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But why fo large in the great Writer's Praife? More lofty Subjects fhou'd my Numbers raife: In him (Illuftrious Rivalry?) contend,

The Stafeman, Patriot, Chriftian, and the Friend!
His Glory fuch, it borders on Disgrace,
To fay he fung the best of Human Race.

In Joy once join'd, in Sorrow now for Years, Partner in Grief, and Brother of my Tears. TICKELL, accept this Verfe, thy mornful due, Thou farther fhalt the facred Theme pursue; And as thy Strain defcribes the matchless Man, Thy Life shall fecond what thy Muse began. Tho' fweet the Numbers, tho' a Fire Divinè Dart thro' the whole, and burn in ev'ry Line; Who ftrives not for that Excellence he draws, Is ftain'd by Fame, and fuffers from Applaufe.

But hafte to thy Illuftrious Task; prepare The Noble Work well trufted to thy Care; The Gift bequeath'd by ADDISON's Command, To CRAGGS made facred by his dying Hand. Collect the Labours, join the various Rays, The scatter'd Light, in one united Blaze; Then bear to him fo true, fo truly lov'd, In Life distinguish'd, and in Death approv'd,

Th' Immortal Legacy. He hangs a while
In gen'rous Anguifh o'er the glorious Pile:
With anxious Pleasure the known Page reviews,
And the dear Pledge with falling Tears bedews.
What tho' thy Tears pour'd o'er thy God-like Friend,
Thy other Cares for Britain's Weal fufpend:
Think not, O Patriot, while thy Eyes o'erflow,
Thofe Cares fufpended for a private Wo;

Thy Love to him is to thy Country fhown,
He mourns for her, who mourns for ADDISON.

то

ΤΟ Α

Young LADY:

WITH THE

Works of Voiture.

By Mr. POPE.

N these gay Thoughts the Loves and Graces
fhine,

And all the Writer lives in ev'ry Line;
His eafy Art may happy Nature feem,

Trifles themselves are elegant in him.

Sure to charm all, with his peculiar Fate,

Who, without Flatt'ry, pleas'd the Fair and Great;

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Still with Efteem no lefs conyers'd than read;
With Wit well-natur'd, and with Books well-bred;
His Heart his Mistress, and his Friend did fhare,
His Time, the Mufe, the Witty, and the Fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,

Chearful he play'd the Trifle, Life, away,

Till Death fcarce felt, did o'er his Pleasures creep,
As fmiling Infants fport themselves to fleep:
Ev'n Rival-Wits did Voiture's Fate deplore,

And the Gay mourn'd, who never mourn'd before;
The trueft Hearts for Voiture heav'd with Sighs;
Voiture was wept by all the brighteft Eyes;
The Smiles and Loves had dy'd in Voiture's Death,
But that for ever in his Lines they breaths.

Let the ftrict Life of graver Mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious Comedy; ́
In ev'ry Scene fome Moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach:
Let mine, like Voiture's, a gay Farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular;

Have Humour, Wit, a Native Eafe and Grace,
Criticks in Wit, or Life, are hard to pleafe,
Few write to thofe, and none can live to thefe.

Too much your Sex is by their Forms confin'd, Severe to all, but most to Woman-kind:

Custom,

Custom, grown blind with Age, must be your Guide,'
Your Pleafure is a Vice, but not your Pride;
By Nature yielding, ftubborn but for Fame;
Made Slaves by Honour, and made Fools by Shame.
Marriage may all thofe petty Tyrants chace,
But fets up one, a greater, in their Place.

Well might you wish for Change, by thofe accurft,
But the last Tyrant always proves the worst.
Still in Conftraint your fuff'ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real Chains:

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Whole Years neglected, for fome Months ador'd,

The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah, quit not the free Innocence of Life!
For the dull Glory of a virtuous Wife!
Nor let falfe Shews, or empty Titles please,
Aim not at Joy, but reft content with Eafe.

The Go DS, to curfe Pamelia with her Pray'rs,
Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares,
The shining Robes, rich Jewels, Beds of State,
And to compleat her Blifs, a Fool for Mate.
She glares in Balls, Front-Boxes, and the Ring,
A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched Thing!
Pride, Pomp, and State, but reach her outward Part,
She fighs, and is no Dutchess at her Heart.

But, Madam, if the Fates withstand, and you Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too;

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