Hard is the Mufe's travail, and 'tis plain
'Tis pinion'd sense, and EASE in PAIN;
'Tis like a foot that's wrapt about
With flannel in the racking gout..
But here, methinks, 'tis more than time
To wave both fimile and rhyme;
For while, as pen and Mufes please,
I talk fo much of eafe and eafe,
Tho' the words mention'd o'er and o'er,
I scarce have thought of yours before.
'Tis true, when writing to one's friend,
'Tis a rare science when to end,
As 'tis with wits a common fin
To want th' attention to begin.
So, Sir, (at laft indeed) adieu,
Believe me, as you'll find me, true;
And if henceforth, at any time,
APOLLO whispers you in rhyme,
Or Lady Fancy fhould difpofe .
Your mind to fally out in profe,
I fhall receive, with hallow'd awe,
The Mufe's mail from FLEXNEY's draw.
TO A FRIEND WHO SENT THE AU
Decipit Exemplar vitiis imitabile.
of the loofe familiar vein,
Which neither tires, nor cracks the brain
The Muse is rather truant grown
To buckram works of higher tone;
And tho' perhaps her pow'rs of rhyme,
Might rife to fancies more fublime,
Prefers this easy down-hill road,
To dangerous leaps at five-barr'd ODE,
Or starting in the Claffic race
Jack-booted for an EPIC chace.
That Bard, as other Bards, divine,
Who was a facris to the Nine,
DAN PRIOR I mean, with natural eafe,'
(For what's not nature cannot please)
Would fometimes make his rhyming bow
And greet his friend as I do now;
And, howfoe'er the critic train
May hold my judgment rather vain,
Allow me one refemblance true,
I have my friend, a SHEPERD too.
You know, dear Sir, the Muses nine,
Tho' fober Maids are wooed in wine,
And therefore, as beyond a doubt,
You've found my dangling foible out,
Send me nectareous Infpiration,
Tho' others read Intoxication.
For there are those who vainly use
This grand Elixir of the Muse,
And fancy in their apifh fit,
And idle trick of maudlin wit,
Their genius takes a daring flight,
'Bove PINDUS, or PLINLIMMON's height.
Whilft more of madman than of poet,
They're drunk indeed, and do not know it.
The Bard, whofe charming measure flows
With all the native case of prose,
Who, without flashy vain pretence,
Has beft adorn'd Eternal Senfe,
And, in his chearful moral page,
Speaks to mankind in every age;
Example oft gives Folly rife,
And Imitation clings to Vice.
ENNIUS could never write, 'tis faid,
Without a bottle in his head;
And your own HORACE quaff'd his wine
In plenteous draughts at BACCHUS' fhrin
Nay, ADDISON would oft unbend, moti
T'indulge his genius, with a friend;
(For fancy, which is often dry, 4* ** ~7
Muft wet her wings, or cannot fly)
What precedents for fools to follow
Are BEN, the DEVIL and APOLLO !
While the great gawky ADMIRATION,
Parent of ftupid Imitation,
Intrinfic proper worth neglects,
And copies Errors and Defects.
The man, fecure in strength of Parts
Has no recourse to fhuffling Arts,
Seeks not his nature to disguise,
Nor heeds the people's tongues, or eyes,
His wit, his faults at once displays,
Careless of envy, or of praise;
And foibles, which we often find
Juft on the surface of the mind,
Strike common eyes, which can't difcern
What to avoid, and what to learn:
Errors in wit confpicuous grow,
To ufe GAY's words, like fpecks in fnow;
Yet it were kind, at least, to make
Allowance for the merit's fake ;'
And when fuch beauties fill the eye,
To let the blemishes go by.
Plague on your philofophic fots!
I'll view the fun without its fpots.
Wits are peculiar in their mode; They cannot bear the hackney road And will contract habitual ways, Which fober people cannot praise, And fools admire: Such fools I hate ; - Begone, ye flaves, who imitate.
Poor SPURIUS! eager to destroy And murder hours he can't enjoy, The last of witlings, next to dunce, Would fain turn Genius all at once,
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