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ODE X. TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ESQUIRE: ON THE LATE EDITION OF MR. POPE'S WORKS.
MDCCLI.
I
Believe me, Edwards, to restrainThe licence of a railer's tongue
Is what but seldom men obtain
By sense or wit, by prose or song:
A task for more Herculean powers,
Nor suited to the sacred hours
Of leisure in the Muse's bowers.
II
In bowers where laurel weds with palm,The Muse, the blameless queen, resides:
Fair fame attends, and wisdom calm
Her eloquence harmonious guides:
While, shut for ever from her gate,
Oft trying, still repining, wait
Fierce envy and calumnious hate.
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III
Who then from her delightful boundsWould step one moment forth to heed
What impotent and savage sounds
From their unhappy mouths proceed?
No: rather Spenser's lyre again
Prepare, and let thy pious strain
For Pope's dishonor'd shade complain.
IV
Tell how displeas'd was every bard,When lately in the Elysian grove
They of his Muse's guardian heard,
His delegate to fame above;
And what with one accord they said
Of wit in drooping age misled,
And Warburton's officious aid:
V
During Mr. Pope's war with Theobald, Concanen, and
the rest of their tribe, Mr. Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester, did
with great zeal cultivate their friendship; having been introduced, forsooth, at the
meetings of that respectable confederacy: a favour which he afterwards spoke of
in very high terms of complacency and thankfulness. At the same time in his intercourse
with them he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous manner, and as a
writer without genius. Of the truth of these assertions his Lordship can have no
doubt, if he recollects his own correspondence with Concanen; a part of which is
still in being, and will probably be remembered as long as any of this prelate's writings.
How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate
During Mr. Pope's war with Theobald, Concanen, and the rest of their tribe, Mr. Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester, did with great zeal cultivate their friendship; having been introduced, forsooth, at the meetings of that respectable confederacy: a favour which he afterwards spoke of in very high terms of complacency and thankfulness. At the same time in his intercourse with them he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous manner, and as a writer without genius. Of the truth of these assertions his Lordship can have no doubt, if he recollects his own correspondence with Concanen; a part of which is still in being, and will probably be remembered as long as any of this prelate's writings.
To that melodious lyre assign'd
Beneath a tutor who so late
With Midas and his rout combin'd
By spiteful clamor to confound
That very lyre's enchanting sound,
Though listening realms admir'd around:
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VI
How Horace own'd he thought the fireOf his friend Pope's satiric line
Did farther fuel scarce require
From such a militant divine:
How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain
Who durst approach his hallow'd strain
With unwash'd hands and lips profane.
VII
Then Shakespear debonnair and mildBrought that strange comment forth to view;
Conceits more deep, he said and smil'd,
Than his own fools or madmen knew:
But thank'd a generous friend above,
Who did with free adventurous love
Such pageants from his tomb remove.
VIII
And if to Pope, in equal need,The same kind office thou would'st pay,
Then, Edwards, all the band decreed
That future bards with frequent lay
Should call on thy auspicious name,
From each absurd intruder's claim
To keep inviolate their fame.
The Poems Of Mark Akenside | ||