Hence lately thy Spectators charm'd the Age,
Hence now thy Confcious Lovers grace the Stage.
Such Lovers as folicit Virtue's Cause,
And fill our Theatre with just Applause;
In Them each Sex their true Perfections view,
Each have the lovelieft Pattern to pursue.
The British Fair, thy finish'd Model shown,
By Indiana's Conduct fet their own;
Our Youths their darling Fopp'ries all resign,
And own th' Accomplish'd Man at last is Thine.
On thy Designs what Revolutions wait!
Thou great Restorer of the Moral State.
All Manners, fee! to Thy Decrees fubmit,
Nor Rage is Honour, nor Grimace is Wit;
The Hate of Morals, and the Scorn of Arts,
Distinguish now no more the Man of Parts.
Esteem forfakes the Arrogant and Vain,
And recognizes Merit once again;
The World no longer Right and Wrong confounds, And Vice and Virtue know their antient Bounds.
So fome most exquifite Machine (defign'd
Perhaps in Archimede's or Tycho's Mind)
If by Abuse, and our Defect of Art,
It move irregular in every part,
Explor'd by Newton's Philofophic Eyes,
Through all its Movements into Order flys;
Again instructs the Mind, and charms the Sight,
While correfponding Nature speaks it right.
Purfue thy darling Theme, with pious Care, And gratulate, O Muse, the happy Fair. No longer They precarious Loves commence, The Men that please are now the Men of Sense; None will the Good and Innocent explode, Since Probity and Conscience pass to Mode; Only the Worthy dare to Beauty fue,
And loveliest Hearts are deftin'd for the true.
Again are heard the learn'd, and view'd the plain;
And Fops and Beaux are trifling now in vain.
See! Truth and Honour sway the female Breast;
And Toasts themselves vouchfafing to be bleft.
Proceed, O Steele! thefe Bleffings to impart,
And be thy Hand as bounteous as thy Heart.
Long may'st Thou live, at last to leave behind
More Copies still of thy extensive Mind:
More of thy felf, much more O yet bestow,
Ere Thou art what thy Addison is now.
When his great Soul attain'd the Seats Divine,
Her other felf remain'd, and fhone in thine;
But when thy meritorious Toils fhall end,
And Thou shalt pass to Glory and thy Friend,
Mankind Thy total Absence must bemoan,
And trace their Guardian in thy Works alone.
On BEN JOHNSON's Club-Room, call'd the Apollo; at the Devil-Tavern in Fleet-street.
Nce on a Time, as plac'd fupream in State,
Amidft his Sons old merry Ben was fate;
At some rare Strain the jovial Bard effay'd,
And call'd the Muse and Phœbus to his Aid:
In vain ; nor Phœbus nor the Mufe obey'd.
Nonplust at this, and in a strange Quandary,
He fill'd a lufty Bumper of Canary.
Soon as this Nectar glided o'er his Tongue,
He rous'd, and tun'd his Lyre, and sweetly fung.
Then to the Room which the rich Juice fupply'd,
Henceforth be thou Apollo call'd, he cry'd;
Apollo let thy Name for ever be,
That lab'ring Bards, in Time to come, may fee,
If they their Father Ben's Advice will take,
The best Inspirer is delicious Sack.
Against LIFE. From the Greek.
Hat Path of Life by Man is trod,
Without repenting of the Road?
Business is Tumult, Noise and Jar,
At Home is Wearinefs and Care :
The Ocean Storm and Terror yields,
And painful Toil and Sweat, the Fields:
Abroad you're deftitute, if Poor;
If Rich, endanger'd by your Store.
By Griefs the Nuptial State is torn;
The Single, friendless and forlorn.
With Children, Sorrows will increase;
Childless, we moan our Barrenness.
Folly our giddy Youth enfnares
And Weakness finks our hoary Hairs.
The Wife this only Choice would try,
Or not to live, or foon to die.
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