EPISTLE X.

TO THE

CELEBRATED BEAUTIES

OF THE

BRITISH COURT,

Occasioned by the Author's being suspected of writing the Poem under that title.

WHY with such freedom should the town accuse,
And charge absurd encomiums on my Muse?
Celestial objects by themselves I place,
Nor with a Cl*de a FORRESTER disgrace;
That disproportion'd piece offends the view:
No feign'd perfection should attend the true.
Whene'er my voice attempts the British Fair,
I sing the worthy, but th' unworthy spare;
Respect, when merit fails, in silence lies;
Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise.

What moderate tongue would vulgar things rehearse,
Where crowds of wondrous Nymphs invite the verse ?
Charmers in millions grace this happy sphere,
And every view presents a conqueror here.
Who to mean subjects can debase his quill,
And waste his scanty stock of art so ill,

Epist. X.

EPISTLES CRITICAL, &c.

Looks like the fop that courts a paltry dame,

While faultless maids contend to meet his flame.
Poets should still autumnal forms omit,
Forty gives small encouragement to wit;
The genius flags beneath so stale a theme,
And sprightly fancy sinks to heavy phlegm,
When those declining years our strains require,
And compliment supplies pretended fire;
Some little Virtue may perhaps be found,
But Beauty's an intolerable sound:

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To youth alone that heavenly grace belongs,
None but the young are fair, and truly worthy songs.

Ye Female Glories, which exalt our isle, Vouchsafe th' auspicious influence of your smile; To You I call, to you, ye matchless lights, Inspire my numbers, and improve my flights; Lest I depress your fame with languid lines, And pay unhallow'd vows at sacred shrines. Would you, ye Powers, but look serenely down, I'd soar aloft, and blazon your renown; Then something so divine might raise my voice, And make me scarce inferior to my choice; What ancient story tells the world should scorn, And every Goddess deem in glorious Britain born.

Begin, my Muse, begin with Marlborough's race : When Valor's sung, the Father claims the place ; And sure when Beauty's power employs our flight, The shining Daughters challenge foremost right.

A SUNDERLAND the coldest Writer warms, So turn'd for conquest, so compleat in charms, There seems detraction in our highest praise,

She leaves the Muse behind, and mocks our distant

lays.

Not thus Minerva, though a Goddess, shone.

O! had her eyes such dazling lustre thrown,
Thence the bold artist had inform'd his clay,

Nor sought another sun, nor fallen a vulture's prey.

Could Nature's self her own first form express, She'd charm the world in bright MONTHERMER'S dress:

Gods! what engaging bloom sits smiling there!
How languishingly sweet her every air!

Her shape, her gesture, all the Nymph, subdues,
We look our souls away, and fate with transport
choose.

Had Love's fair Goddess been so strong in charms, Rash Diomede had dropt his venturous arms;

No shameful victory the Greek had won,

But thousand wounds receiv'd, instead of giving one.

Splendor and softness in BRIDGEWATER meet, There mild appears an attribute with great ; Such humble sweetness gives a dawn of joy, She seems, like Heaven, unwilling to destroy. Who would not serve, where such a victor reigns? What freedom equal to such gentle chains?

But soon, too soon, mistaken mortals know,

Th' imagin'd bliss concludes in real woe.
So from soft breezes of the southern wind,
Uncumber'd sweets we fondly hope to find;
But soon, alas! succeeds immoderate rain,
And sadly renders all the promis'd pleasure vain.

GODOLPHIN 's form'd among the first to shine, That other conqueror of the conquering line; Nor pride her mien, nor art her aspect knows, Her full renown from single Nature flows; Rich in unpractis'd charms, she scatters chains, And, shunning empire, certain empire gains; Neglectful, yet secure, with arrows plays; Unmeaning, throws, and, undesiring, slays; She stoops to make no prize her little aim, But emulates her fire, and conquers but for fame.

BOLTON's majestic form invades the sight With awful wonder and sublime delight; Here differing deities conspire our fate, Venus and Juno; sweetness dwells with state : High pines are emblems of her graceful size, And bending osiers shew her humble guise. Disease solicits her with impious care, And too too fast her precious spirits wear, Not thus her charms: ev'n yielding, how she reigns, And conquers others, while herself 's in chains! Great, yet opprest! were Virtue's image seen, Virtue could live but equally serene ;

In pain she proves the prowess of her mind,

And only when she dies deceives mankind.

Forbid it, Heaven! that Fate should ever close

Such all-commanding eyes, and plunge the world in woes!

TO SEYMOUR, daring Muse, thy numbers raise;
Muse, thy best numbers flag beneath her praise :
Lo! sweetest youth, disclaiming artful care,
Sports in her face, and revels in her air;

Briskness and innocence their powers unite,
And, next her spotless mind, her skin is white.
When radiant blushes to her cheeks repair,
(Such lovely stains become the brighter fair)
Gods! how that paint of nature tempts our eyes;
How Earth's Aurora far transcends the skies!
But her high merit checks the bold delight,
We tremble at the soul, yet riot at the sight.

When TUFTON was created, Nature took Such care to furnish out a conquering look, Who did not think her hoard of lustre spent, And eyes design'd hereafter innocent?

Nor was she less extravagant in bloom,

As if she meant no future charms, and beggar'd all her loom.

For beauteous Helen Troy in fires was seen, The world was sacrific'd to Egypt's queen; Behold in ASHBURNHAM a brighter dame, But Virtue stifles such destructive flame..