Burn, sooty slander, burn thy blotted scroll; Greatness is greatness, spite of faction's soul. Deep let my soul detest th'adhesive pride, That changing sentiment, unchanges side. It would be tedious to enumerate the variety of smaller pieces he at different times was author of. His notions of the deity were boundlessly extensive; and the few lines here quoted from his Poem upon faith, published in 1746, must give the best idea of his sentiments upon that most elevated of all subjects. What then must be believ'd?--Believe God kind, To fear were to offend him. Fill thy heart With his felt laws; and act the good he loves. Rev'rence his power. Judge him but by his works: Know him but in his mercies. Rev'rence too The most mistaken schemes that mean his praise. Rev'rence his priests.--for ev'ry priest is his,-- Who finds him in his conscience.-- This year he published his Art of Acting, a Poem, deriving Rules from a new Principle, for touching the Passions in a natural Manner, &c. Which was dedicated to the Earl of Chesterfield. Having for many years been in a manner forgetful of the eight Books he had finished of his Epic Poem called Gideon,--in 1749 he re-perused that work, and published three of the Books; to which he gave the name of Gideon, or the Patriot.--They were inscribed to the late lord Bolingbroke; to whom he accounts as follows, for the alterations he had made since the first publication of two Books. Erring, where thousands err'd, in youth's hot smart, Propulsive prejudice had warp'd his heart: Bold, and too loud he sigh'd, for high distress, Fond of the fall'n, nor form'd to serve success; Partial to woes, had weigh'd their cause too light, Wept o'er misfortune,--and mis-nam'd it right: Anguish, attracting, turn'd attachment wrong, And pity's note mis-tun'd his devious song. 'Tis much lamented by many who are admirers of that species of poetry, that the author did not finish it. The same year (after a length of different applications, for several seasons, at both Theatres without success) his Tragedy, called Merope, was brought upon the stage in Drury-Lane by Mr. Garrick; to whom, as well as to another gentleman he likewise highly both admired and esteemed, he was greatly obliged; and his own words (here borrowed) will shew how just a sense he had of these obligations.--They begin the preface to the play. 'If there can be a pride that ranks with virtues, it is that we feel from friendships with the worthy. Mr. Mallet, therefore, must forgive me, that I boast the honour he has done my Merope--I have so long been a retreater from the world, that one of the best spirits in it told me lately, I had made myself an alien there. I must confess, I owe so many obligations to its ornaments of most distinguished genius, that I must have looked upon it as a great unhappiness to have made choice of solitude, could I have judged society in general, by a respect so due to these adorners of it.'