No roughned dash betrays th' unequal part,
Nor fhade ungraceful points the veil of art;
But Hope all-radiant foars to worlds of light,
While Judgment's temperate hand directs the flight,
Calm Senfe and Wisdom take their turn to rule,
And Reason's piercing eye o'erlooks the foul.

HERE Boileau marks the living draught refin'd, The flame of Genius bursting o'er his mind *; Yet juft to worth, attends the melting strains Whose music stream'd along Britannia's plains; He marks the ruby'd lip that breathes perfume, The cheek where beauty fpreads her genial bloom, The throng that flutters round th' illumin’d hall, The Satyr's venom'd fhaft, that drops with gall; Then knows fuperior wit, though near the throne, And hails the Bard whofe fkill furpafs'd his own.

SEE mighty Dacier foars in nobler lays ‡,
Each lawrel'd Ancient crowns her head with bays,

It is generally allowed, that imagination was not the predominant faculty which characterized the writings of Boileau. He is therefore reprefented here as having attained that point in which he was principally deficient.

And hails the Bard, &c.) The

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A

Rape of the Lock is judged by the beft Critics to have been wrote in an higher taste than the Lutrin.

See mighty Dacier, &c.] This Lady's name is not mentioned by Voltaire in his Temple of Tafte, though I confefs, I cannot fee with what reafon fhe is omitted. It is

truc,

A tow'ring Genius! whofe exalted name
Employs the tongue, and fwells the trump of Fame,
From Man, proud tyrant, with refiftless force

She fnatch'd the rein, and whirl'd it in the course;
With eagle-speed purfued th' expected prey,
Then caught and bore the glorious prize away.
Here through Reflection's clearer glass display'd
She marks the mingling ftreaks of light and shade,
Obferves defects, by cool experience taught,
And blames with reafon, or approves with thought.

WHAT need I Voiture's easier task recite, Whofe work contracted beams with faultlefs wit; Or paint Racine whose chast'ned strain improves, Or Molliere, fporting with the Smiles and Loves ; Fontaine, whose wit from Nature's fund was stole, Or bold Corneille, who ftorms, and tears the foul.

LOST in the radiance of diffolving light, Ten thousand beauties opening on my fight, My fainting mufe deferts th' unequal theme, Pleased with fome gentler note, an humbler name;

true, indeed, that he is rather a tranflator than an original writer. Few readers however of fenfibility will perufe her tranflation and remarks on the Iliad, or on Arifto

tle's Art of Poetry, without dif

She

covering in both the force of an exact judgment, joined to that feeling of poetic beauty which is fo often found to predominate in this amiable sex.

She feels (the glowing traits confufedly feen)
The heat too piercing, and the ray too keen.

THUS in fome fields where Art and Nature join, (Such are thy gardens Stowe, and Seaton*, thine. Where from yon mount, a plan by Taste design'd,

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Reflects an image of the Mafter's mind ;)
Where'er I look the blush of Beauty glows,

The forest brightens, or the garden blows;
Groves, ftreams, and trees their chequer'd pride difplay,
And melting music steals the foul away.

'Tis your's each work of genius to review, Who know false beauties, and admire the true; You bleft by nature with fuperior skill,

An eye to mark them, and an heart to feel,
A foul illumed by Reafon's gentle rays,
Serene, not strong, and bright without a blaze;
Intent to know, and yet polite to please,

Who read with judgment, and who write with ease.
Ev'n mine, a bashful mufe untaught and young,
That sports, not warbles in the tuneful throng,
Waked by this theme can strike the trembling ftrings,
And feebly flutters with unequal wings,

* Such are thy gardens, &c. or seat, which belongs to a GentleSeaten thine] An elegant country man near Aberdeen.

So fome pale flower reclines its drooping head,
And lies unseen, neglected in the shade,

Yet touch'd with lightning by the blaze of noon,
Unfolds its leaves, and bloffoms in the fun.

A TOWN

A TOWN ECLOGUE.*
ECLOGUE.*

IR'D with the rage that warms a Coxcomb's mind, When curls are awkward, or the fair unkind; When spurn'd and kick'd by all the tinfel throng, Or, ftill more dreadful, when a patch is wrong; Poor Florio late deplor'd his mighty woe, With all the fury of an angry beau.

ALONE, and mufing on the wrongs of fate, Fix'd deep in thought the gloomy Heroe fat; One hand his cane fuftain'd (of magic power;) One twirl'd his box, but dropt it on the floor: "Twas then within the gilded covering hid Thy Form Belinda ftarted from the lid. Paint, ruffles, lace were call'd to ease his pain, But ruffles, lace, and paint were call'd in vain. In vain unhappy! o'er thy bosom spread With figured filver flam'd the gay brocade; In vain, to rouze thy drooping thoughts, combine Gums, feathers, patches, plays, novels and wine: Unmov'd

The incidents mentioned in this piece are wholly fictitious. The Author intended to paint the

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ridiculous in characters, but not to appropriate the ridicule to particular perfons.