Hence 'tis, for else one knows not why nor how,
Some authors flourish for a year or two:
For many some, more wond'rous still to tell; 155
Farquhar yet lingers on the brink of hell.
Of solid merit others pine unknown; }
At first, tho'[A] Carlos swimmingly went down, }
Poor Belvidera fail'd to melt the town. }
Sunk in dead night the giant Milton lay 160
'Till Sommer's hand produc'd him to the day.
But, thanks to heav'n and Addison's good grace
Now ev'ry fop is charm'd with Chevy Chace.

[Footnote A: Don Carlos, a tragedy of Otway's, now long and justly
forgotten, went off with great applause; while his Orphan, a
somewhat better performance, and what is yet more strange, his
Venice Preserved, according to the theatrical anecdotes of those
times, met with a very cold reception.]

Specious and sage, the sovereign of the flock
Led to the downs, or from the wave-worn rock 165
Reluctant hurl'd, the tame implicit train
Or crop the downs, or headlong seek the main.
As blindly we our solemn leaders follow,
And good, and bad, and execrable swallow.

Pray, on the first throng'd evening of a play 170
That wears the[A] _facies hippocratica_,
Strong lines of death, signs dire of reprobation;
Have you not seen the angel of salvation
Appear sublime; with wise and solemn rap