An Epistle TO THE RIGHT HON. HENRY FOX. Written in August 1745. Nec magis expressi vultus per ænea signa RARE, and more rare, my verses still appear, I scarce produce a poem in a year. Yet blame not, Fox, or hear me e'er you blame; I once possess'd, I daily feel expire ; To speak and charm in public, friend, is thine : The silent arts of poetry are mine: And when some striking thought affects my mind, I rest not till to paper 'tis consign'd. Then with a parent's fondness I behold My child escap'l from memory's treach'rous hold; And smooth'd in verse, and harmoniz'd in rhyme, I had no fondness for an author's name; My works, like bastards, dropt about the town, They laugh, they fear, like, hate, are pleas'd and vex'd. "Twas your Why will you write," she cries, "forsake the Muse, Despise her gifts, her influence refuse; "To me in all thy life, for once attend, "Prudence to parts, would prove a useful friend. "I know your wants, and offer you my aid; "Which still you shun contemptuous and afraid; "Pleas'd with the praise, some partial few may give, "The hate and envy of the rest, you live : "Write rashly on, regardless whom you hit, "And yield to Satire, when impell'd by wit." "Cease Goddess, cease," I cry, "I'll hear no "I've ever been a rebel to thy power; [more, "Your caution's right, your arguments are true, "Th' advice is good, but 'tis unpleasant too. "Vain are your toils, and fruitless is your aid, "Whene'er you strive to change what nature made; "Turn to your altars, on your vot❜ries shine, "See Pelham ever kneeling at thy shrine. "Thro' you at first, by slow degrees he rose, "To you the zenith of his power he owes; "You taught him in your middle-way to steer, 66 Impartial, mod'rate, candid, to appear. "Fearful of enmity, to friendship cold, Cautiously frank, and timorously bold; "And so observant never to offend "A foe, he quite forgets to fix a friend. "Long vers'd in politics, but poor in parts, "The Courtier's tricks, but not the Statesman's arts; "His smile obedient to his purpose still, "Some dirty compromise his utmost skill. "In vain his own penurious soil he till'd, “ In vain he glean'd from Walpole's plenteous field; "In vain the exchequer robes around him flow, "The mantle does not make the prophet now. "Behind him close, behold Newcastle's* Grace, "Haste in his step, and absence in his face; "Who daily suppliant to thy temple goes, "And courts the Goddess, as he courts his foes. "Yet, spite of all thy influence, all thy care, "His prudence always deviates into fear; "His natural gifts so low, he strives in vain "To climb a height, that Dulness can attain; "Which Rushout reach'd, with long-opposing tir'd, "On which thy fav'rite, Wilmington, expir'd ; * Thomas Holles, Duke of Newcastle, Mr. Pelham's brother.-W. |