65 Airy blifs (the hero cry'd) May feed the tympany of pride; "But healthy fouls were never found "To live on emptinefs and found." Lo, at his honourable feet Fame's bright attendant, Wealth, appears ; Bleffings with lavish hand she pours Not Danae's lap could equal treasures boast, He look'd and turn'd his eyes away, Now Pomp and Grandeur court his head Guards, and chariots, at his gate, And flaves in endless order round his table wait : And now they fall, and now they rife, Hang on his lips with most impatient zeal, Tir'd with the train that Grandeur brings, Then Then, flying from the noify throng, Mufic defcending on a filent cloud, And make a captive of his heart. To treat their favourite beft; But founding ftrings, and fruits, and wine, To make his virtue fleep, or lull his foul to reft, He saw the tedious round, and, with a figh, "In crowds of pleasure still I find “A vacancy within which sense can ne'er supply. "Ye unperforming promifers! "Be all my bafer paflions dead, "And bafe defires, by nature made "For animals and boys: "Man has a relish more refin'd, "Souls are for focial blifs defign'd, Give me a bleffing fit to match my mind, "A kindred-foul to double and to fhare my joys." Myrrha Myrrha appear'd: "Serene her foul "And active as the fun, yet steady as the pole : "In fofter beauties fhone her face; Every Mufe, and every Grace, "Made her heart and tongue their feat, "Her heart profufely good, her tongue divinely fweet: Myrrha the wonder of his eyes ;" To DAVID POL HILL, ESQ. An Answer to an infamous Satyr, called, " ADVICE TO A PAINTER;" written by a nameless Author, against King William III, of Glorious Memory, 1698. SIR, WHEN you put this fatyr into my hand, you gave me the occasion of employing my pen to answer fo deteftable a writing; which might be done much much more effectually by your known zeal for the intereft of his majefty, your counfels and your courage employed in the defence of your king and country. And fince you provoked me to write, you will accept of thofe efforts of my loyalty to the best of kings, addreffed to one of the most zealous of his fubjects, by SIR, Your moft obedient fervant, I. W. PART I. AND muft the hero, that redeem'd our land, Here in the front of vice and scandal stand? To guard his England from the Irish knife, And crush the French dragoon? Mud William's name, Polhill, my blood boils high, my fpirits flame; Why fmoke the skies not? Why no thunders roll? Auda Audaciou. wretch! to stab a monarch's fame, O! could my thought but grasp the vast design, I'd roufe Apelles, from his iron fleep, And bid him trace the warrior o'er the deep: Mark him again emerging from the cloud, He wards the fate of nations, and provokes his own: Now, noble pencil, lead him to our isle, } Then |