WITH age decay'd, with Courts and bus'ness tir'd, Caring for nothing but what Ease requir'd; Too dully serious for the Muse's sport, And from the Critics safe arriv'd in Port; I little thought of launching forth agen, Amidst adventrous rovers of the Pen: And after so much undeserv'd Success, Thus hazarding at last to make it less. Encomiums suit not this censorious time, It self a Subject for satyric Rhime; Ignorance honour'd, Wit and Worth defam'd, Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blam'd! But to this Genius, join'd with so much Art, Such various Learning mix'd in ev'ry part, Poets are bound a loud applause to pay; Apollo bids it, and they must obey. And yet so wonderful, sublime a thing, As the great Iliad, scarce should make me sing; Except I justly could at once commend A good Companion, and as firm a Friend. One moral, or a meer well-natur'd deed, Does all desert in Sciences exceed. 'Tis great Delight to laugh at some men's ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.
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