unfortunate young Lady.]

[Footnote 4: _Sir W. Y._]

Oh say, to him what Trophies shall be rais'd,
That unprovok'd will strike, and fawn unprais'd!
Each fav'rite Toast who marks, or rising Wit,
To sketch a Satire, that in Time may fit;
Still hopes your Sun-set, while he views your Noon,
And still broods o'er the closely-kept Lampoon;
The lurking Presents o'er the Tomb he paid,
And thus atton'd our _British Virgil_'s Shade,
A Mushroom [1] Satire in his Life conceal'd,
Since chang'd to Libel, and in Print reveal'd;
Who lets not [2] Beauty base Detraction 'scape,
And mocks Deformity with _AEsop_'s Shape;
Who _Cato_'s Muse with faithless Sneers belied,
The Prologue father'd, and the Play decried,
On [3] _H----y_'s learned Page, dull-sporting trod,
Betray'd his Patrons, and lampoon'd his God;
Translator, Editor, could far out-go
In _Homer_ _Ogleby_, in _Shakespeare_ _R----_
O! how burlesqu'd, great _Dryden_, is thy Strain,
When little _Alexander_ [4] _slays the Slain_!

[Footnote 1: Libel on Mr. _Addison_ in _P--pe_ and _Sw--t_'s
Miscellanies.]

[Footnote 2: Lady _M. W. M._]

[Footnote 3: Lord B----p of _Salisbury_.]

[Footnote 4: See _Dryden_'s Ode on St. _Caecilia_'s Day.

------Fought all his Battles o'er again;
------And thrice he _slew the Slain_.]

On, mighty Rhimer, haste new Palms to seize,
Thy little, envious, angry Genius teize;
Let thy weak wilful Head, unrein'd by Art,
Obey the Dictates of thy flatt'ring Heart;
Divide a busy, fretful Life between
Smut, Libel, Sing-song, Vanity, and Spleen;
With long-brew'd Malice warm thy languid Page,
And urge delirious Nonsense into Rage;
Let bawdy Emblems, now, thy Hours beguile;
Now, Fustian Epic, aping _Virgil_'s Stile;
To _Virgil_ like, to _Indian_ Clay as _Delf_,
Or _Pulteney_, drawn by _Jervase_, to Herself:
Rheams heap'd on Rheams, incessant, mayst thou blot,
A lively, trifling, pert, one knows not what!
Form thy light Measures, nimbler than the Wind,
Whilst heavy lingring Sense is left behind;
With all thy Might pursue, and all thy Will,
That unabating Thirst, to scribble still,
Giv'n at thy Birth! the Poetaster's Gust,
False and unsated as the Eunuch's Lust!

Illustrious Fops, mean time, o'er-rate thy Lays,
And blooming Critics, as they spell thee, praise:
Blest Coupleteer! by blooming Critics read,
At Toilets