Horace will our superfluous Branches prune,
Give us new rules, and set our Harp in tune,
Direct us how, to back the winged Horse,
Favour his flight, and moderate his force;
Tho' Poets may of Inspiration boast.
Their Rage ill govern'd, in the Clouds is lost;
He that proportion'd wonders can disclose,
At once his Fancy and his Judgment shows;
Chast moral Writing we may learn from hence
Neglect of which no wit can recompence;
The Fountain which from Helicon proceeds,
That sacred Stream should never water weeds,
Nor make the Crop of thorns and thistles grow
Which Envy or perverted Nature sow;
Well-sounding Verses are the Charm we use,
Heroick thoughts, and vertue to infuse;
Things of deep sence we may in Prose unfold,
But they move more, in lofty numbers told;
Give us new rules, and set our Harp in tune,
Direct us how, to back the winged Horse,
Favour his flight, and moderate his force;
Tho' Poets may of Inspiration boast.
Their Rage ill govern'd, in the Clouds is lost;
He that proportion'd wonders can disclose,
At once his Fancy and his Judgment shows;
Chast moral Writing we may learn from hence
Neglect of which no wit can recompence;
The Fountain which from Helicon proceeds,
That sacred Stream should never water weeds,
Nor make the Crop of thorns and thistles grow
Which Envy or perverted Nature sow;
Well-sounding Verses are the Charm we use,
Heroick thoughts, and vertue to infuse;
Things of deep sence we may in Prose unfold,
But they move more, in lofty numbers told;
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