The speech of Sir Industry in the second Canto, when he enumerates the various blessings which flow from action, is surely one of the highest instances of genius which can be produced in poetry. In the second stanza, before he enters upon the subject, the poet complains of the decay of patronage, and the general depravity of taste; and in the third breaks out into the following exclamation, which is so perfectly beautiful, that it would be the greatest mortification not to transcribe it, I care not, fortune, what you me deny: You cannot rob me of free nature's grace; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shews her bright'ning face; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve: Let health my nerves, and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave; Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. Before we quit this poem, permit us, reader, to give you two more stanzas from it: the first shews Mr. Thomson's opinion of Mr. Quin as an actor; of their friendship we may say more hereafter. STANZA LXVII. Of the CASTLE of INDOLENCE. Here whilom ligg'd th'Aesopus[6] of the age; But called by fame, in foul ypricked deep, A noble pride restor'd him to the stage, And rous'd him like a giant from his sleep. Even from his slumbers we advantage reap: With double force th'enliven'd scene he wakes, Yet quits not nature's bounds. He knows to keep Each due decorum: now the heart he shakes, And now with well-urg'd sense th'enlighten'd judgment takes. The next stanza (wrote by a friend of the author's, as the note mentions) is a friendly, though familiar, compliment; it gives us an image of our bard himself, at once entertaining, striking, and just. STANZA LXVIII. A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseems, Who void of envy, guile, and lust of gain, On virtue still, and nature's pleasing themes, Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain: The world forsaking with a calm disdain. Here laugh'd he, careless in his easy seat; Here quaff'd, encircl'd with the joyous train, Oft moralizing sage: his ditty sweet He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat. We shall now consider Mr. Thomson as a dramatic writer.