He _Words_ and _Things_ for _mutual Aid_ design'd, Before at _Variance_, in just _Numbers_ join'd; He always _soars_, but never's _out of sight_, He taught us how to _Speak_, and _Think_, and _Write_. 200 If _English Verse_ you'd in _Perfection_ see, ROSCOMMON read, and _Noble_ NORMANDY: We _borrow_ all from their _exhaustless Store_, Or little say they have not said _before_. _Poor Insects_ of a _Day_, we toil and strive To creep from _Dust_ to _Dust_, and think we _live_; These weak _imperfect Beings_ scarce enjoy E'er _Death's_ rude Hand our _blooming Hopes_ destroy: With _Lynx's_ Eyes each others _Faults_ we find, But to our _own_ how few who are not _blind_? 210 How _long is Art_, how _short_, alas! our _Time_! } How few who can above the _Vulgar_ climb, } Whose _stronger Genius_ reach the _True Sublime_! } With _tedious Rules_ which we our selves transgress, We make the _Trouble more_ who strive to make it _less_. But meanly why do you your _Fate_ deplore, Yet still write on?--Why do a _Thousand_ more, Who for their _own_ or some _Forefathers_ Crime Are _doom'd_ to wear their _Days_ in _beating Rhime_? But this a _Noble Patron_ will redress, 220 And make you _better write_, tho you _write less_: Whate'er a _discontented Mind_ pretends, _Distinguish'd Worth_ can rarely miss of _Friends_: Do but _excel_, and he'll at last arise Who from the _Dust_ may lift thee to the _Skies_; For his _own Sake_ will his _Protection_ grant; What _Horace_ e'er did yet _Mecaenas_ want? Or if the _World_ its _Favours_ should refuse, With _barren Smiles_ alone _reward_ thy Muse; Be thy _own Patron_, thou no more wilt need, 230 For all will _court_ thee if thy _Works succeed_; At least the few _Good Judges_ will commend, And _secret growing Praise_ thy Steps attend. Who shew'd _Columbus_ where the _Indies_ lay? True to thy self, _charge through_, and _force_ to _Fame_ the way! If _Envy snarl_, indulge it no _Reply_, Write _better_ still, and let it _burst_ and _die_! Rest pleas'd if you can please the _Wiser Few_, Since _to please all is more than Heav'n it self can do_. There are who _can_ whate'er they _will_ believe, 240 That _Bail's_ too hard for _Beady_, _Three_ are _Five_: That Nature, Justice, Reason, Truth must fall, With _Clear Idea's_ they'll _confound_ 'em all: That _Parallels_ may _travel_ till they _meet_; _Faith_ they can find in L----, no _Sense_ in STILLINGFLEET. Disturb 'em not, but let 'em still enjoy Th' _unenvy'd Charms_ of their _Eternal Moi_. If to the _craggy Top of Fame_ you rise, Those who are _lab'ring after_ ne'er _despise_. Nor those _above_ on _Honours_ dazling Seat } 250 Tho _disoblig'd_, with _sawcy Rudeness_ treat, } _Revenge_ not always is _below the Great_. }