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Like friendly colours found them both unite, 15
What flatt'ring scenes our wand'ring fancy wrought, Rome's pompous glories rising to our thought ! Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly,
25 Fir'd with ideas of fair Italy. With thee on Raphael's Monument I mourn, Or wait inspiring Dreams at Maro's Urn: With thee repose, where Tully once was laid, Or seek fome Ruin's formidable fhade : While Fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view, And builds imaginary Rome a-new, Here thy well-ftudied marbles fix our eye; A fading Fresco here demands a sigh : Each heav'nly piece unwearied we compare,
35 Match Raphael's grace with thy lov’d Guido's air, Carracci's strength, Correggio's fofter line, Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine.
How finish'd with illustrious toil appears This small, weil polish'd Gem, the * work of years ! 40 Yet still how faint by precept is express'd The living image in the painter's breast? Thence endless streams of fair Ideas flow, Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow; Thence Beauty, waking all her forms, supplies
45 An Angel's sweetness, or Bridgewater's eyes.
Muse! at that Name thy sacred sorrows shed,
* Fresnoy employed above twenty years in finishing his poem,
Bid her be all that chears or softens life,
Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint engage;
Oh lasting as those Colours may they shine,
Ε Ρ Ι S T
To Miss B LOUN T,
WORKS of VOITURE.
these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces Shine,
15 And the gay inourn'd who never mourn’d before ; The truest hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs, Voiture was wept by all the brightest Eyes : The Siniles and Loves had dy'd in Voiture's death, But that for ever in his lines they breathe.
20 Let the strict life of graver inortals be A long, exact, and serious Comedy ; In ev'ry scene fome Moral let it teach, And, if it can, at once both please and preach. Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
25 And more diverting still than regular, Have Humour, Wit, a native Ease and Grace, Tho' not too strictly bound to Time and Place :
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,
Too much your Sex is by their forms confin’d,
40 Still in constraint your suff’ring Sex remains, Or bound in formal, or in real chains : Whole years neglected, for some months ador'd, The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord. Ah quit not the free innocence of life,
45 For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife; Nor let false Shews, nor empty Titles please : Aim not at Joy, but rest content with ease.
The Gods, to curse Pamela with her pray’rs, Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares, 50 The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, And, to complete her bliss, a Fool for Mate. She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring, A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched Thing ! Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part; 55 She fighs, and is no Duchess at her heart. But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and
you Are destin'd Hymen's willing Victim too; Trust not too much your now refiftless charms, Those, Age or Sickness, foon or late difarms : 60 Good humour only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past; Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay, Our hearts may bear its slender chain a day;
As flow'ry bands in wantonness are worn,
Thus Voiture's * early care still fhone the saine,
Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th' Elysian coast,