That Fury spent, in each elab'rate Piece,
He vies for Fame with ancient Rome and Greece.
Roscommon first, then Mulgrave rose, like Light,
To clear our Darkness, and to guide our Flight;
With steady Judgment, and in lofty Sounds,
They gave us Patterns, and they set us Bounds.
The Stagyrite, and Horace, laid aside,
Inform'd by them, we need no Foreign Guide.
Who seek from Poetry a lasting Name,
May from their Lessons learn the Road to Fame;
'But let the bold Adventurer be sure
That ev'ry Line the Test of Truth endure;
On this Foundation may the Fabrick rise
Firm and unshaken, 'till it touch the Skies.
From Pulpits banish’d, from the Court, from Love,
Abandon’d Truth seeks Shelter in the Grove;
Cherish, ye Muses, the forsaken Fair,
And take into your Train this beauteous Wanderer.
A Character of Mr. Wycherly.
OF all our Modern Wits, none seems to me
Once to have touch'd upon true Comedy,
But hasty Shadwell, and slow Wycherly.
Shadwell's unfinish’d Works do yet impart
Great Proofs of Nature's Force, tho' none of Art;
