This [8]MOSES us'd, and DAVID'S Royal Lyre, }
This he whom wond'ring _Seraphs_ did _inspire_, } 1020
Whence PINDAR stole some _Sparks of heav'nly Fire_, }
Who now by COWLEY's happy Muse improv'd,
Is _understood_ by some, by more _belov'd_:
The _Vastness_ of his Thought, the daring _Range_,
That imperceptible and pleasing _Change_,
Our jealous _Neighbours_ must themselves confess
The _British Genius_ tracks with most Success;
But still the _Smoothness_ we of _Verse_ desire,
The _Regulation_ of our _Native Fire_:
This from experienc'd _Masters_ we receive, 1030
Sweet FLATMAN'S Works, and DRYDEN'S this will give.
If you in _pointed_ SATYR most delight,
_Worry_ not, where you only ought to _bite_:
_Easie_ your _Style_, unstudy'd all and clear.
_Prosaic Lines_ are _pardonable_ here.
There are whose _Breath_ would blast the _brightest Fame_, }
Who from _base Actions_ court an _odious Name_, }
With _Beauty_ and with _Virtue_ War proclaim; }
Who _bundle_ up the _Scandals_ of the _Town_, 1040
And in _lewd Couplets_ make it all their _own_:
_Just Shame_ be _theirs_ who thus _debauch_ a _Muse_,
To vile _Lampoons_ a _noble Art_ abuse:
As _ill_ be _theirs_, and _half of_ DATS'_s Fate_,
Who always dully rail against the _State_.
_Kings_ are but _Men_, nor are their _Councils_ more,
Those _Ills_ we can't _avert_ we must _deplore_:
Not _many Poets_ were for _Statesmen_ made,
It asks more _Brains_ than stocks the _Rhiming_ Trade: