fur-Lo! thefe were they whofe fouls the Furies steel'd,

[vey,

And hail with mufic its propitious ray;
This the bleft Lover thall for Venus take,
And fend up vows from Rofamonda's lake.
This Partridge foon fhall view in cloudlefs fkics.
When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard fhall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then ceafe, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ra-
vish'd hair,

Which adds new glory to the fhining sphere!
Not all the treffes that fair head can boast,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you lost.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, yourself fhall die;
When thofe fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft,
And all thofe treffes fhall be laid in duft ;
This Lock the Mufe fhall confecrate to fame,
And 'midft the ftars infcribe Belinda's name.

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WHAT beck'ning ghoft, along the moon-
light fhade,

Invites my fteps, and points to yonder glade?
'Tis the but why that bleeding bofom gor'd?
Why dimly gleams the vifionary fword?
Ch ever beauteous, ever friendly tell,
1s it in heaven a crime to love too well!
To bear too tender or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part >
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield,
Thus unlamented pafs the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perifh all whofe breaft ne'er learn'd to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' woe.

What can atone, oh ever-injur'd fhade!
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear,
Pleas'd thy pale ghoft, orgrac'd thy mournful bier
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By frangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd!
What tho' no friends in fable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances, and the public show;
What tho' no weeping loves thy afhes grace,
Nor polifh'd marble emulate thy face;
What tho' no facred earth allow thee room,

Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb;

Yet fhall thy grave with rifing flow'rs be drefs'd
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breaft.

There fhall the morn her earlieft rears beftow,
There the first roles of the
year fhall blow;
While angels with their filver wings o'erfhade
The ground, now facred by thy reliques made.

So peaceful refts, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame,
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails the: net,
To whom related, or by whom begot:
A heap of duft alone remains of thee;
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud mill be!

Poets them felves muft fall, like thofe they fung,
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Ev'n he, whofe foul now melts in mournful lays,
Shall fhortly want the gen'rous tear he pays;
Then from his clofing eyes thy form fhall part,
And the last pang fhall tear thee from his heart;
Life's idle bufinefs at one gafp be o'er,
The Mufe forgot, and thou belov'd no more!

12. Prologue to Mr. Addifon's Tragedy of Cato.

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POPE.

wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art,
To raife the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind in confcious virtue bold,

Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to ftream thro' ev'ry age;
Tyrants no more their favage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our Author fhuns by vulgar fprings to move
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;
In pitying love we but our weakness shew,
And wild ambition well deferves its woe.

The play may pafs-but that ftrange creature,
Shore,

I can't-indeed now-I fo hate a whore-
Juft as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his ftars he was not born a fool,
So from a fifter finner you fhall hear,
"How ftrangely you expofe yourself, my dear!"
But let me die, all raillery apart,
Our fex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked cuftom fo contrive,
We'd be the beft good-natur'd things alive.

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale,
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail;
Such rage without betrays the fire within;
Still hoarding up, moft fcandaloufly nice,
In fome close corner of the foul they fin;

Amidst their virtues a referve of vice.

The godly dame, who flethly failings damns,
Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams.
Would you enjoy foft nights and folid dinners,
Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with

Well, if our author in the wife offends, [finners.
He has a husband that will inake amends:
And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living.
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving;
In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows;
Plu-Plutarch-what's his name that writes his
Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse:
Tells us that Cato dearly lov'd his wife: [life?
Yet if a friend a night or fo fhould need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder.

Here tears fhall flow from a more gen'rous caufe,
Such tears as patriots fhed for dying laws:
He bids your breafts with ancient ardour rife,
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confeft in human thape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was :
No common object to your fight difplays,
But what with pleafure Heaven itfelf furveys--To lend a wife, few here would fcruple make;

A brave man ftruggling in the ftorms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little fenate laws,
What bofom beats not in his country's caufe?
Who fees him act, but envies ev'ry deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev'n when proud Cæfar, 'midst triumphal cars,
The fpoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,
Ignobly vain, and inpotently great,
Shew'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state;
As her dead father's rev'rend image pafs'd
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercaft;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gufh'd from ev'ry eye;
The world's great victor pals'd unheeded by;
Her laft good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword.
Britons, attend: be worth like this approv'd;
And fhew, you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honeft fcorn the firft fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning arts from Greece whom she subdued;
Our scene precarioufly fubfifts too long
On French tranflation and Italian fong.
Dare to have fenfe yourselves; affert the stage;
Be juftly warm'd with your own native rage:
Such plays alone fhould win a British car,
As Cato's felf had not difdain'd to hear.

