IN polish'd numbers, and majestic sound,
Where shall thy rival, POPE, be ever found?
But whilst each line with equal beauty flows,
E'en excellence, unvary'd, tedious grows.
Nature, thro' all her works, in great degree,
Borrows a blessing from VARIETY.
Music itself her needful aid requires
To rouze the soul, and wake our dying fires.
Still in one key, the Nightingale would teize:
Still in one key, not BRENT would always please.