Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Griev'd and dishonour'd with licentious Strains,
My Lord, O hear her! your own Muse Complains;
See, 'tis to you her suppliant Hand she rears,
Whose Wit she loves, whose Virtue she reveres.
Admit besides her old peculiar Claim,
Her Zeal distinguish'd for the Sackville Name.
For O, what Age but has from them supply'd
Her noblest Patron, and her justest Pride!

In the Recesses of th' Aonian Shade,
Her sacred Seat long held the heav'n-born Maid;
Copious from hence the tuneful Train inspir'd,
Enrich'd their Fancy, and their Genius fir'd;
Taught them to Wisdom's topmost Height to soar,
To copy Nature through her endless Store,
To paint the Passions, to exalt the Mind,
To charm, to polish, to instruct Mankind.
Hence to our View majestic Homer brings
The Port of Gods, and Sentiments of Kings;
With rich Description swells his pompous Page,
And bids the War in all its Terrors rage.
The Theban Swan hence his bold Music tries,
And tow'ring spreads his Pinions to the Skies,
The Victor Hero crowns with heav'nly Lays,
And pays fair Virtue with immortal Praise.
Hence gay Menander, with deserv'd Applause,
True to the Life each hum'rous Folly draws;

Whilst Sophocles the Human Mis'ry shews,
In wretched Greatness and exalted Woes.

By these, and such as these, her various Aid
Still has the Goddess to Mankind convey'd;
Whilst some, so urges their poetic Fire,
Breathe the soft Flute, or touch the warbling Lyre;
Some sing sweet Love and Innocence serene,
In the calm Pleasures of the Rural Scene;
Some the keen Edge of threat'ning Satyr draw,
And keep the Follies of the World in Awe;
All to their sev'ral Aims Sublimely rise,
From Age to Age still transmigrating flies
The Soul of Poetry and never dies.
And hence in Pope, and hence in Shakespeare shine
Homer's bright Fire, and strong pathetic Line:
Up to the Summit of th' Aonian Height
Horace pursues bold Pindar in his Flight;

Menander's sprightly Graces charm again
In Terence, and in Steel's facetious Vein;
Whilst Sophocles's moving Numbers flow
In Otway, Southern, and Corneille, and Rowe.

When such Desert, drawn by some wretched Aim,
The Cause of Virtue and the Paths of Fame;
When Minds like these obscure their glorious Fire
With grov'ling Instinct and lewd low Desire,
To blend with idle Ribaldry submit
The Charms of Style and Elegance of Wit;
Who does not grieve Heav'n's noblest Gifts to see
Prophan'd, perverted, stain'd with Infamy!

Untouch'd, unheeded, by the Muse be pass'd
The rare Refinements of the modern Taste:
Not with his Fool's Grimaces Harlequin,
Not the pert smatt'ring Epilogue obscene,

Not the dull Farce last creeping in the Rear,
Or move her Spleen, or need her Anger fear:
By their own Nonsense let them stand or fall,
Her they concern not, she disdains them all.
No 'tis when Bards with happiest Talents born,
Whom all the Graces, all the Arts adorn,
Yet heedless, shameless, impotently vain,
Debase and prostitute the hum'rous Strain;
For the loud Laugh all Decency defy,
And urge th' ambiguous Jest and loose Reply;
Champions in Vice's odious Cause engage,
And sooth the vile Corruptions of the Age;
This, this she mourns—
This Fools admire, and Men of Sense despise,
It grieves the Virtuous, and offends the Wise.

See echoing with the Thunder of Applause
The crouded Theatre—and what's the Cause?

Still the old Topic, still the amorous Flame,
The brisk Galant, and the intriguing Dame.
Loud, and more loud their Joys the Audience own
As the Plots open, and th' Affair goes on:
Meanwhile free Action and free Hints unite,
To keep the Fancy tickled to the Height;
Till all for Love victorious we survey,
Till the poor Cuckold baffled sneaks away,
And Rake remains the Hero of the Play.
Brave Morals these! the blushing Muse for Shame
Forbears to mention each transgressing Name,
Her Fav'rites all, who stoop thus meanly low
To catch what Breath of Praise the Town can blow.

So Andrew drolling on his Stage appears,
And holds his dirty Audience by the Ears,
Jocund and free pursues the sleering Strain,
Broad his Allusions, and his English plain;

With dear Delight stands round th' attentive Throng,
Joy flows from ev'ry Heart, and Shouts from ev'ry Tongue.

What worthy Lay, instructive pleasant Steele,
Shall praise thy easy Mirth and honest Zeal!
What Wreaths, what never-fading Wreaths shall crown
Thee, and thy glorious Partner Addison!
Sworn against Vice eternal War to wage,
Spectator, Censor, Guardian of the Age!
These, skilful every Character to hit
With manly Humour and superior Wit,
To its due Object point the Ridicule,
To gall the Coxcomb, and expose the Fool;
From Affectation strip her borrow'd Grace,
And pull the Mask from Fraud's detested Face;
Doom each bold Guilt, convicted as they stand,
To feel the Lash from Satyr's vengeful Hand;

Whilst all abroad this useful Truth is borne;
What taints, 'tis that deserves our Hate and Scorn.

And now 'tis yours, my Lord, whose generous Mind,
Such conscious Worth with such rare Talents join'd,
Reflects new Lustre to the Rank you bear,
'Tis yours to dictate and determine here.
All must assent where you espouse the Cause,
Guided by yours will be the World's Applause.
But could she see in graceful Verse express'd
The Fire that warms your own illustrious Breast,
With some fair Pourtrait from your curious Thought
O were she blest, by your own Pencil wrought;
How would the Muse with just Respect bow down,
Fix this her Standard, and triumphant own
'Tis this at last with Time itself must stand
A perfect Pattern to each Master's Hand.