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None e'er disgust the judging mind,
This Lowther's noble Planter knew, And kept it in his constant view. So sweetly wild his woods are strown, Nature mistakes them for her own, Yet all to proper soil and site So suited, doubly they delight. While tender plants in vales repose, 50 Where the mild zephyr only blows, Embattled firs bleak hills adorn, Under whose safeguard smiles the corn. Who builds or plants, this rule should know, From truth and use all beauties flow.
FRIEND AT ROME.
BY JOSEPH SPENCE, M. A.
From horrid mountains ever hid in snow,
have said ; and much have said in vain. Fine pageants these for slaves, to please the eye ; And put the neatest dress on misery!
Bred up to slav'ry and dissembled pain, Unhappy man! you trifle with your chain : But should your friend with your desires comply, And sell himself to Rome and slav'ry;
EPISTLES CRITICAL, &c.
He could not wear his trammels with that art,
Falsely you blame our barren rocks and plains,
In arms we breed our youth. To dart from far,
Whilst every wound is for their country's sake.
I envy not your arts, the Roman schools, Improv’d, perhaps, but to inslave your souls. May you to stone, or nerves or beauty give, And teach the soft'ning marble how to live; 30 May you the passions in your colors trace, And work up every piece with every grace ; In airs and attitudes be wond'rous wise, And know the arts to please or to surprize ; In music's softest sound consume the day, Sounds that would melt the warrior's soul away : Vain efforts these, an honest fame to raise ; Your painters, and your eunuchs be your praise : Grant us more real goods, ye heav'nly Pow'rs! Virtue and arms, and liberty be ours. Weak are your
offers to the free and brave; No bribe can purchase me to be a slave. Hear me, ye rocks, ye mountains, and ye plains, The happy bounds of our Helvetian swains !. In thee, my Country, will I fix my seat; Nor envy the poor wretch, that wou'd be great : My life and arms I dedicate to Thee; For, know, it is my int’rest to be free.
EPISTLE I. Page 1. The Author of this Epistle was descended from the Parnells who had been long seated at Congleton in Cheshire, but on the Restoration withdrew to Ireland, in consequence of their adherence to the Commonwealth party. In the capital of that kingdom our Poet was born in 1676, and, having been instructed in the classics by Dr. Jones, was admitted into Trinity College, Dublin, at the
of thirteen. In July 1700, he took his master's degree and orders; and about four years after was collated by the Bishop of Clogher, to that archdeaconry. Prior, however, to this period, he marrried a Miss Anne Minchin, who was remarkable both for beauty and merit. By her, he had two sons and a daughter. The latter survived him, but both the former died young. The loss of his wife, preyed greatly on his spirits and considerably hastened his own dissolution. Dying on his way to Ireland; at Chester, he was there buried in