d _tow'ring_ that as _Fire_.
None than th' _Epistle_ goes more _humbly_ drest,
Tho _neat_ 'twou'd be, and _decent_ as the _best_.
Such as th' ingenious _Censor_ may invite }
Oft to return with eager _Appetite_; }
So HORACE wrote, and so I'd _wish_ to write. }
Nor _creeps_ it always, but can _mount_ and _rise_, 170
And with _bold Pinions_ sail along the Skies.
The self-same Work of _different Style_ admits,
Now _soft_, now _loud_, as best the _Matter_ fits:
So Father THAMES from unexhausted _Veins_,
Moves _clean_ and _equable_ along the _Plains_;
Yet still of different _Depth_ and _Breadth_ is found,
And _humours_ still the _Nature_ of the _Ground_.
[Sidenote: _Reading_.]
READING will mend your Style and raise it higher,
And _Matter_ find to feed th' _Immortal Fire_:
But if you would the _Vulgar Herd_ excel, 180
And justly gain the _Palm_ of _Writing well_,
Wast not your Lamp in scanning _Vulgar Lines_,
Where _groveling_ all, or _One in twenty_ shines;
With _Prudence_ first among the _Antients_ chuse,
The _noblest_ only, and the _best_ peruse;
Such HOMER is, such VIRGIL's sacred Page,
Which _Death_ defie, nor yield to _Time_ or _Age_;
New _Beauties_ still their _Vigorous Works_ display,
Their _Fruit_ still _mellows_, but can ne'er _decay_.
The _Modern Pens_ not altogether slight, 190
Be _Master_ of your _Language_ e'er you write!
_Immortal_ TILLOTSON with Judgment scan,
"That _Man of Praise, that something more than Man_!"
Ev'n those who hate his _Ashes_ this advise, }
As from black Shades resplendent Lightning flies, }
_Unwilling Truths_ break through a _Cloud of Lies_. }
He _Words_ and _Things_ for _mutual Aid_ design'd,
Before at _Variance_, in just _Numbers_ join'd;
He always _soars_, but never's _out of sight_,
He taught us how to _Speak_, and _Think_, and _Write_. 200
If _English Verse_ you'd in _Perfection_ see,
ROSCOMMON read, and _Noble_ NORMANDY:
We _borrow_ all from their _exhaustless Store_,
Or little say they have not said _before_.
_Poor Insects_ of a _Day_, we toil and strive
To creep from _Dust_ to _Dust_, and think we _live_;
These weak _imperfect Beings_ scarce enjoy
E'er _Death's_ rude Hand our _blooming Hopes_ destroy:
With _Lynx's_ Eyes each others