Not forc'd, but changing with an easy pace,
To deck a notion faintly seen before,

And Truth preserves her shape, and shines the more.

"By these the beauteous Similies reside,

In look more open, in design ally'd,
Who, fond of likeness, from another's face
Bring every feature's corresponding grace,
With near approaches in expression flow,
And take the turn their pattern loves to show;
As in a glass the shadows meet the fair,
And dress and practise with resembling air.
Thus Truth by pleasure doth her aim pursue,
Looks bright, and fixes on the double view.

"There Repetitions one another meet, Expressly strong, or languishingly sweet, And raise the sort of sentiment they please, And urge the sort of sentiment they raise.

"There close in order are the Questions plac'd, Which march with art conceal'd in shows of haste, And work the Reader till his mind be brought To make its answers in the Writer's thought. For thus the moving Passions seem to throng, And with their quickness force the soul along; And thus the soul grows fond they should prevail, When every Question seems a fair appeal; And if by just degrees of strength they soar, In steps as equal each affects the more.

"There strange Commotion, naturally shown, Speaks on regardless that she speaks alone, Nor minds if they to whom the talks be near, Nor cares if that to which the talks can hear. The warmth of Anger dares an absent Foe; The words of Pity speak to tears of Woe;

The Love that hopes, on errands sends the breeze; And Love despairing moans to naked trees.

"There stand the new Creations of the Muse, Poetic Persons, whom the Writers use Whene'er a cause magnificently great Would fix attention with peculiar weight. 'Tis hence that humble Provinces are seen Transform'd to Matrons with neglected mien, Who call their Warriors in a mournful sound, And shew their Crowns of Turrets on the ground, While over Urns reclining Rivers moan

They should enrich a nation not their own. 'Tis hence the Virtues are no more confin'd

To be but rules of reason in the mind;

The heavenly Forms start forth, appear to breathe, And in bright shapes converse with men beneath; And, as a God in combat Valor leads,

In council Prudence as a Goddess aids.

"There Exclamations all the voice employ In sudden flushes of Concern or Joy:

Then seem the sluices, which the Passions bound, To burst asunder with a speechless sound;

And then with tumult and surprize they roll,
And shew the case important in the soul.

"There rising Sentences attempt to speak, Which Wonder, Sorrow, Shame, or Anger, break; But so the Part directs to find the rest,

That what remains behind is more than guess'd.
Thus fill'd with ease, yet left unfinish'd too,
The sense looks large within the Reader's view:
He freely gathers all the Paffion means,
And artful silence more than words explains.
Methinks a thousand Graces more I see,

And I could dwell-but when would thought be free?
Engaging Method ranges all the band,

And smooth Transition joins them hand in hand:
Around the mufic of my lays they throng,
Ah, too deserving objects of my song!
Live, wondrous Palace, live secure of time,
To Senses Harmony, to Souls sublime,
And just Proportion all, and great Design,
And lively Colours, and an Air divine.

“'Tis here that, guided by the Muses' fire, And fill'd with sacred thought, her Friends retire, Unbent to care, and unconcern'd with noise,

To taste repose, and elevated joys,

Which in a deep untroubled leisure meet,

Serenely ravishing, politely sweet.

From hence the Charms that most engage they choose,

And, as they please, the glittering objects use;

While to their Genius, more than Art, they trust,
Yet Art acknowledges their labors just.

From hence they look, from this exalted show,
To choose their subject in the world below,
And where an Hero well deserves a name,
They consecrate his acts in song to Fame;
Or, if a Science unadorn'd they find,

They smooth its look to please and teach the mind;
And where a Friendship's generously strong,
They celebrate the knot of souls in song;
Or, if the Verses must inflame Desire,

The thoughts are melted, and the words on fire:
But, when the Temples deck'd with glory stand,
And hymns of Gratitude the Gods demand,
Their bosoms kindle with Celestial Love,
And then alone they cast their eyes above.

"Hail, sacred Verse! ye sacred Muses! hail! Could I your pleasures with your fire reveal, The world might then be taught to know your right, And court your rage, and envy my delight. But, whilst I follow where your pointed beams My course directing fhoot in golden streams, The bright appearance dazzles Fancy's eyes, And weary'd-out the fix'd Attention lies; Enough, my Verses, have you work'd my breast, I'll seek the sacred Grove, and sink to rest."

No longer now the ravish'd Poet sung, His voice in easy cadence left the tongue ;

Nor o'er the music did his fingers fly,

The sounds ran tingling, and they seem'd to die.

O, Bolingbroke! O Favourite of the skies, O born to gifts by which the noblest rise, Improv'd in arts by which the brightest please, Intent to business, and polite for ease; Sublime in eloquence, where loud applause Hath stil'd thee Patron of a nation's cause. 'Twas there the world perceiv'd and own'd thee great, Thence Anna call'd thee to the reins of State; "Go, said the greatest Queen, with Oxford go, And still the tumults of the world below, Exert thy powers, and prosper; he that knows To move with Oxford, never should repose."

She spake the Patriot overspread thy mind,
And all thy days to public good resign'd.
Else might thy soul, so wonderfully wrought
For every depth and turn of curious thought,
To this the Poet's sweet recess retreat,
And thence report the pleasures of the seat,
Describe the raptures which a Writer knows,
When in his breast a vein of fancy glows,

Describe his business while he works the mine,
Describe his temper when he sees it shine,
Or say, when Readers easy verse ensnares,
How much the Writer's mind can act on theirs :
Whence images, in charming numbers set,
A sort of likeness in the soul beget,