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therefore easily drawn to despise what they know nothing of. But, my Lord, among all these mortifying Thoughts, it is still a Pleasure to the Muses, to think there are fome Men of too delicate Understandings to give into the Taftes of a depraved Age; Men that have not only the Power but the Will, to protect those Arts which they love, because they are Masters of them.

It would be very easy for me to distinguish one among those few, after the most advantageous Manner; but all Men of cominon Sense have concurred in doing it already, and there is no Need of a Panegyric.

I could be almost tempted to expoftulate with the rest of the World (for I am sure there is no Occafion to make an Apology to Your Lordship) in Defence of Poetry. I am far from thinking of a good Poet, as the Stoits did of their Wife-mán, that he was sufficient for every Thing, could be every Thing, and excel in every Thing, as he pleased; yet fure

be allowed to say, that that Brightness, Quickness, that Strength and Greatness of Thinking, which is required in any of the

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nobler Kinds of Poetry, would raise a Man to an uncommon Distinction in any Profession or Business, that has a Relation to good Sense and Understanding. One modern Instance can at least be given, where the same Genius that shone in Poetry, was found equal to the first Employments of the State ; and where the same Man, who by his Virtue and Wifdom was highly useful to, and instrumental in the Safety and Happiness of his native Country, had been equally ornamental to it in his Wit.

This is what I could not help saying, for the Honor of an Art which has been formerly the Favorite of the greatest Men. Not that it wants a Recommendation to Your Lordship, who have always been a constant and generous Protector of it. This indeed would be much more properly said to the World, and when I. have told them what Men have equally adorned it, and been adorned by it, I might not unfitly apply to them, what Horace said to the Pifo's,

Ne forté Pudori
Sit tibi Musa Lyre folers & Cantor Apollos'

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For my own inconsiderable Pretensions to Verse, I shall, I confess, think better- even of them, than I have ever yet done, if they. shall afford me the Honor to be always thought,

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INCE to your fam’d Fore-Fathers quite contrary,

You from their Pleasures, as their Wisdom, vary; What Art, what Method, shall the Poet find, To hit the Taste of each fantastic Mind? Legions of Joys your wand'ring Fancies lead, Like Sunimer Flies, which in the Shambles breed; Each year they fwarm anew, and to the last fucceed. Time was, when Fools by Fellowship were known; But now they Aray; and in this populous Town Each Coxcomb has a Folly of his own. Some dress, fome dance, fome play; not to forget Your Piquet Parties, and your dear Baffet. Some preise, fome rail, some bow, and some make Faces; 2 our Country Squires hunt Foxes, your Court, Places. The Csty ico fills up the various Scene, Ibere Fools lay Wagers, and where wife Men win. One rails at Cælia for a late Mischance; One grumbles, and cries up the Pow'r of France. This Alan talks Politics, and that takes Pills; One cultes Has onck, and one the Nation's Ills. Now Fidling, and the Charms of Sing-Song, win ye; Harmonious Peg, and warbling Valentini. As to your Drinking---but, for That, we spare it, Nor with your other vile Delights compare it, There's something more than Sound, there's Sense in Claret. Mean-ephile neglected Verse, in long Disgrace, Ameng A your many Pleasures finds no Place; The virtuous Laws of Common-sense for

wearing, You damn us like packt Juries, without hearing.

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Each fung Whipster here, is Wit enough,
With scornful Airs, and supercilious Snuf;
To cry, This Tragedy's such damn'd grave Stuff.
But now we hope more equal Judges come,
Since Flanders sends the gen'rous Warriors home:
You that have fought for Liberty and Laws,
Whose Valor the proud Gallic Tyrant awes,
Join to assert the finking Muses Cause;
Since the Same Flame, by different Ways expreft,
Glows in the Hero's and the Poet's Breast;
The same great Thoughts, that roule you to the Fight,
Inspire the Mufe, and bid the Poet write.

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