Muft travel in a conftant plan,
And run our journey, as we can.

FRIE N D.

A critic fays, upon whose fleeve Some pin more faith than you'll believe That writings which as easy pleafe, Are not the writings wrote with ease. From whence the inference is plain, Your friend MAT PRIOR Wrote with p

AUTHOR.

With pain perhaps he might correct, With care fupply each loose defect, Yet fure, if rhime, which feems to flo Whether its mafter will or no, If humour, not by ftudy fought, But rifing from immediate thought, Are proofs of ease, what hardy name Shall e'er difpute a PRIOR's claim!

But ftill your critic's obfervation Strikes at no POET's reputation, His keen reflection only hits

Your rhiming fops, and pedling wits.

As fome take ftiffness for a grace,
And walk a dancing-master's pace,
And others, for familiar air
Mistake the flouching of a bear;
So fome will finically trim,

And dress their lady-mufe too prim,
Others, mere flovens in their pen
(The mob of Lords and Gentlemen)
Fancy they write with ease and pleasure,
By rambling out of rhime and measure.
And, on your critic's judgment, these
Write easily, and not with EASE.

There are, indeed, whofe with pursues,
And inclination courts the muse;
Who, happy in a partial fame,
A while poffefs a poet's name,
But read their works, examine fair,
-Shew me invention, fancy there,
Tafte I allow; but is the flow
Of genius in them? Surely, no.
'Tis labour from the claffic brain.
Read your own ADDISON'S CAMPAIGN.

E'en he, nay, think me not severe, A critic fine, of Latin ear,

Who

Who tofs'd his claffic thoughts around
With elegance on Roman ground,
Juft fimmering with the mufe's flame
Woos but a cool and fober dame;
And all his English rhimes express
But beggar-thoughts in royal drefs.
In verse his genius feldom glows,
A POET only in his profe,

Which rolls luxuriant, rich, and chafte,
Improved by Fancy, Wit, and Tafte.

I talk

you

FRIEND.

for yourself, my friend,

A fubject you can ne'er defend,

And you cajole me all the while.
With differtations upon ftile.

Leave others wits and works alone,
And think a little of your own,

For FAME, when all is faid and done,

Tho' a coy mistress, may be won;

And half the thought, and pains, and time,
You take to jingle.cafy rhime,

Would make an ODE, would make a PLAY,
Done into English, MALLOCH's way,
-Stretch out your more Heroic feet,
And write an ELEGY complete.

Or,

Or, not a more laborious task,

Could not you pen a Claffic MASQUE?

AUTHOR.

With will at large, and unclogg'd wings,
I durft not foar to fuch high things.
For I, who have more phlegm than fire,
Muft underftand, or not admire,
But when I read with admiration,
Perhaps I'll write in IMITATION.

FRIEN D.

But business of this monthly kind,
Need that alone engross your mind.
Affiftance must pour in a-pace,
New paffengers will take a place,
And then your friends

AUTHOR.

Aye, they indeed,

Might make a better work fucceed,

And with the helps which they shall give,
I and the Magazine shall live.

FRIEND.

Yes, live, and eat, and nothing more.

E

AN EPISTLE TO C. CHUR

WELL-fhall I wish you joy of

That loudly echoes CHURCHILL's name
And fets you on the Muses' throne,
Which right of conqueft made your ow
Or fhall I (knowing how unfit.
The world efteems a man of wit,
That wherefoever he appears,

They wonder if the knave has ears)
Address with joy and lamentation,
CONDOLANCE and CONGRATULATION
As colleges, who duly bring
Their mess of verfe to every king,

Too œconomical in taste,

Their forrow or their joy to wafte;
Mix both together, fweet and fow'r;
And bind the thorn up with the flow'r?

Sometimes 'tis Elegy, or Ode.

Epiftle now's your only mode.
Whether that style more glibly hits,
The fancies of our rambling wits,
B

VOL. II.