You all agree, I make no doubt,
Elijah's mantle is worn out.
The bird of Jove shall toil no more
To teach the humble wren to soar.
Your tragick heroes shall not rant,
Nor shepherds use poetick cant.
Simplicity alone can grace
The manners of the rural race.
Theocritus and Philips be
Your guides to true simplicity.
| When Damon's soul shall take its flight, | |
| Though poets have the second sight, | |
| They shall not see a trail of light. |
Nor shall the vapours upward rise,
Nor a new star adorn the skies:
For who can hope to place one there,
As glorious as Belinda's hair?
Yet, if his name you'd eternize,
And must exalt him to the skies;
Without a star, this may be done:
So Tickell mourn'd his Addison.
If Anna's happy reign you praise,
Pray, not a word of halcyon days;
Nor let my votaries show their skill
In aping lines from Cooper's Hill;
For know, I cannot bear to hear
The mimickry of deep, yet clear.
Whene'er my viceroy is address'd,
Against the phenix I protest.
When poets soar in youthful strains,
No Phaëton to hold the reins.
When you describe a lovely girl,
No lips of coral; teeth of pearl.
