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The tædium that the lazy rich endure,

Which now and then fweet poetry may cure ;
Or, if to fee the name of idle self,

Stamped on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf,
To float a bubble on the breath of fame,
Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim,
Debased to fervile purposes of pride,
How are the powers of genius misapplied!
The gift, whose office is the Giver's praise,
To trace him in his word, his works, his ways!
Then spread the rich discovery, and invite
Mankind to share in the divine delight.
Diftorted from its use and juft defign,
To make the pitiful poffeffor thine,
To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair
Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear,
Is profanation of the bafeft kind-

Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind.

A. Hail Sternhold, then; and Hopkins, hail!-B. Amen.

If flatt'ry, folly, luft, employ the pen;

If acrimony, flander, and abuse,

Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;

Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's cafe,
With all that fancy can invent to please,
Adorn the polished periods as they fall,
One madrigal of their's is worth them all.

A. 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, To dash the pen through all that you profcribe.

B. No matter we could fhift when they were not And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.

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THE

PROGRESS OF ERROR.

Si quid loquar audiendum. HoR. Lib. 4. Od. 2.

SING, mufe (if fuch a theme, fo dark, fo long,
May find a mufe to grace it with a fong)
By what unfeen and unfufpected arts

The ferpent error twines round human hearts;
Tell where the lurks, beneath what flowery fhades,
That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades,
The poisonous, black, infinuating worm
Successfully conceals her loathfome form.
Take, if ye can, ye carelefs and fupine,
Counsel and caution from a voice like mine!
Truths, that the theorift could never reach,
And obfervation taught me, I would teach.
Not all, whofe eloquence the fancy fills,
Mufical as the chime of tinkling rills,

Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend,
Can trace her mazy windings to their end;
Difcern the fraud beneath the fpecious lure,
Prevent the danger, or prefcribe the cure.
The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear,
Falls foporific on the listless ear;

Like quickfilver, the rhetoric they difplay
Shines as it runs, but grasped at flips away,
Placed for his trial on is bufting stage,
From thoughtless youth to ruminating age,
Free in his will to choofe or to refuse,
Man may improve the crifis, or abuse;
Elfe, on the fatalifts unrighteous plan,
Say to what bar amenable were man ?
With nought in charge he could betray no trust;
And, if he fell, would fall because he muft;
If love reward him, or if vengeance ftrike,
His recompenfe in both unjust alike.

Divine authority within his breast

Brings every thought, word, action, to the teft; Warns him or prompts, approves him or reftrains, As reafon, or as paffion, takes the reins.

Heaven from above, and confcience from within, Cries in his ftartled ear-Abftain from fin!

The world around folicits his defire,

And kindles in his foul a treacherous fire;

While, all his purposes and steps to guard,
Peace follows virtue as its fure reward;
And pleasure brings us furely in her train
Remorfe, and forrow, and vindictive pain.

Man, thus endued with an elective voice,
Muft be supplied with objects of his choice,
Wherever he turns, enjoyment and delight,
Or prefent, or in prospect, meet his fight;
Those open on the spot their honeyed store;
These call him loudly to purfuit of more.
His unexhaufted mine the fordid vice
Avarice shows, and virtue is the price.

Her various motives his ambition raise-
Power, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of praise;
There beauty wooes him with expanded arms;
Even Bacchanalian madness has its charms
Nor these alone, whofe pleasures lefs refined
Might well alarm the moft unguarded mind,
Seek to fupplant his inexperienced youth,
Or lead him devious from the path of truth;
Hourly allurements on his paffions prefs,
Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess.
Hark! how it floats upon the dewy air!
O what a dying, dying clofe was there!
'Tis harmony from yon fequeftered bower,
Sweet harmony, that fooths the midnight hour!

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