Page:An Essay on Translated Verse - Roscommon (1684).djvu/16

If t'would debauch your humour so far forth
To think so mean a thing, enhanc'd your worth.
For were, that praise and only that your due,
Which Virgil too might claim no less then you,
Tho that had merited my bare esteem,
I'de leave to other pens the single theme.
But when I saw the Candor of your mind,
A Muse inur'd to Camps, in Courts refin'd,
A Soul e'vn capable of being a friend,
Free from those follies which the great attend;
I grant such excellence my Soul did fire,
Unable to commend, I will admire.

 'Happy the man when no concern is nigh,
'But Nature's, wanton and his blood runs high,
'Who free from cares enjoys without controul,
'His Muse, the darling Mistris of his soul,
'No tedious Court his appetite destroys,
'Nor thoughts of gain pollute the rapturous Joys.
'The Dear Minerva's form'd without a pain
'And nothing less, could spring from such a brain.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$'And yet his Godlike pity he imparts
'To those that drudge at Duty against their hearts
'And to illiberal uses wrest the Liberal Arts———

 When I observe the wonders you explain
Too much the antients you commend ——— in vain

In