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Smit with the love of Sifter-Arts we came,
And met congenial, mingling flame with flame
Like friendly colours found them both unite, 15
And each from each contract new ftrength and
How oft in pleafing tasks we wear the day,
While fummer-funs roll unperceiv'd away ?
How oft' our flowly-growing works impart,
While Images reflect from art to art?
How oft review; each finding like a friend
Something to blame, and fomething to commend?
What flatt'ring scenes our wand'ring fancy
Rome's pompous glories rifing to our thought!
Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly,
Fir'd with Ideas of fair Italy.
With thee, on Raphael's Monument I mourn,
Or wait infpiring Dreams at Maro's Urn:
With thee repose, where Tully once was laid,
Or feek fome Ruin's formidable fhade:
While fancy brings the vanifh'd piles to view,
And builds imaginary Rome a-new,
Here thy well-study'd marbles fix our eye;
A fading Frefco here demands a figh:
Each heav'nly piece unwearied we compare, Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air, Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line,
Paule's free ftroke, and Titian's warmth divine.
How finish'd with illuftrious toil appears
This small, well-polish'd Gem, the * work of years!
Yet ftill how faint by precept is exprest
The living image in the painter's breast ?
Thence endless streams of fair Ideas flow,
Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow;
Thence Beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies 45
An Angel's sweetnefs, or Bridgewater's eyes.
Muse! at that Name thy facred forrows shed,
Those tears eternal, that embalm the dead:
Call round her Tomb each object of defire,
Each purer frame inform'd with
Bid her be all that chears or foftens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife:
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore;
Then view this Marble, and be vain no more!
Yet still her charms in breathing paint engage;
Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age. 56
* Fresnoy employed above twenty Years in finishing his
Beauty, frail flow'r that ev'ry feafon fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand
Thus Churchill's race fhall other hearts furprize,
And other Beauties envy Worfley's eyes;
Each pleafing Blount shall endless smiles bestow,
And foft Belinda's blufh for ever glow.
Oh lasting as thofe Colours may they shine, Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line; New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by fome rule, that guides, but not constrains ; And finish'd more thro' happiness than pains. The kindred Arts fhall in their praise confpire, One dip the pencil, and one ftring the lyre. 70 Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on ev'ry face; Yet should the Mufes bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul; With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgwater vie, 75 And these be fung 'till Granville's Myra die: Alas! how little from the grave we claim ! Thou but preferv'st a Face, and I a Name.
To Mifs BLOUNT,
With the WORKS of VOITURE.
N these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces shine,
And all the Writer lives in ev'ry line;
His eafy Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flatt'ry pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with esteem no lefs convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred:
His heart, his mistress, and his friend did fhare,
His time, the Muse, the witty, and the fair. 10
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
'Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath supprest,
As smiling Infants sport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The truest hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brightest Eyes:
The Smiles and Loves had dy'd in Voiture's death,
But that for ever in his lines they breathe. 20
Let the strict life of graver mortals be
Along, exact, and ferious Comedy;
In ev'ry scene fome Moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay
And more diverting ftill than regular,
Have Humour, Wit, a native Eafe and Grace,
Tho' not too ftrictly bound to Time and Place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to pleafe,
Few write to thofe, and none can live to these.
Too much your Sex is by their forms confin'd,
Severe to all, but most to Womankind;
Cuftom, grown blind with Age, must be your
Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;
By Nature yielding, ftubborn but for fame; 35
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by fhame.
Marriage may all thole petty Tyrants chafe,
But fets up one, a greater in their place;
Well might you with for change by thofe accurft, But the laft Tyrant ever proves the worst.