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And call in doubt their pleafing thought,
That none believes what we are taught?
High birth and fortune warrant give
That fuch men write what they believe;
And, feeling firft what they endite,
New credit give to ancient light.
Amongst these few, our author brings
His well-known pedigree from kings.
This book, the image of his mind,
Will make his name not hard to find:
I wish the throng of great and good
Made it lefs eas❜ly understood!

XXXVIII.

TO A PERSON OF HONOUR,

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Upon bis incomparable, incomprehenfible poem, entitled, The
British Princes.

SIR! you've oblig'd the British nation more
Than all their bards could ever do before,
And at your own charge monuments as hard
As brafs or marble to your fame have rear'd:
For as all warlike nations take delight
To hear how their brave ancestors could fight,
You have advanc'd to wonder their renown,
And no less virtuously improv'd your own;

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That 't will be doubtful whether you do write,
Or they have acted at a nobler height.
You of your ancient princes have retriev'd
More than the ages knew in which they liv'd;
Explain'd their customs and their rights anew,
Better than all their Druids ever knew;
Unriddled those dark oracles as well

As those that made them could themselves foretel.
For as the Britons long have hop'd, in vain,
Arthur would come to govern them again,
You have fulfill'd that prophecy alone,
And in your poem plac'd him on his throne.
Such magick pow'r has your prodigious pen
To raise the dead, and give new life to men,
Make rival princes meet in arms, and love
Whom diftant ages did fo far remove:

IO

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For as eternity has neither past

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Nor future, authors fay, nor firft nor laft,

But is all inftant, your eternal Muse

All ages can to any one reduce.

Then why should you, whose miracles of art
Can life at pleasure to the dead impart,
Trouble in vain your better-busied head,
T'observe what times they liv'd in or were dead!
For fuch you have such arbitrary pow'r,
It were defect in judgment to go low'r,
Or ftoop to things fo pitifully lewd,

As ufe to take the vulgar latitude:

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For no man's fit to read what you have writ,
That holds not fome proportion with your wit:
As light can no way but by light appear,

He must bring fense that understands it here.

XXXIX.

TO CHLORIS.

"CHLORIS! what's eminent, we know

Muft for fome caufe be valu'd fo:
Things without use, tho' they be good,
Are not by us fo understood.

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The early rofe, made to display

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Her blushes to the youthful May,

Doth yield her sweets, fince he is fair,

And courts her with a gentle air.

Our ftars do fhew their excellence

Not by their light, but influence:
When brighter comets, fince still known,
Fatal to all, are lik'd by none.

So your admired beauty still

Is, by effects, made good or ill.

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GREAT Sir! difdain not in this piece to stand
Supreme commander both of sea and land.

ΙΟ

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Those which inhabit the celestial bow'r,
Painters exprefs with emblems of their pow'r;
His club Alcides, Phœbus has his bow,
Jove has his thunder, and your navy you.

But your great providence no colours here
Can reprefent, nor pencil draw that care
Which keeps you waking to fecure our peace,
The nation's glory, and our trade's increase:
You for these ends whole days in council fit,
And the diverfions of your youth forget.

Small were the worth of valour and of force,
If your high wisdom govern'd not their courfe:
You as the foul, as the firft mover you,
Vigour and life on ev'ry part beftow:

How to build fhips, and dreadful ord'nance caft,
Inftruct the artists, and reward their haste.

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So Jove himself, when Typhon heav'n does brave, Defcends to vifit Vulcan's fmoky cave, Teaching the brawny Cyclops how to frame His thunder, mix'd with terrour, wrath, and flame. Had the old Greeks difcover'd your abode,

Crete had not been the cradle of their god:

On that small island they had look'd with scorn, And in Great Britain thought the Thundʼrer born. 26

XLI.

TO THE DUCHESS,

When be prefented

THIS BOOK TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS.

MADAM! I here present you with the rage,
And with the beauties of a former age,
Wishing you may with as great pleasure view
This, as we take in gazing upon you.
Thus we writ then: your brighter eyes inspire
A nobler flame, and raise our genius higher.
While we your wit and early knowledge fear,
To our productions we become severe :
Your matchless beauty gives our fancy wing,

Your judgment makes us careful how we fing.
Lines not compos'd, as heretofore, in haste,
Polifh'd like marble, shall like marble last,
And make you thro' as many ages fhine
As Taffo has the heroes of your line.

Tho' other names our wary writers use,
You are the fubject of the British Muse :
Dilating mischief to yourself unknown,

Men write, and die of wounds they dare not own.
So the bright fun burns all our grafs away,
While it means nothing but to give us day.

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