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his tresses dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream
his shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam:
grav'd on hisrn appear'd the moon, that guides
his swelling waters, and alternate tides;

the figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'd,
and on her banks Augusta rose in gold.
Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood,
who swell with tributary urns his flood:


first the fam'd authors of his ancient name, the winding Isis, and the fruitful Thame: the Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd;


the Loddon slow, with verdant alders crown'd;



Cole, whose dark streams his flow'ry islands lave; and chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave: the blue, transparent Vandalis appears; the gulphy Lee his sedgy tresses rears; and sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; and silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood. High in the midst, upon his urn reclin'd, (his sea-green mantle waving with the wind), the god appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes where Windsor domes and pompous turrets rise; then bow'd and spoke; the winds forget to roar, and the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore. Hail, sacred Peace! hail, long expected days, 355 that Thames's glory to the stars shall raise! tho' Tyber's streams immortal Rome behold, tho' foaming Hermus swells with tides of gold, from heav'n itself though sevenfold Nilus flows, and harvests on a hundred realms bestows; these now no more shall be the muse's themes, lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams. Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine, and groves of lances glitter on the Rhine,


let barb'rous Ganges arm a servile train; be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign.

No more my sons shall dye with British blood red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood:

safe on my shore each unmolested swain


shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain; 370 the shady empire shall retain no trace

of war or blood, but in the sylvan chace;

the trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown, and arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone. Behold th' ascending villas on my side, project long shadows o'er the crystal tide; behold! Augusta's glitt'ring spires increase, and temples rise, the beauteous works of Peace. I see, I see, where two fair cities bend their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend! there mighty nations shall inquire their doom, the world's great oracle in times to come; there kings shall sue, and suppliant states be seen once more to bend before a British Queen.





Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their and half thy forests rush into the floods, bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display

to the bright regions of the rising day;
tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll,
where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole;
or under southern skies exalt their sails,
led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales!
for me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow,
the coral redden, and the ruby glow,

the pearly shell it 's lucid globe infold,
and Phoebus warm the rip'ning ore to gold.
The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind,
unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind,
whole nations enter with each swelling tide,




and seas but join the regions they divide; Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, and the new world launch forth to seek the old. Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, and feather'd people crowd my wealthy side, and naked youths and painted chiefs admire our speech, our colour, and our strange attire! Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to shore, till conquest cease, and slav'ry be no more;

till the freed Indians in their native groves




reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves; 410 Peru once more a race of kings behold, and other Mexicos be roof'd with gold. Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell, in brazen bonds, shall barb'rous Discord dwell; gigantic pride, pale terror, gloomy care, and mad Ambition, shall attend her there: there purple vengeance, bath'd in gore retires, her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires: there hated envy her own snakes shall feel, and persecution mourn her broken wheel: there faction roar, rebellion bite her chain, and gasping Furies thirst for blood in vain. Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays, touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days: the thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite, and bring the scenes of op'ning fate to light. My humble muse, in unambitious strains, paints the green forests and the flow'ry plains, where Peace descending bids her olive spring, and scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, pleas'd in the silent hade with empty praise; enough for me, that to the list'ning swains first in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.




[Written in the year 1709. ]


Introduction. That it is as great a fault to judge ill, as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public, ver. 1. That a true taste is as rare to be found as a true genius, v. 9,---18. That most men are born with some taste, but spoiled by false education, v. 19,---25. The multitude of critics, and causes of them, v. 26,--45. That we are to study our own taste, and know the limits of it, vi 46,---67. Nature the best guide of judgment, v. 68,---87; improved by art and rules, which are but methodized Nature, v. 88. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets, v. 88,---110; that therefore the Ancients are necessary to be studied by a critic, particularly Homer and Virgil, v. 118,--138. Of licenses, and the use of them, by the Ancients, v. 141,-180. Reverence due to the Ancients, and praise of them, v. 181, &c. Causes hindering a true judgment. 1, Pride, v, 209. 2,Imperfect learning, v. 215. 3, Judging by parts, and not by the whole, v. 233---288. Critics in wit, language, versification only, v. 289,305, 337, &c. 4, Being too hard to please, or too apt to admire, v. 384. 5, Partiality,-- too much love to a sect,--- to the ancients or moderns, v. 394. 6, Prejudice or prevention, v. 408. 7, Singularity, v. 424. 8, Inconstancy, v.430. 9, Party spirit, v. 452, &c. 10, Envy, v. 466. Against envy, and in praise of good-nature, v. 508. &c. When severity is chiefly to be used by critics, v. 526, &c. Rules for the conduct of manners in a critic. 1, Candour, v. 563. Modesty, v. 566, Good breeding, v. 72. Sincerity and freedom of advice, v. 578. 2, When one's counsel is to be restrained, v. 584. Character of an incorrigible poet, v. 600; and of an impertinent critic, v. 610, &c. Character of a good critic, v. 631. The history of criticism and characters of the best critics, Aristotle, v. 645. Horace, v. 653. Dionysius, v. 665. Petronius, v.667. Quintilian, v. 669. Longinus, v. 675. Of the decay of criticism, and it's revival. Erasmus, v. 693. Vida, v. 705. Boileau, v. 714. Lord Roscommon, &c. v. 725. Conclusion,

'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
appear in writing or in judging ill;
but of the two less dang'rous is th' offence
to tire our patience than mislead our sense:
some few in that, but numbers err in this,



ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
a fool might once himself alone expose;
now one in verse makes many more in prose.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In poets as true genius is bút rare,

true taste as seldom is the critic's share;

both must alike from Heav'n derive their light, these born to judge as well as those to write. Let such teach others who themselves excel, Eand censure freely who have written well. Authors are partial to their wit, 't is true, but are not critics to their judgment too? Yet if we look more closely we shall find most have the seeds of judgment in their mind: nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;

the lines tho' touch'd but faintly are drawn right: but as the slightest sketch, if justly trac❜d, is by ill-colouring but the more disgrac'd, so by false learning is good sense defac'd: some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools, and some made coxcombs nature meant but fools: in search of wit these lose their common sense, and then turn critics in their own defence: each burns alike who can or cannot write, or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite. All fools have still an itching to deride, and fain would be upon the laughing side. If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite, there are who judge still worse than he can write.

Some have at first for wits, then poets, past, turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last. Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,

as heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.






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