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But should fome churchman, apeing wit fevere, The poet 's sure turn'd Bap:ift-fay, and sneer; Shame on that narrow mind so often known, Which in one mode of faith, owns worth alone. 50 Sneer on, rail, wrangle ! nought this truth repels-Virtue is virtue, wherefoe'er the dwells; And fure, where learning gives her light to shine, Her's is all praise--if her's, 'tis Foster, thine. Thee boast dissenters; we with pride may own 55 Our Tillotson ; and Rome, her Fenelon*,

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OME seem to bint, and others proof will bring,
That, from neglect, my numerous hardships

Spring. * In this Character of the Rev. James Foster, truth guided the

pen of the Mufe. Mr. Pope paid a tribute to the modest worth of this excellent man: little did he imagine his Rev. Annotator would endeavour to convert his praise into abuse. The character and writings of Foster will be admired and read, when the works of the bitter Controversialist are forgotten.



L 3


Seek the great man! they cry~'tis then decreed,
In him, if I court fortune, I succeed.

What friends to second? who for me Nould sue, 5
Have interests, partial to themselves, in view.
They cwn my matchless faie compassion draws;
They all wish well, lament, but drop my cause.

There are who ask no pension, want no place, No title with, and would accept no grace. Can I entreat, they should for me obtain The least, who greatest for themselves disdain ? A statesman, knowing this, unkind, will cry, Those love him : let those serve him!-why hould I?

Say, shall I turn where lucre points my views; 15
At first desert my friends, at length abuse?
But, on less terms, in promise he complies :
Years bury years, and hopes on hopes arise ;
I trust, am trusted on my fairy gain;
And woes on woes atiend, an endless train.

Be posts dispos’d at will !--) have, for these,
No gold to plead, no impudence to teaze.
All secret service from my soul I hate ;
All dark intrigues of pleasure, or of state.
I have no power, election-votes to gain ;

No will to hackney out polemic strain ;
To tape, as time mall serve, my verse, or prose,
To flatter thence, nor flur, a courtier's foes ;
Nor him to daub with praise, if I prevail ;
Nor Hock'd by him with libels to affail.

30 Where these are not, what claim to me belongs ? Though mine the Muse and virtue, birth and wrongs.




Where lives the statesman, fo in honour clear, To give where he has nought to hope, nor fear ? No!-there to seek, is but to find fresh pain ;

35 The promise broke, renew'd, and broke again ; To be, as humour deigns, receiv’d, refus’d; By turns affronted, and by turns amus'd; To lose that time, which worthier thoughts require ; To lose the health, which should those thoughts in

spire; To starve on hope ; or, like camelions, fare On ministerial faith, which means but air.

But still, undrooping, I the crew disdain,
Who, or by jobs, or libels, wealth obtain.
Ne’er let me be, through those, from want exempt; 45
In one man's favour, in the world's contempt:
Worse in my own !--through those, to posts who rise,
Themselves, in secret, must themselves despise ;
Vile, and more vile, till they, at length, disclaim
Not sense alone of glory, but of fame.

What though I hourly see the servile herd,
For meanness honour'd, and for guilt prefer’d;
See selfish passion, public virtue feem;
And public virtue an enthusiast dream;
See favour'd falsehood, innocence belied,

Meekness depress’d, and power-elated pride;
A scene will Mew, all-righteous vision hafte ;
The meek exalted, and the proud debas’d!-
Oh, to be there ! - to tread that friendly thore,
Where falsehood, pride, and statesmen are no more ! 60


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But ere indulg'dere fate my breath fhall claim, A poet still is anxious after fame. What future fame would my ambition crave ? This were my wish-could ought my memory fave, Say, when in death my forrows lie repos’d, 63 That my past life no venal view disclos'd; Say, I well knew, while in a state obscure, Without the being base, the being poor ; Say, I had parts, too moderate to transcend : Yet sense to mean, and virtue not t'offend; 70 My heart supplying what my head denied, Say that, by Pope efteem'd I liv'd and died; Whose writings the best rules to write could give; Whose life the nobler fcience how to live.






D A M O N A N D DE L I A. HEAR Damon, Delia hear, in candid lays,

Truth without anger, without flattery, praise ! A bookish mind, with pedantry unfraught, Oft a fedate, yet never gloomy thought: Prompt to rejoice, when others pleasure know, 5 And prompt to feel the pang for others we;




To soften faults, to which a foe is prone,
And, in a friend's perfection, praise your own :
A will fincere, unknown to feifith views;
A heart of love, of gallantry a Muse ;
A delicate, yet not a jealous mind;
A pafsion ever fond, yet never blind,
Glowing with amorous, yet with guiltless fires,
In ever-eager, never gross defires :
A modest honour, sacred to contain

15 From tatiling vanity, when smiles you gain ; Constant, most pleas’d when beauty most you please : Dainon! your picture 's Mewn in tints like these.

Say, Delia, must I chide you or commend ? Say, muft I be your flatterer or your friend ?

To praise no graces in a rival fair, Nor your own bles in a filter spare ; Each lover's billet, bantering, to reveal, And never known one secret to conceal ; Young, fickle, fair, a levity inborn,

25 To treat all fighing flaves with flippant scorn ; An eye, expressive of a wandering mind : Nor this to read, nor that to think inclin'd; Or when a book, or thought, from whim retards, Intent on fongs or novels, dress or cards ;

30 Choice to select the party of delight, To kill time, thought, and fame, in frolic flight; To flutter here, to flurry there on wing; To talk, to teaze, to fimper, or to sing ; To prude it, to coquet it-him to trust,

35 Whofe vain, loose life, should caution or disgust;


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