[ II ]

But who to blaze his frailties feels delight,
When the great author riles to our fight?
When the pure tenour of his life we view,
Himself the bright exemplar that he drew?
Whose works console the good, instruct the wife,
And teach the foul to claim her kindred skies.

By grateful bards his name be ever sung,
Whose sterling touch has fix'd the English tongue!
Fortune's dire weight, the patron's cold disdain,
"Shook off, as dew-drops from the lion's mane²²;"