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That Wretch (in Ipite of his forgotten Rhymes)
Condemn’d to live thro' all succeeding Times,
With pompous Nonsense and a bellowing Sound
Sung lofty llium tumbling to the Ground.
And (if the Mufe can through paft Ages fee)
That noisy, nauseous, gaping fool was he;
Exploded when with universal fcorn
The Mountains laboured and a Mouse was born.

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Learn, learn, Crotona's brawny Wrestler

Audacious Mortals, and be timely wise!
'Tis I that call, remember Milo's End,
Wedg'd in that Timber, which he strove to rend.
Each Poet with a different Talent writes,
One praifes, one instructs, another bites.
Horace did ne'er aspire to Epic Bays,
Nor lofty Maro 1toop to Lyric Lays.
Examine how your Humour is inclin’d,
And which the ruling Passion of your Mind;
Then, feeck a Poet who your way does bend,

And choose an Author' as you choose a Friend.
United by this fympathetic Bond,
You grow familiar, intimate, and fond;
Your Thoughts, your Words, your Stiles, your

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Souls agree,

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No longer his Interpreter, but He.
With how much Ease is a young Mufe bem

How nice the Reputation of the Maid?
Your early, kind, paternal Care appears,
By chaft Instruction of her tender Years.
The first Impression in her infant Breast
Will be the deepest, and should be the best.
Let not Austerity breed fervile Fear;
No wanton Sound offend her Virgin-ear.
Secure from foolish Pride's affected State,
And specious Flatt'ry's more pernicious Bait,

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Xorcommon. Habitual Innocence adorns her thoughts;

But your Neglect must answer for her Faults.


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Immodest Words admit of no Defence;
For want of Decency is want of Sense.
What mod’rate Fop wou'd rake the Park or Stews,
Who among Troops of faultless Nymphs may choo-

Variety of such is to be found;
Take then a subject, proper to expound;
But moral, great, and worth a Poet's Voice,
For Men of sense despise a trivial Choice:
And suchi Applause it must expect to meet,
As would some Painter busy in a Street,
To copy Bulls and Bears, and ev'ry Sign
That calls the staring Sots to nasty Wine.

Yet ’tis not all to have a Subject good,
It must delight us, when 'tis understood.
He that brings fulfom Objects to my View,
(As many Old have done, and many New)
With nauseous Images my fancy fills,
And all goes down like Oximel of Squills.
Instruct the liftning World how Maro sings
Of useful Subjects, and of lofty Things.
Those will such true, such bright Ideas raise,
As merit Gratitude as well as Praile:
But foul Descriptions are offensive still,
Either for being like, or being ill.
For who, without a Qualm, hath ever look'd
On holy Garbage, tho' by Homer cook'd ?
Whofe railing Heroes, and whose wounded Gods,
Make some suspect, He snores, as well as nods.
But I offend - Virgil begins to frown,
And Horace looks with Indignation down:
My blushing Mufe with conscious Fear retires,
And whom they like, -implicitly admires.

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On sure foundations let your Fabrick rise,
And with attractive Majesty surprise.


Not by affected, meretricious Arts,

Xoreommons But itriet harmonious Symmetry of Parts, Which through the Whole insensibly must pass, With vital Heat to aniinate the Mass. A pure, an active, an auspicious Flame, And bright as Heav'n, from whence the Blessing

But few, oh few Souls, preordain'd by Fate,
The Race of Gods, have reach'd that envy'd

No Rebel-Titan's facrilegious Crime,
By heaping Hills on Hills can thither climb.
The grizly of Hell deny'd
Aeneas Entrance, 'till he knew his Guide;
How justly then will impious Mortals fall,
Whose Pride wou'd foar to Heav'n without

Call ?

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Pride (of all others the most dang'rou: Fault,)
Proceeds from want of Sense, or want of Thought.
The Men, who labour and digest things moft,
Will be much apter to defpond, than boast.
For if your Author be profoundly good,
'Twill cost you dear, before he's understood.
How many Ages since has Virgil writ?
How few are they who understand him yet?
Approach his Altars with religious Fear,
No vulgar Deity inhabits there:
Heav'n I hakes not more at Jove's imperial Nod,
Than Poets shou'd before their Mantuan God.
Hail mighty Maro! may that facred Name

my Breast with thy celestial Flame!
Sublime Ideas, and apt Words infuse,
The Muse instruct my Voice, and thou inspire the


What I have instanc'd only in the best,
Is, in proportion, true of all the rest.
Take pains, the genuine Meaning to explore;
There sweat, there ftrain, tug the laborious Oar:

Beifp. Samml. 3. B.


Romscomon, Search ev'ry Comment that your Care can find,
Some here, some there, may hit the Poet's

Yet be not blindly guided by the Throng;
The Multitude is always in the Wrong.
When Things appear unnatural or hard,
Consult your Author, with himself compar'd.
Who knows what Blessing Phoebus may bestow,
And future Ages to your Labour owe?
Such Secrets are not easily found out,
But once discover'd, leave no room for doubt.
Truth Itamps Conviction in your ravish'd Breast,
And Peace and Joy attend the glorious Guest.

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John P hili p 8.


Von dem oben (B. I. S. 449.) vorgefornmenen Sch&fers dichter Umbrore Philips ist der, vornehmlich in der Lehrgat. tung berdhmte, englische Dichter John Philips zu unter: scheiden, der von 1676 bis 1703 lebte. Auch von ihm hat man nur wenige Gedichte, unter welchen die kornische Paro. die der Miltonschen Schreibart, The Splendid S'illing, und das Lehrgedicht, The Cyder, oder von der Screitung des Aes pfelmoftes, die bersihmtesten sind. Dieß lestre isi Nachahs mung des Virgilischen Gedichts vom Landbau, lind hat, außer dem poetischen Verdienste, auch noch den Vorzug usia liger Wahrheit und Richtigkeit der darin ertheilten Anwei: fungen. Der auch unter uns berühmte Botanist und Gars tenkenner :Tiller åußerte darüber gegen Dr. Jolinson vas Urtheil, es gebe manche Bücher in Prose über die nämliche Materie, die nicht so viel Wahres enthielten, als dieses Gedicht, welches fidy anch durch die geschikte Anlegung des Plans, und durch eine wirklich Virgilische Verflechtuvg des Angenehmen und Befühlvollen mit dem Nürlichen und uns terrichtenden enrpfiehlt. Von minder vortheilhafter Wir: kung ist, der, den Engländern sonst in Lehrgedichten nie gewohnliche, Gebrauch reimlofer Berse, den auch Dr. John fon tadelt, tveil diese Versart zu sehr an den feierlichen Gang des Heldengedichts erinnert, und leicht den poetischen

Ausdruck über die hier weit engern Grånzen hinaus führt. --
S. auch Dusch's Vriefe, I.


A thousand accidents the farmer's hopes
Subvert, or check; uncertain all his toil,
'Till lufty autumn's luke warm days allay'd
With gentle colds, insensibly confirm
His ripening labours: autumn to the fruits
Earth’s various lap produces, vigour gives
Equal, intenerating milky grain,

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