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DEDICATI O NO

Much did I wish, tho? little could I hope, it',
A friend in him, who was the friend of Pope. ys;T

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His hand, faid l, my youthful steps shall guide, -
And lead me safe where thousands fall beside
His temper, his experience fhall controul, :
And hufh to peace the tempest of my soul;
His judgment teach me, from the critic school,
How not to err, and how to err by rule;
Instruct me, mingle profit with delight,
Where POPE was wrong, where SHAKESPEARE was

not right; Where they are justly prais’d and where thro'whim, How little's due to them, how much to him. Rais d 'bove the flavery of common rules, Of common sense, of modern, ancient schools, Those feelings banish'd, which miflead us all, Fools as we are, and which we nature call, He, by his great example, might impart

+ A better something, and baptize it Art; He, all the feelings of my youth forgot, Might shew me what is taste, by what is not; By him supported, with a proper pride, I might hold all mankind as fools beside ; He (should a world, perverse and peevish grown, Explode his maxims, and affert their own

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DEDICATI O.N.

HE

Might teach me, like himself, to be content,
And let their folly be their punishment;
Might, like himself, teach his adopted son,
'Gainst all the world, to quote a WARBURTON.

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Fool that I was, could I so much deceive
My soul with lying hopes; could I believe
That he, the servant of his Maker sworn,
The servant of his Saviour, would be torn
From their embrace, and leave that dear employ,
The cure of souls, his duty and his joy,
For toys

like mine, and waste his precious time,
On which so much depended, for a rhime?
Should he forsake the talk he undertook,
Desert his flock, and break his past’ral crook?
Should he (forbid it Heaven) so high in place,
So rich in knowledge, quit the work of Grace,
And, idly wand'ring o'er the Mufe's hill,
Let the salvation of mankind stand still?

Far, far be that from thee-yes, far from thee
Be such revolt from Grace, and far from me
The will to think it-guilt is in the thought-
Not so, not so, hath WARBURTON been taught,
Not folearn'd Christ-Recallthat day, well-known,
When (to maintain God's honour—and his own)

He

D E DI C A TI O N.

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He callid blasphemers forth-Methinks I now
See stern rebuke enthroned on his brow,
And arm’d with tenfold terrors-from this tongue,
Where fiery zeal, and Christian fury hung,
Methinks I hear the deep-ton'd thunders roll,
And chill with horror ev'ry sinner's soul-
In vain they strive to fy-flight cannot save,
And Potter trembles even in his grave-
With all the conscious pride of innocence,
Methinks I hear him, in his own defence,
Bear witness to himself, whilst all men knew,
By Gospel rules, his witness to be true.

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O glorious man, thy zeal I must commend, Tho? it depriv'd me of my dearest friend. The real motives of thy anger known, Wilkes must the justice of that anger own, And, could thy bosom have been bar'd to view, Pitied himself, in turn had pitied you.

Bred to the law, you wisely took the gown, Which I, like Demas, foolishly laid down. Hence double strength our Holy Mother drew: Me she

got rid of, and made prize of you. I, like an idle truant, fond of play, Doting on toys, and throwing gems away,

Grasping Xiv DE DI ¢ À TI O N. Grasping at lhadows, let the fubstance tip te But you, my Lord, renounc'd Attorneyship

WOL WG With better purpose, and more noble aim, And wisely play'd a more substantial game. Nor did Law mourn, bless'd in her younger son For Mansfield does what GLOSTER would have

done

Doctor, Dean, Bishop, Gloster, and My Lord, If haply these high titles may accord With thy meek fpirit, if the barren found Of pride delights thee, to the topmost round Of fortune's ladder got, despise not one, For want of smooth hypocrify undone, Who, far below, turns up his wond’ring eye, And, without envy, sees thee plac'd so high, Let not thy brain (as brains less potent migkt) Dizzy, confounded, giddy with the height, Turn round, and lose distinction, lose her skill And wonted powers of knowing good from ill, Of fifting truth from falfhood, friends from foes; Let GLOSTER well remember, how he rose, Nor turn his back on men who made him great ; Let him not, gorg'd with pow'r, and drunk with ftate,

Forget

P E DI Ç A TI O N. Forget what once he was, tho' now so highzc 10 How low, how mean, and full as poor as to sa?

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