labours with no want of Brains,
Or Fire, or Spirit; but He spares the Pains,
One happy Thought, or two, may at a Heat
Be struck, but Time and Study must compleat
A Verse, sublimely Good, and justly Great.
It call'd for an Omnipotence to raise
The _World's_ _Imperial Poem_ in Six Days.
But Man, that offspring of corrupting Clay,
Subject to Err, and Subject to Decay:
In Hopes, Desires, Will, Power, a numerous Train,
Uncertain, Fickle, Impotent and Vain:
Must tire the Heav'nly Muse with endless Prayer,
And call the smiling Angels to his care.
Must sleep less Nights, _Vulcanian_ Labours prove,
Like _Cyclops_, forging Thunder for a _Jove_.
With Flame begin thy Glorious Thoughts and Style,
Then Cool, and bring them to the smoothing File.
If You design to make Your Prince appear
As perfect as Humanity can bear.
Whom Vertues at th' expence of Danger please,
Deaf to the _Syrens_ of alluring ease.
No Terrours Thee, _Achilles_, could invade,
Nor Thee, _Ulysses_, any Charms persuade.
This must be done, if Poets would be Read,
Who seek to emulate the Sacred Dead.

Thus in bright Numbers and well polish'd Strains
_Virgilian Addison_ describes _Campaigns_.
Whose Verse, like a proportion'd Man, we find,
Not of the _Gyant_, nor the _Pygmy_ kind.
Such Symmetry appears o'er all the Song,
Lofty with justness, and with Caution strong.

This _Congreve_ follows in his Deathless Line,
And the _Tenth Hand_ is put to the Design.
The Happy boldness of his Finish'd Toil
Claims more than _Shakespear's_ Wit, or _Johnson's_ Oil.
Sing on, _Harmonious Swan_, in weeping strains,
And tell _Pastora's_ Death to mournful Swains.
Or with more pleasing Charms, with softer Airs
Sweeten our Passions, and delude our Cares.
Or let thy _Satyr_ grin with half a Smile,
And jeer in _Easy Etherege's_ Style.
Let _Manly Wycherly_ chalk out the Way,
And Art direct, where Nature goes astray.
'Tis not for Thee to Write of Conqu'ring Kings,
The Noise of Arms will break thy Am'rous Strings.

The _Teian Muse_ invites Thee from above
To lay Thy Trumpet down, and sing of Love.
Let _MONTAGUE_ describe _Boyn's_ swelling Flood
And purple Streams fatned with Hostile Blood.
O Heavenly Patron of the needy Muse!
Whose powerful Name can nobler heat infuse.
When You _Nassau's_ bright Actions dar'd to see,
_You_ was the _Eagle_, and _Apollo He_.
But when He