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in one :
Him with her love propitious SATIRE blest, 445
But see at length the British Genius smile,
460 While self-seen Virtue in the faithful line With modest joy surveys her form divine. But oh, what thoughts, what numbers shall I find, But faintly to express the Poet's mind! Who yonder Star's effulgence can display, 465 Unless he dip his pencil in the ray? Who paint a God, unless the God inspire ? What catch the Lightning, but the speed of fire ? So, mighty POPE, to make thy Genius known, All pow'r is weak, all numbers--but thy own. 470 Each Muse for thee with kind contention strove, For thee the Graces left th' IDALIAN grove; With watchful fondness o'er thy cradle hung, Attun'd thy voice, and form’d thy infant tongue. Next, to her Bard majestic Wisdom came; 475 The Bard enraptur’d caught the heav'nly flame ;
With taste superior scorn'd the venal tribe,
506 Error like this ev’n Truth can scarce reprove; "Tis almost Virtue when it flows from Love.
Ye deathless Names, ye Sons of endless praise, By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays ! 510 Say, shall an artless Muse, if you inspire, Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire? Or if, O WARBURTON, inspir'd by You, The daring Muse a nobler path pursue, By you inspir'd, on trembling pinion soar, 515 The sacred founts of social bliss explore, In her bold numbers chain the Tyrant's rage, And bid her Country's Glory fire her page: If such her fate, do thou, fair Truth, descend, And watchful guard her in an honest end: 520 Kindly severe, instruct her equal line To court no Friend, nor own a Foe but thine. But if her giddy eye should vainly quit Thy sacred paths, to run the maze of wit; If her apostate heart should e'er incline 525 To offer incense at Corruption's shrine; Urge, urge thy pow'r, the black attempt confound, And dash the smoking Censer to the ground. Thus aw'd to fear instructed Bards may see, That Guilt is doom'd to sink in Infamy. 530
A NOBLE LORD,
ON OCCASION OF SOME LIBELS WRITTEN AND PROPAGATED
AT COURT, IN THE YEAR 1732-3.
Nov. 30, 1733. Your Lordship’so epistle has been published some days, but I had not the pleasure and pain of seeing it till yesterday: Pain to think your Lordship should attack me at all; Pleasure, to find that you can attack me so weakly. As I want not the humility, to think myself in every way but one your inferior, it
* This Letter (which was first printed in the Year 1733) bears the same place in our Author's prose that the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot does in his poetry. They are both Apologetical, repelling the libellous slanders on his Reputation : with this differ. ence, that the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, his friend, was chiefly directed against Grub-street Writers, and this letter to the Noble Lord, his enemy, against Court Scribblers. For the rest, they are both Masterpieces in their kinds; That in verse, more grave, moral, and sublime; This in prose, more lively, critical, and pointed; but equally conducive to what he had most at heart, the vindication of his moral Character : the only thing he thought worth his care in literary altercations; and the first thing he would expect from the good offices of a surviving Friend. W.
Intitled, An Epistle to a Doctor of Divinity from a Nobleman at Hampton-Court, Aug. 28, 1733, and printed the November following for J. Roberts. Fol. W.
seems but reasonable that I should take the only method either of self-defence or retaliation, that is left me against a person of your quality and power, And as by your choice of this weapon, your pen, you generously (and modestly too, no doubt) meant to put yourself upon a level with me; I will as soon believe that your Lordship would give a wound to a man unarmed, as that you would deny me the use of it in my own defence.
I presume you will allow me to take the same liberty in my answer to so candid, polite, and ingenious, a Nobleman, which your Lordship took in yours, to so grave, religious, and respectable, a clergyman: As you answered his Latin in English, permit me to answer your Verse in Prose. And though your Lordship’s reasons for not writing in Latin might be stronger than mine for not writing in Verse, yet I may plead Two good ones, for this conduct: the one that I want the talent of spinning a thousand lines in a Day* (which, I think, is as much Time as this subject deserves), and the other, that I take your Lordship's Verse to be as much Prose as this letter. But no doubt it was your choice, in writing to a friend, to renounce all the pomp of Poetry, and give us this excellent model of the familiar.
When I consider the great difference betwixt the rank your Lordship holds in the World, and the rank which your writings are like to hold in the learned world, I presume that distinction of style is but ne
3 Dr. S.
His Lordship spins a thousand in a day.--Epist. p. 6.