Goddeffes, the charms of wit have been added to debauchery, and the temptation heightened where nature needs the ftrongest reftraints. With fweetnefs of found, and delicacy of expreffion, they have given a relish to blafphemies of the harfheft kind; and when they rant at their Maker in fonorous numbers, they fancy themfelves to have acted the hero well.

Thus almost in vain have the throne and the pulpit cried Reformation; while the stage and licentious poems have waged open war with the pious defign of church and state. The prefs has fpread the poison far, and fcattered wide the mortal infection: Unthinking youth, have been inticed to fin beyond the vicious propensities of nature, plunged early into difeafes and death, and funk down to damnation in multitudes. Was it for. this that poefy was endued with all thofe allurements that lead the mind away in a pleafing captivity? Was it for this, he was furnished with fo many intellectual charms, that she might feduce the heart from God, the original beauty, and the most lovely of Beings? Can I ever be perfuaded, that thofe fweet and refiftlefs forces * of metaphor, wit, sound, and number, were given with EN this defign, that they should be all ranged under the banner of the great malicious fpirit, to invade the rights of heaven, and to bring fwift and everlasting destruction upon men? How will thefe allies of the nether world, the lewd and profane verfifiers, ftand aghaft before the great Judge, when the blood of many fouls, whom they never faw, shall be laid to the charge of their writings, and be dreadfully required at their hands? The Reve

rend

Of everlasting night and filence call'd

The shining worlds with one creating word,
And rais'd from nothing all the heavenly hofts,
And with external glories fill'd the void,
Harmonious Seraphs tun'd their golden harps,
And with their chearful Hallelujahs bless'd
The bounteous author of their happinefs;
From orb to orb th' alternate mufick rang,
And from the crystal arches of the sky
Reach'd our then glorious world, the native feat
Of the first happy pair, who join'd their fongs
To the loud echo's of th' angelic choirs,
And fill'd with blifsful hymns, terreftrial heaven,
The paradife of God where all delights
Abounded, and the pure ambrofial air,

Fann'd by mild zephyrs, breath'd eternal sweets,
Forbidding death and forrow, and bellow'd
Fresh heavenly bloom, and gay immortal youth.
Not fo, alas! the vile apoftate race,

Who in mad joys their brutal hours employ'd,
Affaulting with their impious blafphemies
The Power fupreme that gave them life and breath;
Incarnate fiends! outrageous they defy'd
Th' Eternal's thunder, and almighty wrath
Fearless provok'd, which all the other devils
Would dread to meet; remembering well the day
When, driven from pure immortal feats above,
A fiery tempeft hurl'd them down the skies,
And hung upon the rear, urging their fall
To the dark, deep, unfathomable gulph,

Where

Where bound on fulphurous lakes to glowing rocks
With adamantine chains, they wail their woes,
And know Jehovah great as well as good;
And fix'd for ever by eternal fate,

With horror find his arm omnipotent.

Prodigious madness! that the facred Mufe,
First taught in heaven to mount immortal heights,
And trace the boundless glories of the sky,
Should now to every idol bafely bow,
And curfe the deity fhe once ador`d,
Erecting trophies to each fordid vice,
And celebrating the infernal praise
Of haughty Lucifer, the desperate foe
Of God and man, and winning every hour
New votaries to hell, while all the fiends
Hear thefe accurfed lays, and, thus outdone,
Raging they try to match the human race,
Redoubling all their hellish blafphemies,
And with loud curfes rend the gloomy vault.
Ungrateful mortals! ah! too late you'll find
What 'tis to banter heaven, and laugh at hell;
To dress-up vice in falfe delufive charms,

And with gay colours paint her hideous face,
Leading befotted fouls through flowery paths,
In gaudy dreams and vain fantastic joys,
To dismal scenes of everlasting woe;

When the great Judge fhall rear is awful throne,
And raging flames furround the trembling globe,
While the loud thunders roar from pole to pole,
And the last trump awakes the fleeping dead;
And guilty fouls to ghaftly bodies driven,

Within thofe dire eternal prifons fhut,
Expect their fad inexorable doom.

Say now, ye men of wit! what turn of thought
Will please you then! Alas, how dull and poor,
Ev'n to yourselves, will your lewd flights appear!
How will you envy then the happy fate

Of idiots! and perhaps in vain you'll wish,
You'd been as very fools as once you thought
Others, for the fublimest wisdom scorn'd;

When pointed lightnings from the wrathful Judge
Shall finge your blighted laurels, and the men
Who thought they flew fo high, fhall fall so low.
No more, my Mufe, of that tremendous thought:
Refume thy more delightful theme, and fing
Th' immortal man, that with immortal verfe
Rivals the hymns of angels, and like them
Defpifes mortal criticks' idle rules:
While the celeftial flame that warms thy foul
Infpires us, and with holy transports moves
Our labouring minds, and nobler scenes prefents
Than all the Pagan Poets ever fung,

Homer, or Virgil; and far sweeter notes

Than Horace ever taught his founding lyre,
And purer far, though Martial's felf might seem
A modest Poet in our Chriftian days.

May thofe forgotten and negle&ed lie,

No more let men be fond of fabulous Gods,
Nor Heathen wit debauch one Chriftian line,

While with the coarfe and daubing paint we hide
The fhining beauties of eternal truth,

That in her native drefs appears moft bright,
And charms the eyes of angels.-Oh! like thee
Let every nobler genius tune his voice

To fubjects worthy of their towering thoughts.
Let Heaven and Anna then your tuneful art
Improve, and confecrate your deathlefs lays

To him who reigns above, and her who rules below.
April 17, 1706.

JOSEPH STANDEN.

To Mr. WATTS, on his Divine Poems.

AY, human feraph, whence that charming force,

SAY

That flame! that foul! which animates each line; And how it runs with fuch a graceful ease,

Loaded with ponderous fenfe! Say, did not He,
The lovely Jefus, who commands thy breast,
Infpire thee with himself? With Jefus dwells,
Kait in mysterious bands, the Paraclete,
The breath of God, the everlasting fource
Of love: And what is love, in fouls like thine,
But air, and incenfe to the poet's fire?
Should an expiring faint, whofe fwimming eyes
Mingle the images of things about him,
But hear the leaft exalted of thy ftrains,
How greedily he'd drink the mufic in,
Thinking his heavenly convoy waited near!
So great a ftrefs of powerful harmony,

Nature