But fhould fome churchman, apeing wit fevere, The poet's fure turn'd Baptift-fay, and fneer; Shame on that narrow mind fo often known, Which in one mode of faith, owns worth alone. Sneer on, rail, wrangle! nought this truth repelsVirtue is virtue, wherefoe'er the dwells;

And fure, where learning gives her light to fhine,
Her's is all praise-if her's, 'tis Fofter, thine.
Thee boaft diffenters; we with pride may own
Our Tillotson; and Rome, her Fenelon*.

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THE

POET's DEPENDANCE

ON A

STATESMA N.

SOME

OME feem to hint, and others proof will bring, That, from neglect, my numerous hardships fpring.

In this Character of the Rev. James Fofter, truth guided the pen of the Mufe. Mr. Pope paid a tribute to the modeft worth of this excellent man: little did he imagine his Rev. Annotator would endeavour to convert his praife into abufe. The character and writings of Fofter will be admired and read, when the works of the bitter Controversialist are forgotten.

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

What friends to fecond? who for me fhould fue, 5 Have interefts, partial to themselves, in view. They own my matchless fate compaffion draws; They all with well, lament, but drop my cause. There are who afk no penfion, want no place, No title with, and would accept no grace. Can I entreat, they fhould for me obtain The leaft, who greatest for themselves difdain ? A ftatefman, knowing this, unkind, will cry, Thofe love him: let those serve him!-why fhould I? Say, fhall I turn where lucre points my views; 15 At first defert my friends, at length abuse? But, on lefs terms, in promife he complies: Years bury years, and hopes on hopes arife; I trust, am trusted on my fairy gain; And woes on woes attend, an endless train.

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Be pofts difpos'd at will!-J have, for these, No gold to plead, no impudence to teaze. All fecret fervice from my foul 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 shape, as time fhall ferve, my verse, or profe, To flatter thence, nor flur, a courtier's foes i Nor him to daub with praife, if I prevail; Nor fhock'd' by him with libels to affail. Where these are not, what claim to me belongs? ough mine the Mufe and virtue, birth and wrongs. Where

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Where lives the ftatefman, fo in honour clear, To give where he has nought to hope, nor fear? No! there to feek, is but to find fresh pain: The promife 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 lofe the health, which fhould thofe thoughts infpire;

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To ftarve on hope; or, like camelions, fare
On ministerial faith, which means but air.
But ftill, undrooping, I the crew disdain,
Who, or by jobs, or libels, wealth obtain.
Ne'er let me be, through thofe, from want exempt; 45
In one man's favour, in the world's contempt:
Worfe in my own!-through thofe, to pofts who rife,
Themselves, in fecret, must themselves despise;
Vile, and more vile, till they, at length, difclaim
Not fenfe alone of glory, but of shame.

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What though I hourly fee the fervile herd, For meanness honour'd, and for guilt prefer'd; See felfish paffion, public virtue feem; And public virtue an enthusiast dream; See favour'd falfehood, innocence belied, Meeknefs deprefs'd, and power-elated pride; A fcene will shew, all-righteous vision haste; The meek exalted, and the proud debas'd !— Oh, to be there! -to tread that friendly fhore, Where falfehood, pride, and statesmen are no more! 60

A

But ere indulg'd-ere fate my breath fhall claim, ftill is anxious after fame.

poet
What future fame would my ambition crave?

This were my wifh-could ought my memory fave,
Say, when in death my forrows lie repos'd,
That my past life no venal view disclos'd;
Say, I well knew, while in a state obfcure,
Without the being bafe, the being poor;
Say, I had parts, too moderate to transcend :
Yet fenfe to mean, and virtue not t'offend;
My heart fupplying what my head denied,
Say that, by Pope efteem'd I liv'd and died;
Whose writings the beft rules to write could give;
Whofe life the nobler fcience how to live.

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A N

EPISTLE

то

DAMON AND DELI A.

H'

EAR 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, And prompt to feel the pang for others woe;

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Το

EPISTLE TO DAMON AND DELIA. 153
To foften faults, to which a foe is prone,
And, in a friend's perfection, praise your own:
A will fincere, unknown to selfish views;
A heart of love, of gallantry a Mufe;
A delicate, yet not a jealous mind;

A paffion ever fond, yet never blind,
Glowing with amorous, yet with guiltless fires,
In ever-eager, never grofs defires :

A modeft honour, facred to contain

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From tattling vanity, when fmiles you gain;
Conftant, most pleas'd when beauty moft you please:
Damon your picture 's fhewn in tints like thefe.
Say, Delia, muft I chide you or commend?
Say, must I be your flatterer or your friend?
To praife no graces in a rival fair,
Nor your own foibles in a fifter fpare;
Each lover's billet, bantering, to reveal,
And never known one fecret to conceal ;
Young, fickle, fair, a levity inborn,

To treat all fighing flaves with flippant fcorn;
An eye, expreffive 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, drefs or cards;
Choice to select the party of delight,

To kill time, thought, and fame, in frolic flight;
To flutter here, to flurry there on wing;

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To talk, to teaze, to fimper, or to fing;

To prude it, to coquet it-him to truft,
Whofe vain, loose life, fhould caution or disgust ;

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Him