[4] Epictetus.

    Among these sacred and immortal Names, [Oldham.]
  A Youth glares out, and his just Honour claims;
  See circling Flames, in stead of Laurel, play
  Around his Head, and Sun the brighten’d Way. 
  But misty Clouds of unexpected Night,
  Cast their black Mantle o’er th’ immoderate Light. 
  Here, pious Muse, lament a While; ’tis just
  We pay some Tribute to his sacred Dust. 
  O’er his fresh Marble strow the fading Rose
  And Lilly, for his Youth resembled those. 
  The brooding Sun took care to dress him Gay,
  In all the Trappings of the flowry May. 
  He set him out unsufferably bright,
  And sow’d in every part his beamy Light. 
  Th’ unfinish’d Poet budded forth too soon,
  For what the Morning warm’d; was scorch’d at Noon.

    His careless Lines plain Nature’s Rules obey,
  Like Satyrs Rough, but not Deform’d as they. 
  His Sense undrest, like Adam, free from Blame,
  Without his Cloathing, and without his Shame,
  True Wit requires no Ornaments of skill,
  A Beauty naked, is a Beauty still.

    Warm’d with just Rage he lash’d the Romish Crimes,
  In rugged Satyr and ill-sounding Rhymes. 
  All Italy felt his imbitter’d Tongue,
  And trembled less when sharp Lucilius Stung. 
  Here let us pass in Silence, nor accuse
  Th’ extravagance of his Unhallow’d Muse. 
  In Jordan’s stream she wash’d the tainted Sore,
  And rose more Beauteous than She was before.

[Lee.]

    Then Fancy curb’d began to Cool her Rage,
  And Sparks of Judgment glimmer’d in his Page,
  When the wild Fury did his Breast inspire,
  She rav’d, and set the Little World on Fire. 
  Thus Lee by Reason strove not to controul
  That powerful heat which o’er-inform’d his Soul. 
  He took his swing, and Nature’s bounds surpast,
  Stretch’d her, and bent her, till she broke at last. 
  I scorn to Flatter, or the Dead defame;
  But who will call a Blaze a Lambent Flame?

[Otway. and Dryden.]

    Terrour and Pity are allow’d to be,
  The moving parts of Tragic Poetry. 
  If Pity sooths us, Otway claims our Praise;
  If Terrour strikes, then Lee deserves the Bays. 
  We grant a Genius shines in Jaffeir’s Part,
  And Roman Brutus speaks a Master’s Art. 
  But still we often Mourn to see their Phrase
  An Earthly Vapour, or at Mounting Blaze. 
  A rising Meteor never was design’d,
  T’amaze the sober part of Human kind. 
  Were I to write for Fame, I would not chuse
  A Prostitute and Mercenary Muse. 
  Which for poor Gains must in rich Trappings go,
  Emptily Gay, magnificently Low,
  Like Ancient Rome’s Religion, Sacrifice and Show. 
  Things fashion’d for amusement and