But, pray, which of you all would take her back?
Tho' with the Stoic chief our stage may ring,
The Stoic husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true,
Thofe ftrange examples ne'er were made to fit ye
And lov'd his country-but what's that to you?
But the kind cuckold might inftruct the city:
There many an honeft man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a difgrace
That Edward's Mifs thus perks it in your face
In all the reft fo impudently good;
To fee a piece of failing fleth and blood
'Faith, let the modeft matrons of the town
Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down.

§ 14. The Temple of Fame. POPE.
N that foft feafon, when defcending show'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rifing

flow'rs;

When op'ning buds falute the welcome day,
And earth relenting feels the genial ray;
As balmy fleep had charm'd my cares to reft,
And love itfelf was banith'd from
my breaft
(What time the morn myfterious vifions brings,
While purer flumbers fpread their golden wings);
A train of phantoms in wild order rofe;
And, join'd, this intellectual scene compofe.

§13. Epilogue to Mr. Rowe's Jane Shore. POPE.
PRODIGIOUS this! the frail one of our play
From her own fex fhould mercy find to-day!
You might have held the pretty head afide,
Peep'd in your fans, been ferious thus, and cried,Where nountains rife, and circling oceans flow:

I stood, methought, betwixt earth, feas, and The whole creation open to my eyes: [fkies; In air felf-balanc'd hung the globe below,

Here

Here naked rocks and empty wastes were seen,
There tow ry cities, and the forefts green;
Here failing fhips delight the wand'ring eyes,
There trees and intermingled temples rife :
Now a clear fun the shining fcene difplays,
The tranfient land/cape now in clouds decays.
O'er the wide profpect as I gaz'd around,
Sudden I heard a wild promifcuous found,
Like broken thunders that at diftance roar,
Or billows murm'ring on the hollow hore:
Then, gazing up, a glorious pile beheld,
Whofe tow'ring fummit ambient clouds conceal'd.
High on a rock of ice the structure lay,
Steep its afcent, and flipp'ry was the way;
The wondrous rock like Parian marble thone,
And feem'd to distant fight of solid stone.
Infcriptions here of various names I view'd,
The greater part by hoftile time fubdued;
Yet wide were fpread their fame in ages past,
And poets once had promis'd they fhould laft.
Some, fresh engrav'd, appear'd of wits renown'd;
I look'd again, nor could their trace be found.
Critics I faw, that other names deface,
And fix their own with labour in their place;
Their own, like others, foon their place refign'd,
Or disappear'd, and left the firft behind.
Nor was the work impair'd by ftorms alone,
But felt th' approaches of too warm a fun;
For fame, impatient of extremes, decays
Not more by envy than excefs of praife.
Yet part no injuries of heaven could feel,
Like crystal, faithful to the graving feel:
The rock's high fummit, in the temple's fhade,
Nor heat could melt, nor beating form invade.
There names infcrib'd unnumber'd ages paft,
From time's first birth, with time itself fhall laft;
These ever new, nor fubject to decays, [days.
Spread, and grow brighter, with the length of
So Zembla's rocks (the beauteous work of froft)
Rife white in air, and glitter o'er the coaft;
Pale funs, unfelt, at diftance roll away,
And on th' impaffive ice the lightnings play;
Eternal fnows the growing mafs fupply,
Till the bright mountains prop th' incumbent fky:
As Atlas fix'd, each hoary pile appears
The gather'd winter of a thousand years.
On this foundation Fame's high temple ftands;
Stupendous pile! not rear'd by mortal hands.
Whate'er proud Rome or artful Greece behield,
Or elder Babylon, its frame excell'd.
Four faces had the dome, and ev'ry face
Of various structure, but of equal grace:
Four brazen gates, on columns lifted high,
Salute the diff'rent quarters of the sky.
Here fabled chiefs, in darker ages born,
Or worthies old, whom arms or arts adorn,
Who cities rais'd, or tam'd a monftrous race,
The walls in venerable order grace:
Heroes in animated marble frown,
And legiflators feem to think in stone.

Weftward a fumptuous frontifpiece appear'd, On Doric pillars of white marble rear'd, Crown'd with an architrave of antique mold, And sculpture rifing on the roughen'd gold.

In fhaggy fpoils here Thefeus was beheld,
And Perfeus dreadful with Minerva's fhield:
There great Alcides, ftooping with his toil,
Refts on his club, and holds th' Hefperian fpoil:
Here Orpheus fings; trees moving to the found,
Start from their roots, and form a fhade around:
Amphion there the loud creating lyre

Strikes, and beholds a fudden Thebes afpire!
Cytheron's echoes anfwer to his call,

And half the mountain rolls into a wall:
There might you fee the length'ning fpires afcend,
The domes fwell up, the widening arches bend,
The growing tow'rs like exhalations rife,
And the huge columns heave into the skies.

