2 Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move; And if so fair, from vanity as free; As firm in friendship, and as fond in love; Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die, ('Twas even to thee,) yet the dread path once trod, Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, And bids 'the pure in heart behold their God.' AN HEROIC EPISTLE TO SIR WILLIAM CHAMBERS, KNIGHT, COMPTROLLER-GENERAL OF HIS MAJESTY'S WORKS, ETC. Knight of the Polar Star! by fortune placed To shine the Cynosure of British taste; Whose orb collects in one refulgent view The scattered glories of Chinese virtu; And spreads their lustre in so broad a blaze, That kings themselves are dazzled while they gaze: Oh, let the Muse attend thy march sublime, And, with thy prose, caparison her rhyme; Teach her, like thee, to gild her splendid song, With scenes of Yven-Ming, and sayings of Li-Tsong; Like thee to scorn dame Nature's simple fence; Leap each ha-ha of truth and common sense; And proudly rising in her bold career, Demand attention from the gracious ear Of him, whom we and all the world admit, Patron supreme of science, taste, and wit. Does envy doubt? Witness, ye chosen train, Who breathe the sweets of his Saturnian reign; Witness, ye Hills, ye Johnsons, Scots, Shebbeares, Hark to my call, for some of you have ears. Let David Hume, from the remotest north, In see-saw sceptic scruples hint his worth; David, who there supinely deigns to lie The fattest hog of Epicurus' sty; Though drunk with Gallic wine, and Gallic praise, David shall bless Old England's halcyon days; The mighty Home, bemired in prose so long, Again shall stalk upon the stilts of song: While bold Mac-Ossian, wont in ghosts to deal, Bids candid Smollett from his coffin steal; Bids Mallock quit his sweet Elysian rest, Sunk in his St John's philosophic breast, And, like old Orpheus, make some strong effort To come from Hell, and warble Truth at Court. There was a time, 'in Esher's peaceful grove, When Kent and Nature vied for Pelham's love,' That Pope beheld them with auspicious smile, And owned that beauty blest their mutual toil. Mistaken bard! could such a pair design Scenes fit to live in thy immortal line? Hadst thou been born in this enlightened day, Felt, as we feel, taste's oriental ray, Thy satire sure had given them both a stab, Called Kent a driveller, and the nymph a drab. For what is Nature? Ring her changes round, Her three flat notes are water, plants, and ground; Prolong the peal, yet, spite of all your clatter, The tedious chime is still ground, plants, and water. So, when some John his dull invention racks, To rival Boodle's dinners, or Almack's; Three uncouth legs of mutton shock our eyes, Three roasted geese, three buttered apple-pies. Come, then, prolific Art, and with thee bring The charms that rise from thy exhaustless spring; To Richmond come, for see, untutored Browne Destroys those wonders which were once thy own.