5

That facred art, by heaven itself infus'd,
Which Mofes, David, Solomon have us'd,
Is now to be no more: the mufes' foes
Would fink their Maker's praises into profe.
Were they content to prune the lavish vine
Of ftraggling branches, and improve the wine,
Who, but a madman, would his thoughts de-
fend?

All would fubmit; for all but fools will mend.
But when to common fenfe they give the lye, 11
And turn distorted words to blafphemy.
They give the scandal; and the wise discern,
Their gloffes teach an age, too apt to learn.
What I have loosely, or prophanely, writ, 15
Let them to fires, their due defert, commit:
Nor, when accus'd by me, let them complain:
Their faults, and not their function, I arraign.
Rebellion, worfe than witchcraft, they purfu'd;
The pulpit preach'd the crime, the people ru'd.
The stage was filenc'd; for the faints would fee
In fields perform'd their plotted tragedy.
But let us firft reform, and then fo live,
That we may teach our teachers to forgive:
Our desk be plac'd below their lofty chairs; 25
Ours be the practice, as the precept theirs.

23.

22

Ver. 19. Rebellion, worse than witchcraft,] From 1 Sam. xv. "For rebellion is as the fin of witchcraft, &c."

TODD.

30

The moral part, at least, we may divide,
Humility reward, and punish pride;
Ambition, intereft, avarice, accufe:
These are the province of a tragic muse.
These haft thou chofen; and the public voice
Has equall'd thy performance with thy choice.
Time, action, place, are so preserv'd by thee,
That e'en Corneille might with envy fee
The alliance of his Tripled Unity.
Thy incidents, perhaps, too thick are sown;
But too much plenty is thy fault alone.
At least but two can that good crime commit,
Thou in design, and Wycherly in wit.
Let thy own Gauls condemn thee, if they
dare;

Contented to be thinly regular:

35.

40

Born there, but not for them, our fruitful foil
With more increase rewards thy happy toil.
Their tongue, enfeebled, is refin'd too much;
And, like pure gold, it bends at ev'ry touch: 45
Our sturdy Teuton yet will art obey,
More fit for manly thought, and strengthen'd
with allay.

But whence art thou infpir'd, and thou alone,
To flourish in an idiom not thy own?

50

It moves our wonder, that a foreign guest Should over-match the moft, and match the

beft.

In under-praising thy deferts, I wrong;

Here find the firft deficience of our tongue : Words, once my ftock, are wanting, to com

mend.

So great a poet, and so good a friend.

fo

55

How blefs'd is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of ftrife! Who ftudying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deferve his love, he makes his own; 5 And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be

known.

*This poem was written in 1699. The perfon to whom it is addreffed was coufin-german to the poet, and a younger brother of the baronet. DERRICK.

Ver. 1. How bless'd is he,] This is one of the moft truly Horatian epiftles in our language, comprchending a variety of topics and ufeful reflections, and fliding from fubject to fubject with eafe and propriety. Writing this note in the year 1799, I am much ftruck with the lines that follow the 175th, as containing the foundest political truths. Dr. J. WARTON.

Juft, good and wife, contending neighbors)

come,

From your award to wait their final doom; And, foes before, return in friendship home. Without their coft, you terminate the caufe; 10 And fave the expence of long litigious laws: Where fuits are travers'd; and fo little won, That he who conquers, is but last undone : Such are not your decrees; but fo defign'd, The fanction leaves a lafting peace behind: 150 Like your own foul, ferene; a pattern of your mind.

Promoting concord, and compofing ftrife, Lord of yourself, uncumber'd with a wife; Where, for a year, a month, perhaps a night,

20

Long penitence fucceeds a short delight:
Minds are fo hardly match'd, that ev'n the

first,

Though pair'd by Heaven, in Paradife were curs'd.

For man and woman, though in one they grow, Yet, firft or laft, return again to two.

He to God's image, fhe to his was made;

25

So, farther from the fount the ftream at random

ftray'd.

How could he stand, when, put to double

pain,

He must a weaker than himself sustain!