University of Virginia Library

Th---ll! what Miracles can You,
By Force of Magic Pencil, do?
What Dead-Men, on your Canvas, tell,
Rise into Life, Majestical?
And then ne'er die, but live t' adorn
The Rooms of People yet unborn.

Or, is your Mind ingag'd in Flights,
And guided, as the Maggot bites?
Here's a fine Piece begun, I trow,
And there is one in Embryo:
If't thus be, Th---ll, pray excuse
The Pertness of a Sister Muse;
Who must pretend to greater Skill,
And can work Miracles at Will:
Witness this Legend, which I send
To thee, my Covent-Garden Friend;
About a Beauteous, sickly Saint,
Which when you've read, you'll know what's in't
Thus, Th---ll, I (Elate, proud Elf)
Am pleas'd (if you're pleas'd) with My-self;
And must be so, till better Weather,
And Fortune bring us both together.
Then I'll out-do whate'er I've writ
Of Learning, Politicks, or Wit;
And we will club our fertile Brains,
To puzzle out high, Tragic Strains;
Such as, you know, we can produce
For Poor, but Honest, Rich's Use.
Happy! if Ti---ll can but steal
A Minute from the Common-weal;
Than whom, no Soul can be Welcomer,
At Craggs'! not trembling nor at Homer!
And, if Yo---g should clasp his Gradus,
And, with ready Wit, invade us;
Would he but let th' Ægyptians rest,
And crack, in English plain, a Jest;
Bless me! the the Town would all adore us!
Nor Pope, nor Philips, stand before us.
Such Friends! Clear Souls! without Disguise,
Not over-gay, not over-wise,
Would make the Hours, with Joy, rowl on,
From Thirsty Nine, to Moister One.