vi EPISTLE, &c. 



Yet ftill he pleased, for DRYDEN ftill muft pleafe, 

 Whether with artlefs elegance and eafe 

 He glides in Profe, or from its tinkling chime, 

 By varied paufes, purifies his rhyme, 

 And mounts on MARO'S plumes, and foars his 

 heights fublime. 



This artlefs Elegance, this native fire 

 Provok'd his tuneful Heir * to ftrike the Lyre, 

 Who, proud his numbers with that profe to join, 

 Wove an illuftrious wreath for Friendfhip's fhrine, 



How oft, on that fair flirine when Poets bind 

 The flowers of Song, does partial Paffion blind 

 Their judgment's eye ! How oft does Truth difclaim 

 The deed, and fcorn to call it genuine Fame ! 

 How did fhe here, when JERVAS was the theme, 

 Waft thro' the Ivory Gate the Poet's dream ! 

 How view, indignant, Error's bafe alloy 

 The fterling luftre of his Praife deftroy, 

 Which now, if Praife like his my Mufe could coin, 

 Current thro' Ages, fhe would ftamp for Thine. 



Let Friendfhip, as fhe caus'd, excufe the deed ; 

 With Thee, and fuch as Thee, fhe muft fucceed. 



But 



* Mr. POPE, in his Epiftle to JERTAS, has thefe lines, 

 Read thefe inftru&ive leaves in which confpire 

 FRESNOY'S clofe art with DRYDEN'S native fire. 



