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MISCELLANIES.
The kindred arts shall in their praise conspire,
One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre.
Yet should the Graces all thy figures place,
And breath an air divine on ev'ry face;
Yet should the Muses bid my numbers roll,
Strong as their charms, and gentle as their soul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgwater vie,
And these be sung till Granville's Myra die;
Alas! how little from the grave we claim?
Thou but preserv'st a Form, and I a Name.
One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre.
Yet should the Graces all thy figures place,
And breath an air divine on ev'ry face;
Yet should the Muses bid my numbers roll,
Strong as their charms, and gentle as their soul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgwater vie,
And these be sung till Granville's Myra die;
Alas! how little from the grave we claim?
Thou but preserv'st a Form, and I a Name.
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