The Works of Hildebrand Jacob ... Containing Poems on Various Subjects, and Occasions; With the Fatal Constancy, a Tragedy; and Several Pieces in Prose. The Greatest Part Never Before Publish'd |
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| VI. | EPISTLE VI.
To Dr. P--- at T. W. with --- |
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 | The Works of Hildebrand Jacob |  |
115
EPISTLE VI. To Dr. P--- at T. W. with ---
While you the Sick to Health restore,
Like your Hippocrates of yore,
On Thames's Banks I court the Muse,
Blest, when her Aid she don't refuse,
And, careless, no Ambition prove,
But humbly thus to Sing, and Love;
Not wishing, what I can't possess;
Content, cou'd Fortune give me less,
So I your Friendship still may share,
And fancy Cloë true, and fair.
Like your Hippocrates of yore,
On Thames's Banks I court the Muse,
Blest, when her Aid she don't refuse,
And, careless, no Ambition prove,
But humbly thus to Sing, and Love;
Not wishing, what I can't possess;
Content, cou'd Fortune give me less,
So I your Friendship still may share,
And fancy Cloë true, and fair.
When I my artless Lays impart,
You show your Candour, and your Heart,
To all my Errors just; but kind;
Rather to Praise, than blame inclin'd;
Indulgent, tender; yet sincere:
I need a Critick more severe.
Lay by the palliating Friend;
I only ask Advice, to mend.
You show your Candour, and your Heart,
116
Rather to Praise, than blame inclin'd;
Indulgent, tender; yet sincere:
I need a Critick more severe.
Lay by the palliating Friend;
I only ask Advice, to mend.
Say, am I truly now inspir'd,
Or with delusive Ardour fir'd?
Hid from my self, I want your Light;
'Tis you, my Friend, must set me right;
Resign'd before my Judge I stand,
And wait Correction from your Hand.
Or with delusive Ardour fir'd?
Hid from my self, I want your Light;
'Tis you, my Friend, must set me right;
Resign'd before my Judge I stand,
And wait Correction from your Hand.
The God of Med'cine, we are told,
Apollo's skillful Son, of old
Wrought Wonders; but with all his Art,
He only reach'd the mortal Part:
Your Talents are not so confin'd;
Phœbus his Pow'rs in you has join'd:
You make th' afflicted Body Whole;
You can inform the Poet's Soul.
Apollo's skillful Son, of old
Wrought Wonders; but with all his Art,
He only reach'd the mortal Part:
Your Talents are not so confin'd;
Phœbus his Pow'rs in you has join'd:
You make th' afflicted Body Whole;
You can inform the Poet's Soul.
| The Works of Hildebrand Jacob | |