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From the same foes at last both felt their doom, 685

And the same age saw Learving fall and Rome.

With Tyranny then Superstition join’d,

As that the body, this enslav'd the mind;

Much was believ'd, but little understood,

And to be dull was constru'd to be good:


A second deluge Learning thus o'er-rau,

And the Monks finish'd what the Goths began.

At length Erasmus, that great injur'd name,

(The glory of the priesthood, and the shame!)

Stemm'd the wild torrent of a barb'rous age,


Avd drove those holy Vandals off the stage.

But see! each Muse in Leo's golden days

Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays;

Rome's ancient Genius o'er its ruins spread,

Shakes off the dust, and rears his rev'rend head. 700

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Cederaõ ao rigør; ambas findaraõ.
A hum tempo Roma e lettras s'acabarað
Superstiçaõ vnio co'a tirania

A escravidaõ do animo, e dos povos.

Muito se creo, mui pouco s'intendia,

E julgou-se sêr bom ignorár tudo.


Cahio novo diluvio sobre a terra

Dos Godos a irrupça) remataõ frades.
Erasmo em fim taõ censurado e grande
Gloria do clero, mas tað bem vergonha

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(D'antiga Roma) o musgo, o pó sacóde

E a veneranda face ás gentes mostra.

A sculptura co' as artes irmans, torna,

Then Sculpture and her sister-arts revive;

Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live;

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And next in place to Mantua, next in fame!

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But we, brave Britons! foreign laws despis’d,


And kept unconquer'd and unciviliz'd;

Fierce for the liberties of wit, and bold,

We still defy'd the Romans, as of old.

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As eras do censor, do mestre insigne.
Teu nome aplaudirá Cremona sempre
Como perto de Mantua, e perto em fama.
Mas cedo pellas impias armas cêdo
Expulsadas do Latium, degradadas
O limite primeiro as musas passaõ.
O norte frio entao acolhe as artes;


Mas a critica em França he que florece.
As regras, a naçaõ servil submetem
Co' septro de vénuza Boileau reina.


Vos Bretões, que zombais das leys estranhas
Nað vos vence ninguem, nem civiliza
Altivos, por pensár com liberdade

Dais a Roma atrevido dezafio,

Insultais mesmo a seria antiguidade;

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Such was Roscommon, not more learn'd than good,

With manners gen'rous as his noble blood;


To him the wit of Greece and Rome was known,

And ev'ry author's merit but his own.

Such late was Walsh–the Muse's judge and friend,

Who justly knew to blame or to commend;


To failings mild, but zealous for desert,

The clearest head, and the sincerest heart.

This humble praise, lamented Shade! receive;

This praise at least a grateful Muse may give:

The Muse whose early voice you taught to sing, 735

Prescrib'd her heights, and prun'd her tender wing,

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