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With fuch good manners, as the 2 Wife did use,
Who, not accepting, did but just refuse.
There was a glance at parting; fuch a look,
As bids thee not give o'er, for one rebuke.
But if thou wouldst be seen, as well as read,
Copy one living author, and one dead:
The standard of thy ftyle let Etheredge be;
For wit, th' immortal fpring of Wycherly:
Learn, after both, to draw fome juft defign,
And the next age will learn to copy thine.

EPISTLE the NINTH.

TO

HENRY HIGDEN, Efq;

ON HIS

Translation of the Tenth Satire of JUVENAL.

THE
T

HE Grecian wits, who Satire first began,
Were pleasant Pasquins on the life of man;
At mighty villains, who the ftate oppreft,

They durft not rail, perhaps; they lash'd, at least,
And turn'd them out of office with a jeft.
No fool could peep abroad, but ready ftand
The drolls to clap a bauble in his hand.
Wife legiflators never yet could draw
A fop within the reach of common law;

2 The wife in the play, Mrs. Friendall,

K 3

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For

For pofture, drefs, grimace and affectation,
Tho' foes to fense, are harmless to the nation.
Our last redress is dint of verse to try,
And Satire is our court of Chancery.
This way took Horace to reform' an age,
Not bad enough to need an author's rage.
But yours 3, who liv'd in more degenerate times,
Was forc'd to faften deep, and worry crimes.
Yet you, my friend, have temper'd him fo well,
You make him fmile in fpite of all his zeal :
An art peculiar to yourself alone,

To join the virtues of two ftyles in one.

Oh! were your author's principle receiv'd,
Half of the lab'ring world would be reliev'd:
For not to wish is not to be deceiv'd.
Revenge would into charity be chang'd,
Because it costs too dear to be reveng'd:
It costs our quiet and content of mind,
And when 'tis compafs'd leaves a fting behind.
Suppofe I had the better end o'th' staff,

Why should help th' ill-natur'd world to laugh?
"Tis all alike to them, who get the day;
They love the fpite and mifchief of the fray.
No; I have cur'd myself of that disease ;
Nor will I be provok'd, but when I please:
But let me half that cure to you restore;
You give the falve, I laid it to the fore.

Our kind relief against a rainy day,
Beyond a tavern, or a tedious play,

We take your book, and laugh our spleen away.
If all your tribe, too ftudious of debate,
Would ceafe falfe hopes and titles to create,
Led by the rare example you begun,
Clients would fail, and lawyers be undone.
3 Juvenal

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EPISTLE the TENTH.

TOMY DEAR FRIEND

Mr. CONGREV E.

ON HIS

COMEDY call'd, The DOUBLE DEALER.

ELL then, the promis'd hour is come at last, The prefent age of wit obfcures the past: Strong were our fires, and as they fought they writ, Conqu❜ring with force of arms, and dint of wit: Theirs was the giant race, before the flood; And thus, when Charles return'd, our empire stood. Like Janus he the ftubborn foil manur'd, With rules of husbandry the rankness cur'd; Tam'd us to manners, when the ftage was rude; And boiftrous English wit with art indu'd, Our age was cultivated thus at length; But what we gain'd in skill we loft in ftrength. Our builders were with want of genius curft; The fecond temple was not like the firft: Till you, the beft Vitruvius, come at length; Our beauties equal, but excel our strength. Firm Doric pillars found your folid base: The fair Corinthian crowns the higher space: Thus all below is ftrength, and all above is grace. In eafy dialogue is Fletcher's praise;

He mov'd the mind, but had not power to raise.

K 4

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Great

Great Jonfon did by strength of judgment please;
Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease.
In diff'ring talents both adorn'd their age;
One for the study, t'other for the stage.-
But both to Congreve justly shall submit,

One match'd in judgment, both o'ermatch'd in wit.
In him all beauties of this age we see,

Etheredge his courtship, Southern's purity,

The fatire, wit, and strength of manly Wycherly.
All this in blooming youth you have atchiev'd:
Nor are your foil'd contemporaries griev❜d.
So much the sweetness of your manners move,
We cannot envy you, because we love,
Fabius might joy in Scipio, when he faw
A beardlefs conful made against the law,
And join his fuffrage to the votes of Rome;
Though he with Hannibal was overcome.
Thus old Romano bow'd to Raphael's fame,
And scholar to the youth he taught became.
O that your brows my
laurel had fuftain'd!
Well had I been depos'd, if you had reign'd:
The father had defcended for the fon;
For only you are lineal to the throne.
Thus, when the state one Edward did depose,
A greater Edward in his room arose.
But now, not I, but poetry is curs'd;

For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first,
But let them not mistake my patron's part,
Nor call his charity their own defert.
Yet this I prophefy; thou shalt be seen,
(Tho' with fome fhort parenthefis between)
High on the throne of wit, and, feated there,
Not mine, that's little, but thy laurel wear.
Thy first attempt an early promise made;
That early promife has this more than paid.

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So bold, yet fo judiciously you dare,
That your leaft praise is to be regular.

Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought;
But genius must be born, and never can be taught.
This is your portion; this your native ftore;
Heaven, that but once was prodigal before,

To Shakespear gave as much; she could not give him

more.

Maintain your poft: That's all the fame you need; For 'tis impoffible you should proceed. Already I am worn with cares and age, And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage : Unprofitably kept at heaven's expence, I live a rent-charge on his providence: But you, whom every mufe and grace adorn, Whom I forefee to better fortune born, Be kind to my remains; and O defend, Against your judgment, your departed friend! Let not th' infulting foe my fame pursue, But fhade thofe laurels which defcend to you: And take for tribute what these lines exprefs: You merit more; nor could my love do lefs.

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