And when the blissful pairs you thus have crown'd,
You'd have the glafs go merrily around,
To shake off care, and render fleep more found.
Who e'er fhall fee, or hath already feen,
Those bony lines call'd Chrift's kirk on the green,
Muft own that thou haft, to thy lafting praise,
Deferv'd as well as royal JAMES the bays.
'Mong other things you've painted to the life,
A fot unactive lying by his wife,
Which oft 'twixt wedded folks makes woful ftrife.
When 'gainst the scribbling knaves your pen you drew,
How didit thou lafh the vile prefumptuous crew!
Not much fam'd Butler, who had gone before,
E'er ridicul'd his knight or Ralpho more;
So well thou's done it, equal fmart they feel,
As if thou'd pierc'd their hearts with killing steel.
They thus fubdu'd, you in pathetick ryhme,
A fubject undertook that's more fublime,
By noble thoughts, and words discreetly join'd,
Thou'ft taught me how I may contentment find.
"And when to Addie's fame you touch'd the lyre,
Thou fang't like one of the feraphick choir,
So fmoothly flow thy natʼral rural strains,
So fweetly too, you've made the mournful fwains
His death lament, what mortal can forbear
Shedding, like us, upon his tomb a tear.
Go on fam❜d bard, thou wonder of our days,
And crown thy head with never-fading bays;
While grateful Britons do thy lines revere,
And value, as they ought, their Virgil here.
S once I view'd a rural scene,
With fummer's fweets profufely wild; Such pleasure footh'd my giddy fenfe,
I ravish'd stood, while nature smil'd.
Straight I refolv'd and chofe a field,
Where all the fpring I might transfer;
There flood the trees in equal rows,
Here Flora's pride in one parterre.
The task was done, the sweets were fled,
Each plant had loft its sprightly air,
As if they grudg'd to be confin'd,
Or to their will not matched were.
The narrow scene difpleas'd my mind,
Which daily ftill more homely grew,
At length I fled the loathed fight,
And hy'd me to the fields a-new.
Here nature wanton'd in her prime:
My fancy rang'd the boundless waste :
Each different fight pleas'd with furprise,
I welcom❜d back the pleasures paft.
Thus fome who feel Apollo's rage,
Would teach their mufe her dress and time,
'Till hamper'd fo with rules of art,
They fmother quite the vital flame.
The daily chime, the fame dull tone,
Their mufe no daring fallies grace,
But flifly held with bit and curb,
Keeps heavy trot, tho' equal pace.
But who takes nature for his rule,
Shall by her gen'rous bounty fhine;
His eafy mufe revels at will,
And strikes new wonders every line.
Keep then, my friend, your native guide,
Never diftruft her plenteous flore,
Ne'er lefs propitious will the prove
Than now; but, if the can,
100 blindly partial to my native tongue,
Fond of the fmoothnefs of our English long;
At first thy numbers did uncouth appear,
And fhock'd the affected nicenefs of the ear.
Thro' prejudice's eye each page I fee;
Tho' all were beauties, none were fo to me.
Yet fham'd at laft, whilft all thy genius own,
To have that genius hid from me alone;
Refolv'd to find, for praise or cenfure, cause,
Whether to join with all, or all oppose,
Careful I read thee o'er and o'er again :
At length the useful fearch requites my pain;
My false distaste to instant pleasures turn'd,
As much I envy as before I fcorn'd:
And thus the error of my pride to clear,
I fign my honeft recantation here.
To Mr. ALLAN RAMSAY, on the Publication of
EAR Allan, who that hears your strains,
Can grudge that you should wear the bays,
When 'tis fo long fince Scotia's plains
Could boast of fuch melodious lays!
What tho' the criticks, foarling curs!
Cry out, your Pegafus wants reins;
Bid them provide themselves of fpurs;
Such riders need not fear their brains.
A mufe that's healthy, fair and found,
With noble ardor fearless haftes
O'er hill and dale; but carpet-ground
Was ay for tender-footed beasts.
E'en let the fustain coxcombs chufe.
Their carpet-ground; but the green field
Was held a walk for Virgil's mufe,
And Virgil was an unco' chield!
Your mufe, upon her native stock
Subfifting, raises thence a name;
While they are forc'd to pick the lock
Of other bards, and pilfer fame.
Oft when I read your joyous lines,
So full of pleafant jefts and wit,
So blyth and gay the humour fhines,
It gives me many 2 merry fit.
Then when I hear of Maggy's charms,
And Roger tholing fair difdain,
The bony lafs my bofom warms,
And mickle I bemoan the swain.
For who can hear the lad complain,
And not participate and feel
His artless undiffembled pain,
Unless he has a heart of steel.
But Patie's wiles and cunning arts
Appease th' imaginary grief,
Declare him well a clown of parts,
And bring the wretched wight relief.
More might be faid; but in a friend
Encomiums feem but dull and flat,
The wife approve, but fools commend,
A Pope's authority for that.
Else certes 'twere in me unmeet,
To grudge the mufe's utmost force,
Or fpare in fuch a cause my feet,
To clinch at least in praise of your's.
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