And, what their art had labour'd long in vain, By their misfortunes happily obtain :
So my much-envy'd mufe, by florms long toft, s
Is thrown upon your hospitable coast,
And finds more favour by her ill fuccefs,
Than fhe could hope for by her happiness.
Once Cato's virtue did the gods oppofe;
While they the victor, he the vanquish'd chose:
But have done what Cato could not do, 11
you
To choose the vanquish'd, and restore him too.
Let others ftill triumph, and gain their caufe
By their deferts, or by the world's applaufe ;
Let merit crowns, and juftice laurels give,
But let me happy by your pity live.
True poets empty fame and praise defpife,
Fame is the trumpet, but your
fmile the prize.
You fit above, and fee vain men below
Contend for what you only can bestow:
But thofe great actions others do by chance,
Are, like your beauty, your inheritance:
So great a foul, fuch fweetnefs join'd in one,
Could only spring from noble Grandifon.
You, like the ftars, not by reflection bright, 25
Are born to your own heaven, and your own
light;
Ver. 9. Once Cato's virtue did the gods oppofe;
While they the victor, he the vanquish'd chofe:]
Victrix caufa deis placuit fed victa Catone.
Like them are good, but from a nobler cause, From your own knowledge, not from nature's laws.
Your power you never ufe, but for defence,
To guard your own, or other's innocence :
Your foes are fuch, as they, not you, have made,
And virtue may repel, though not invade.
Such courage did the ancient heroes fhow,
Who, when they might prevent, would wait the
With fuch affurance as they meant to say,
We will o'ercome, but fcorn the fafest way.
What further fear of danger can there be?
Beauty, which captives all things, fets me free.
Pofterity will judge by my fuccefs,
I had the Grecian poet's happiness,
Who, waving plots, found out a better way;
Some God defcended, and preferv'd the play.
When firft the triumphs of your fex were fung
By thofe old poets, beauty was but young,
And few admir'd the native red and white,
Till poets drefs'd them up to charm the fight;
So beauty took on truft, and did engage
For fums of praises till she came to age.
But this long-growing debt to poetry
You justly, madam, have discharg'd to me, 50
When your applause and favour did infuse
New life to my condemn'd and dying mufe.
THE blaft of common cenfure could I fear, Before your play my name should not appear;
Ver. 1. The blast of common] Every reader of taste muft agree with Addifon, from whofe opinions it is always hazardous to diffent, that none of our poets had a genius more strongly turned for tragedy than Lee. Notwithstanding his many rants and extravagancies, for which Dryden skilfully and elegantly apologizes in ten admirable lines of this epiftle, from verse 45, yet are there many beautiful touches of nature and paffion in his Alexander, his Lucius J. Brutus, and Theodofius. So true was what he himself once replied to á puny objector: "It is not an eafy thing to write like a madman, but it is very easy to write like a fool." When Lord Rochester objected,
"That Lee makes temperate Scipio fret and rave,
And Annibal a whining amorous flave :"
It ought to be remembered, that this is a fault into which the
moft applauded tragedians have frequently fallen, and none
more to than Corneille and Racine, though the latter was fo
correct a scholar. Lee loft his life in a lamentable manner :
returning home at midnight, in one of his fits of intoxication,
he stumbled and fell down in the street, and perished in a deep
Snow, 1692.
Dr. J. WARTON.
For 'twill be thought, and with fome colour
I pay the bribe I first receiv'd from you;
That mutual vouchers for our fame we ftand, s
And play the game into each other's hand;
And as cheap pen'orths to ourselves afford,
As Beffus and the brothers of the fword.
Such libels private men may well endure,
When states and kings themselves are not se-
For ill men, conscious of their inward guilt,
Think the best actions on by-ends are built.
And yet my filence had not 'fcap'd their spite;
Then, envy had not fuffer'd me to write;
For, fince I could not ignorance pretend,
Such merit I must envy or commend.
So many candidates there ftand for wit,
A place at court is fcarce fo hard to get :
In vain they crowd each other at the door;
For e'en reverfions are all begg'd before:
Defert, how known foe'er, is long delay'd;
And then too fools and knaves are better
pay'd.
Yet, as fome actions bear fo great a name, That courts themselves are juft, for fear of fhame;
So has the mighty merit of your play
Extorted praise, and forc'd itself away.
"Tis here as 'tis at fea; who fartheft goes, Or dares the moft, makes all the reft his foes. Yet when some virtue much outgrows the reft,
It shoots too faft, and high, to be expreft; 30 As his heroic worth ftruck envy dumb,
Who took the Dutchman, and who cut the boom.
Such praife is your's, while you the paffions
That 'tis no longer feign'd, 'tis real love, Where nature triumphs over wretched art; We only warm the head, but you the heart. Always you warm; and if the rifing year, As in hot regions, brings the fun too near, "Tis but to make your fragrant fpices blow, Which in our cooler climates will not grow. 40 They only think you animate your theme With too much fire, who are themselves all phlegm.
Prizes would be for lags of floweft pace,
Were cripples made the judges of the race. Defpife thofe drones, who praife, while they
The too much vigour of your youthful muse. That humble ftyle which they your virtue make,
Is in your power; you need but stoop and
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