The Eastern front was glorious to behold,
With diamond flaming, and Barbaric gold.
There Ninus fhone, who fpread th' Affyrian fame,
And the great founder of the Perfian name:
There, in long robes, the royal Magi ftand;
Grave Zoroafter waves the circling wand:
The fage Chaldæans rob'd in white appear'd,
And Brachmans, deep in defert woods rever'd.
Thefe ftopp'd the moon, and call'd th' unbodied
fhades

To midnight banquets in the glimm❜ring glades ;
Made vifionary fabrics round them rife,
Aud airy spectres fkim before their eyes;
Of Talifmans and Sigils knew the pow'r,
And careful watch'd the planetary hour.
Superior, and alone, Confucius ftood,
Who taught that ufeful fcience, to be good.

But, on the South, a long majestic race
Of Egypt's priefts the gilded niches grace,
Who meafur'd earth, defcrib'd the ftarry fpheres,
And trac'd the long records of lunar years.
High on his car Sefoftris ftruck my view,
Whom fceptred flaves in golden harness drew :
His hands a bow and pointed javelin hold,
His giant limbs are arm'd in fcales of gold.
Between the ftatues obelifks were plac'd,
And the learn'd walls with hieroglyphics grac'd.

Of Gothic ftructure was the northern fide, O'erwrought with ornaments of barb'rous pride There huge colosses rose, with trophies crown'd; And Runic characters were grav'd around. There fat Zamolxis with erected eyes; And Odin here in mimic trances dies. There on rude iron columns, fmear'd with blood, The horrid forms of Scythian heroes stood, Druids and bards (their once loud harps unftrung), And youths that died to be by poets fung. Thefe, and a thoufand more of doubtful fame, To whom old fables gave a lasting name, In ranks adorn'd the Temple's outward face: The wall, in luftre and effect like glass, Which o'er each object cafting various dyes, Enlarges fome, and others multiplies: Nor void of emblem was the myftic wall; For thus romantic Fame increases all.

The Temple shakes, the founding gates un

fold,

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Of bright tranfparent beryl were the walls,
The friezes gold, and gold the capitals:

As heaven with ftars, the roof with jewels glows,
And ever-living lamps depend in rows.
Full in the paffage of each fpacious gate,
The fage Hiftorians in white garments wait;
Grav'd o'er their feats the form of Time was
found,

His fcythe revers'd, and both his pinions bound.
Within ftood Heroes, who thro' loud alarms
In bloody fields purfued renown in arms.
High on a throne, with trophies charg'd, I view'd
The Youth that all things but himself fubdued;
His feet on fceptres and tiaras trod,

And his horn'd head belyed the Lybian God.
There Cæfar, grac'd with both Minervas, fhone;
Cæfar, the world's great master, and his own;
Unmov'd, fuperior ftill, in ev'ry state,
And scarce detefted in his country's fate.
But chief were those who not for empire fought,
But with their toils their people's fafety bought.
High o'er the reft Epaminondas ftood;
Timoleon, glorious in his brother's blood;
Bold Scipio, faviour of the Roman ftate,
Great in his triumphs, in retirement great;
And wife Aurelius, in whofe well-taught mind
With boundless pow'r unbounded virtue join'd,
His own ftrict judge, and patron of mankind.

Much fuff'ring heroes next their honours claim,
Thofe of lefs noify and lefs guilty fame,
Fair Virtue's filent train: fupreme of thefe
Here ever shines the godlike Socrates;
He whom ungrateful Athens could expel,
At all times juft but when he fign'd the shell;
Here his abode the martyr'd Phocion claims,
With Agis, not the laft of Spartan names;
Unconquer'd Cato fhews the wound he tore ;
And Brutus his ill genius meets no more.

But in the centre of the hallow'd choir,
Six pompous columns o'er the rest aspire;
Around the fhrine itfelf of Fame they stand,
Hold the chief honours, and the fane command.
High on the first the mighty Homer fhone,
Eternal adamant compos'd his throne;
Father of verfe! in holy fillets dreft,
His filver beard wav'd gently o'er his breaft;
Tho' blind, a boldness in his looks appears;
In years he feem'd, but not impair'd by years.
The wars of Troy were round the pillar feen:
Here fierce Tydides wounds the Cyprian queen;
Here Hector glorious from Patroclus' fall,
Here dragg'd in triumph round the Trojan wall:
Motion and life did ev'ry part inspire,
Bold was the work, and prov'd the mafter's fire;
A ftrong expreflion most he feem'd t' affect,
And here and there difclos'd a brave neglect.
A golden column next in rank appear'd,
On which a shrine of pureft gold was rear'd;
Finish'd the whole, and labour'd ev'ry part,
With patient touches of unwearied art:
The Mantuan there in fober triumph fate,
Compos'd his posture, and his look sedate;
On Homer still he fix'd a rev'rent eye,
Great without pride, in modest majefty.

