An Earthly Vapour, or at Mounting Blaze.
A rising Meteor never was design'd,
T'amaze the sober part of Human kind.
Were I to write for Fame, I would not chuse
A Prostitute and Mercenary Muse.
Which for poor Gains must in rich Trappings go,
Emptily Gay, magnificently Low,
Like Ancient _Rome's_ Religion, Sacrifice and Show.
Things fashion'd for amusement and surprize,
Ne'er move the Head, tho' they divert the Eyes.
The Mouthing Actors well-dissembled Rage,
May please the Young _Sir Foplings_ on the Stage.
But, disingag'd, the swelling Phrase I find
Like _Spencer's_ Giant sunk away in Wind.
It grates judicious Readers when they meet
Nothing but jingling Verse, and even Feet.
Such false, such counterfeited Wings as these,
Forsake th' unguided Boy, and plunge him in the Seas.
_Lee_ aim'd to rise above great _Dryden's_ Height,
But lofty _Dryden_ keeps a steddy Flight.
Like Dædalus, he times with prudent Care
His well-wax'd Wings, and Waves in Middle Air.
The Native Spark, which first advanc'd his Name,
By industry he kindled to a Flame.
The proper Phrase of our exalted Tongue
To such Perfection from his Numbers sprung.
His Tropes continu'd, and his Figures fine,
_All of a Piece throughout, and all Divine._
His _Images_ so strong and lively be,
I hear not Words alone, but Substance see;