Or is it Fortune's Work, that in your Head
The curious Net that is for Fancies spread,
Lers thro' its Meshes every meaner Thought,
While rich Idea's there are only caught.
Sure that's not all; this is a piece too fair
To be the Child of Chance, and not of Care.
No Atoms cafually together hurl'd
Could e'er produce fo beautiful a World.
Nor dare I fuch a Do&rine here admit,
As would destroy the Providence of Wit.
'Tis your ftrong Genius then which does not feel
Those Weights wou'd make a weaker Spirit reel:
To carry weight, and run fo lightly too,
Is what alone your Pegasus can do.
Great Hercules himself cou'd ne'er do more,
Than not to feel thofe Heav'ns and Gods he bore.
Your eafier Odes, which for Delight were penn'd,
Yet our Inftru&tion make their fecond End:
We're both enrich'd and pleas'd,like them thatWooe,
At once a Beauty, and a Fortune too.
Of Moral Knowledge Poefie was Queen,
And still she might, had wanton Wits not been ;
Who like ill Guardians liv'd themselves at large,
And not content with that, debauch'd their Charge:
Like fome brave Captain, your successful Pen
Reftores the Exil'd to her Crown again;
And gives us hope, that having feen the Days
When nothing flourish'd but Phanatick Bays,
All will at length in this Opinion reft,
"A Sober Prince's Government is best.
This is not all; your Art the way has found
To make the Improvement of the richest Ground,
That Soil which those Immortal Laurels bore,
That once the Sacred Maro's Temples wore.
Elifa's Griefs are fo expreft by you,
They are too Eloquent to have been true.
Had the fo fpoke, Æneas had obey'd
What Dido, rather than what Jove had faid.
If Funeral Rites can give a Ghost Repose,
Your Mufe fo jufly has discharged thofe,
Elifa's Shade may now its wandring cease,
And claim a Title to the Fields of Peace.
But if Aneas be oblig'd, no lefs
Your Kindness great Achilles doth confefs;
Who drefs'd by Statius in too bold a Look,
Did ill become thofe Virgin Robes he took.
To understand how much we owe to you,
We must your Numbers, with your Author's views
Then we fhall fee his Work was lamely rough,
Each Figure ftiff, as if defign'd in Buff;
His Colours laid fo thick on every place,
As only fhew'd the Paint, but hid the Face.
But as in Perspective we Beauties fee,
Which in the Glafs, not in the Picture be;
So here our Sight obligingly mistakes
'That Wealth which his your Bounty only makes. Thus vulgar Dishes are by Cooks disguis'd,
More for their dreffing, than their substance priz❜d.
Your curious Notes to fearch into that Age,
When all was Fable but the Sacred Page,
That fince in that dark Night we needs must fray,
We are at leaft mif-led in pleasant way.
But what we moft admire, your Verfe no less
The Prophet than the Poet doth confefs.
E'er our weak Eyes difcern'd the doubtful Streak
Of Light, you faw Great Charles his Morning break.
So skilful Seamen ken the Land from far,
Which fhews like Mifts to the dull Paffenger.
To Charles your Muse first pays her duteous Love,
As ftill the Antients did begin from fove.
* Annotations on Statius.
With Monk you end, whofe Name preserv'd shall be, As Rome Recorded ‡ Rufus Memory,
Who thought it greater Honour to obey
His Country's Intereft, than the World to sway.
But to Write worthy things of worthy Men,
Is the peculiar Talent of your Pen:
Yet let me take your Mantle up, and I
Will venture in your Right to Prophefie.
"This Work, by Merit firft of Fame fecure,
"Is likewife happy in its Geniture:
"For fince 'tis Born, when Charles afcends theThrone, "It fhares, at once, his Fortune and its own,
To the Lady CASTLEMAIN, upon her incouraging his firft Play.
S Seamen, Shipwrack'd on fome happy Shore, Discover Wealth in Lands unknown before; And, what their Art had labour'd long in vain, By their Misfortunes happily obtain ;
So my much envy'd Mufe, by Storms long toft,
Is thrown upon your hofpitable Coast,
And finds more favour by her ill Success,
Than the cou'd hope for by her Happiness.
Once Cato's Virtue did the Gods oppofe ;
While they the Victor, he the Vanquish'd chofe:
But you have done what Cato cou'd not do,
To chufe 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 Lawrels give,
But let me happy by your Pity live.
Hic fitus eft Rufus, qui pulso vindice quondam
Imperium afferuit non fibi fed Patria,
PS
True Poets empty Fame and Praise despise,
Fame is the Trumpet, but your Smile the Prize:
You fit above, and fee vain Men below
Contend, for what you only can bestow:
But those great Actions, others do by chance,
Are, like your Beauty, your Inheritance :
So great a Soul, fuch sweetness join'd in one,
Cou'd only fpring from noble Grandifon :
You, like the Stars, not by Reflection bright,
Are born to your own Heaven, and your own light;
Like them are good, but from a nobler Cause,
From your own Knowledge, not from Nature's Laws.
Your Pow'r your never use, but for Defence,
To guard your own, or others Innocence:
Your Foes are fuch, as they, not you, have made,
And Virtue may repel, tho' not invade.
Such Courage did the antient Heroes show,
Who, when they might prevent, wou'd wait the Blow:
With fuch affurance as they meant to say,
We will o'ercome, but fcorn the fafeft way.
What further fear of danger can there be?
Beauty, which captives all things, fets me free.
Pofterity will judge by my Succefs,
I had the Grecian Poet's Happiness,
Who, waving Plors, found out a better way,
Some God defeended, and preferv'd the Play.
When first the Triumphs of your Sex were fung
By thofe old Poets, Beauty was but young,
And few admir'd the native Red and White,
Till Poets dreft them up, to charm the fight;
So Beauty took on truft, and did engage
For Sums of Praises, till fhe came to Age.
But this long growing Debt to Poetry
You juftly (Madam) have discharg'd to me,
When your Applause and Favour did infufe
New Life to my condemn'd and dying Muse.
By Mr. ADDISON, of Mag, Coll. Oxon.
Printed in the Year MDCC XVI.
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