In living fculpture on the fides were spread
The Latian wars, and haughty Turnus dead;
Eliza stretch'd upon the fun'ral pyre;
Eneas bending with his aged fire:
Troy flam'd in burning gold; and o'er the throne
Arms and the Man in golden cyphers fhone.

Four swans fuftain a car of filver bright, (flight:
With heads advanc'd, and pinions ftretch'd for
Here, like fome furious prophet, Pindar rode,
And feem'd to labour with th' infpiring God.
Across the harp a carelefs hand he flings,
And boldly finks into the founding ftrings.
The figur'd games of Greece the column grace;
Neptune and Jove furvey the rapid race.
The youths hang o'er their chariots as they run,
The fiery fteeds feem starting from the stone:
The champions, in diftorted posture, threat;
And all appear'd irregularly great.

Here happy Horace tun'd th' Aufonian lyre
To fweeter founds, and temper'd Pindar's ́fire :
Pleas'd with Alcæus' manly rage t' infufe
The fofter fpirit of the Sapphic Mufe.
The polish'd pillar diff'rent fculptures grace;
A work outlasting monumental brass.
Here fimiling Loves and Bacchanals appear;
The Julian ftar, and great Auguftus here.
The Doves that round the infant poet spread
Myrtles and bays, hang hov'ring o'er his head.

Here, in a fhrine that caft a dazzling light,
Sat fix'd in thought the mighty Stagyrite;
His facred head a radiant zodiac crown'd,
And various animals his fides furround;
His piercing eyes, erect, appear to view
Superior worlds, and look all nature through.

With equal rays immortal Tully fhone;
The Roman roftra deck'd the conful's throne:
Gath'ring his flowing robe, he feem'd to ftand
In act to speak, and graceful ftretch'd his hand.
Behind, Rome's genius waits with civic crowns,
And the great Father of his country owns.

Thefe maffy columns in a circle rife,
O'er which a pompous dome invades the skies;
Scarce to the top I ftretch'd my aching fight,
So large it fpread, and fwell'd to fuch a height.
Full in the midft proud Fame's imperial feat
With jewels blaz'd, magnificently great:
The vivid em'ralds there revive the eye,
The flaming rubies thew their fanguine dye,
Bright azure rays from lively fapphires fticam,
And lucid amber cafts a golden gleam.
With various-colour'd light the pavement fhone,
And all on fire appear'd the glowing throne;
The dome's high arch reflects the mingled blaze,
And forms a rainbow of alternate rays.
When on the Goddess firft I caft my fight,
Scarce feem'd her ftature of a cubit's height;
But fwell'd to larger fize, the more I gaz'd,
Till to the roof her tow'ring front the rais'd.
With her, the temple ev'ry moment grew;
And ampler vistas open'd to my view:
Upward the columis fhoot, the roofs afcend,
And arches widen, and long aifles extend.
Such was her form as ancient bards have told,
Wings raife her arms, and wings her feet enfold;
A thousand

A thousand bufy tongues the Goddess bears,
And thousand open eyes, and thousand lift'ning
Bencath in order rang'd, the tuneful Nine [ears.
(Her virgin handmaids) ftill attend the shrine;
With eyes on Fame for ever fix'd, they fing;
For Fame they raise the voice, and tune the ftring:
With time's first birth began the heavenly lays,
And laft eternal thro' the length of days.

Around thefe wonders as I caft a look,
The trumpet founded, and the temple fhook;
And all the nations, fummon'd at the call,
From diff'rent quarters fill the crowded hall:
Of various tongues the mingled founds were heard;
In various garbs promifcuous throngs appear'd;
Thick as the bees that with the fpring renew
Their flow'ry toils, and fip the fragrant dew,
When the wing'd colonies firft tempt the sky,
O'er dusky fields and shaded waters fly,
Or fettling feize the fweets the bloffoms yield,
And a low murmur runs along the field.
Millions of fuppliant crowds the shrine attend,
And all degrees before the Goddefs bend;
The poor, the rich, the valiant, and the fage,
And boafting youth, and narrative old age.
Their pleas were diff'rent, their requeft the fame;
For good and bad alike are fond of Fame.
Some the difgrac'd, and fome with honours crown'd;
Unlike fucceffes equal merits found.
Thus her blind fifter, fickle Fortune, reigns;
And, undifcerning, fcatters crowns and chains.

