Sure, in the better Ages of old Time,
Nor Poetry nor Love was thought a Crime;
From Heav'nthey both the Gods beft Gifts were fent, Divinely perfect both, and Innocent.
Then were bad Poets and loofe Loves not known;
None felt a Warmth which they might blush toown.
Beneath cool Shades our happy Fathers lay,
And spent in pure untainted Joys the Day:
Artless their Loves, artless their Numbers were,
While Nature fimply did in both appear,
Nor could the Cenfor or the Critick fear.
(ftow'd, Pleas'd to be pleas'd, they took what Heav'n be
Nor were too curious of the given Good.
At length, like Indians fond of fancy'd Toys,
We loft, being happy, to be thought more wife.
In one curs❜d Age, to punish Verse and Sin,
Criticks and Hang-men, both at once, came in.
Wit and the Laws had both the fame ill Fate,
And partial Tyrants fway'd in either State. A
Ill-natur'd Cenfure would be fure to damn
An Alien-wit of independent Fame,
While Bays grown old, and harden'd in Offence,
Was fuffer'd to write on in spite of Senfe; ?
Back'd by his Friends, "th'Invader brought along
A Crew of foreign Words into our Tongue,
To ruin and enflave the free-born English Song;
Still the prevailing Faction propt his Throne,
And to four Volumes let his Plays run on; T
Then a lewd Tide of Verfe, with vicious Rage,
Broke in upon the Morals of the Age.
The Stage (whofe Art was once the Mind to move
To noble Daring, and to vertuous Love)
Precept with Pleafure mix'd, no more profeft,
But dealt in double Meaning bawdy Jeft:
The Chocking Sounds offend the blufhing Fair, w
And drive 'em from the guilty Theatre.
Ye wretched Bards from whom thefe Ills have
Whom the avenging Powers have fpar'd too long,
Well may you fear the Blow will furely come,
Your Sodom has no Ten t'avert its Doomhet
Unless the fair ARDELIA will alone T
To Heav'n for all the guilty Tribe atone;we
Nor can Ten Saints do more than fuch a One
Since she alone of the Poetick Crowd
To the falfe Gods of Wit has never bow'd, keda The Empire, which fhe faves, fhall own her Sway, And all Parnaffus her blefs'd Laws obey.
Say, from what facred Fountain, Nymph divine! The Treasures flow, which in thy Verfe do fhine? With what strange Inspiration art thou bleft, What more than Delphick Ardor warms thy Breaft?
Our fordid Earth ne'er bred fo bright a Flame,
But from the Skies, thy Kindred Skies it came. A
To Numbers great like thine, th'Angelick Quire
In joyous Confort tune the golden Lyre; aruba'
Viewing with pitying Eyes, our Cares with thee,
They wifely own, that All is Vanity;
Ev'n all the Joys which mortal Minds can know,
(below.
And find ARDELIA'S Verfe the leaft vain Thing
IfPINDAR's Name to those blefs'd Manlions reach,
And Mortal Mufes may Immortal teach,
In Verse like his, the heav'nly Nation raife
Their tuneful Voices to their Maker's Praise.
Nor fhall celeftial Harmony disdain,
For once, to imitate an earthly Strain,
Whofe Fame fecure, no Rival e'er can fear,
But those above, and fair ARDELIA here.
She who undaunted could his Raptures view,
And with bold Wings his facred Heights pursue;
Safe thro' the Dithyrambick Stream she steer'd,
Nor the rough Deep in all its Dangers fear'd:
Not fo the reft, who with fuccefslefs Pain
Th❜unnavigable Torrent try'd in vain. zuoyoj ni
SO CLELIA leap'd into the rapid Flood, disi
While the Etrufcans ftruck with Wonder stood T
Amidst the Waves her rafh Perfuers dy'd, 5) Ian
The matchlefs Dame could only ftem the Tide,
And gain the Glory of the farther Side.
See with what Pomp the antick Mafque comes in !
The various Forms of the fantastick Spleen.
Vain empty Laughter, howling Grief and Tears,
Falfe Joy, bred by false Hope, and falfer Fears;
Each Vice, each Paffion which pale Nature wears,
In this odd monft'rous Medley mix'd appears.
Like Bays's Dance, confus'dly round they run,
Statesman, Coquet, gay Fop, and pensive Nun,'
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