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AN
ESSAY
ON
POETRY.
OF Things in which Mankind does most excel,
Nature's chief Master-piece is Writing well;
And of all sorts of Writing none there are
That can the least with Poetry compare:
No kind of work requires so nice a touch,
And if well finish'd, nothing shines so much;
But Heav'n forbid we should be so profane,
To grace the Vulgar with that Sacred Name;
'Tis not a Flash of Fancy which sometimes
Dazling our minds, sets off the slightest Rhimes;
Bright as a Blaze, but in a Moment done;
True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun;
Which tho' sometimes behind a cloud retir'd,
Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.
A 2
Number,