Firft at the fhrine the learned world appear,
And to the Goddef's thus prefer their pray'r:
Long have we fought t'inftruct and pleafe mankind,
With studies pale, with midnight vigils blind;
But thank'd by few, rewarded yet by none,
We here appeal to thy fuperior throne:
On wit and learning the juft prize bestow;
For Fame is all we must expect below.
The Goddess heard, and bade the Mufes raife
The golden trumpet of eternal praife:
From pole to pole the winds diffufe the found,
That fills the circuit of the world around;
Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud:
The notes at firft were rather fweet than loud;
By just degrees they ev'ry moment rife,
Fill the wide earth, and gain upon the skies.
At ev'ry breath were balmy odours fhed,
Which ftill grew fweeter as they wider fpread:
Lefs fragrant fcents th' unfolding rofe exhales,
Or fpices breathing in Arabian gales.

But ftraight the direful trump of flander founds;
Thro' the big dome the doubling thunder bounds;
Loud as the burst of cannon rends the skies,
The dire report thro' ev'ry region flies;
In ev'ry ear inceffant rumours rung,
And gath'ring scandals grew on ev'ry tongue.
From the black trumpet's rufty concave broke
Sulphureous flames, and clouds of rolling fmoke:
The pois nous vapour blots the purple skies,
And withers all before it as it flies.

[wore,

A troop came next who crowns and armour
And proud defiance in their looks they bore:
For thee (they cried) amidst alarms and ftrife
We fail'd in tempefts down the ftream of life;
For thee whole nations fill'd with fames and blood,
And fwam to empire thro' the purple flood.
Thofe ills we dar'd thy infpiration own;
What virtue feem'd, was done for thee alone.
Ambitious fools! (the Queen replied, and frown'd)
Be all your acts in deep oblivion drown'd:
There fleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone;
Your ftatues moulder'd,and your names unknown!
A fudden cloud straight fnatch'd them from my
And each majestic phantom funk in night. [fight,

Then came the fmallest tribe I yet had feen;
Plain was their drefs, and modeft was their mien.
Great idol of mankind we neither claim
The praife of merit, nor afpire to fame;
But, fafe in deferts from th' applaufe of men,
Would die unheard of, as we liv'd unfeen.
'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from fight
Thofe acts of goodness which theinfelves require.
O let us ftill the fecret joy partake,

To follow virtue even for virtue's fake.

And live there men who flight immortal fame ?
Who then with incenfe fhall adore our name?
But, mortals! know, 'tis ftill our greatest pride
To blaze thofe virtues which the good would hide.
Rife! mufes, rife! add all your tuneful breath;
These must not sleep in darkness and in death.
She faid in air the trembling mufic floats,
And on the winds triumphant fwell the notes;
So foft tho' high, fo loud and yet fo clear,
Even lift'ning angels lean from heaven to hear:
To furthest thores th' ambrofial spirit flies,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies.

Next thefe, a youthful train their vows exprefs'd,
With feathers crown'd,withgay embroid'ry drefs'd;
Hither, they cried, direct your eyes, and fee
The men of pleature, drefs, and gallantry;
train,Ours is the place at banquets, balls, and plays;
Sprightly our nights, polite are all our days;
Courts we frequent, where 'tis our pleafing care
To pay due vifits, and addrefs the fair:
In fact, 'tis true, no nymph we could perfuade,
But fill in fancy vanquish'd ev'ry maid;
Of unknown ducheffes lewd tales we tell;
Yet, would the world believe us, all were well.
The joy let others have, and we the name;
And what we want in pleafure, grant in fame.

Next thefe the good and juft, an awful
Thus on their knees addrefs the facred fane:
Since living virtue is with envy curs'd,
And the best men are treated like the worst,
Do thou, juft Goddefs, call our merits forth,
And give cach deed th' exact intrinsic worth.
Not with bare juftice fhall your act be crown'd
(Said Fame), but high above desert renown'd:
Let fuller notes th' applauding world amaze,
And the loud clarion labour in your praife.

This band difmifs'd, bel-old another crowd
Preferr'd the fame requeft, and lowly bow'd;
The conftant tenour of whole well-ipent days
No lefs deferv'd a juft return of praife.

The queen affents, the trumpetrends the skies, And at each blaft a lady's honour dies. [prefs'd Pleas'd with the ftrange fuccefs, vaft numbers Around the thrine, and made the fame requeft:

What

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