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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*,
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.
Seek the great man! they cry~'tis then decreed,
What friends to second? who for me Nould sue, 5
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
Be posts dispos’d at will !--) have, for these,
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,
What though I hourly see the servile herd,
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.
Ε Ρ Ι
T L E
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,
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;