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Like them to shine thro' long fucceeding age,"
So just thy fkill, fo regular my rage.
Smit with the love of Sifter-Arts we came,
And met congenial, mingling flame with flame;
Like friendly colours, found them both unite,
And each from each contract new ftrength and light.
How oft in pleafing tasks we wear the day,
While Summer-funs roll umperceiv'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 wrought,
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 inspiring Dreams at Maro's Urn:
With thee repose, where Tully once was laid,
Or feek fome Ruin's formidable fhade:
While Fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view,
And builds imaginary Rome a-new,
Here thy well-studied marbles fix our eye;
A fading Fresco 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,
Paulo'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! 40
Yet still how faint by precept is exprefs'd
The living image in the painter's breast?
Thence endless streams of fair Ideas flow,
Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glows
* Frefnoy employed above twenty years in finishing his Poem.
Thence Beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies
An Angel's sweetness, 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 purer fire:
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 ftill her charms in breathing paint engage; 55
Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age.
Beauty, frail flow'r that ev'ry season fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.
Thus Churchill's race fhall other hearts furprise,
And other Beauties envy Worfley's eyes;
Each pleafing Blount fhall endless fmiles bestow,
And foft Belinda's blush for ever glow.
Oh lafting as those Colours may they shine,
Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line;
New graces yearly like thy works display,
Soft without weaknefs, 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 conspire,
One dip the pencil, and one ftring the lyre.
Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place,
And breathe an air divine on ev'ry face;
Yet fhould the Muses bid my numbers roll
Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie,
And these be sung 'till Granville's Myra die:
Alas! how little from the grave we claim !
Thou but preferv'ft a Face, and I a Name.
With the WORKS of VOITURE.
IN thefe gay thoughts the Loves and Graces fhine,
And all the Writer lives in ev'ry line;
His easy Art may happy Nature seem,
Trifles themfelves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flatt'ry pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with efteem no less convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred :
His heart, his mistress and his friend did share,
His time, the Muse, the witty and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
'Till Fate fcarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft,
As fmiling Infants sport themfelves to reft.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore,
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before
The trueft 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.
Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious Comedy;
In ev'ry fcene fome Moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular.
Have Humour, Wit, a native Ease and Grace,
Tho' not too strictly bound to Time and Place :
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,
Few write to those, and none can live to these.
Well might you wish for change by those accurst,
But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst.
Still in constraint your fuff'ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains :
Whole years neglected, for fome months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let falfe Shews, nor empty Titles please:
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Ease.
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 guide; Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride; By nature yielding, stubborn but for fame; Made Slaves by Honour, and made fools by Shame. Marriage may all thofe petty Tyrants chase, But sets up one, a greater in his place:
The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her pray❜rs,
Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, 50
The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state,
And, to complete her bliss, a Fool for Mate.
She glares in Balls, Front Boxes, and the Ring,
A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched Thing!
Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part; 55
She fighs, and is no Duchess at her heart.
But, Madam, if the Fates withstand, and you
Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too;
Trust not too much your now refistless charms,
Thofe, Age or Sickness foon or late disarms:
Good humour only teaches charms to laft,
Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the paft;
Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay,
Our hearts may bear its flender chain a day;
As flow'ry bands in wantonness are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at ev'ning torn;
This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.
Thus * Voiture's early care still shone the same,
And Monthaufier was only chang’d in name;
By this, ev'n now they live, ev'n now they charm,
Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.
Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elyfian coast,
Amid thofe Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost:
Pleas'd, while with fmiles his happy lines you view, 75
And finds a fairer Ramboüillet in you.
The brightest eyes in France infpir'd his Muse;
The brightest eyes of Britain now peruse;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm those who charm the world befide. 80