Aaron Hill

Matthew Concanen, "To Aaron Hill, Esq; the Author of King Henry the Fifth" Savage, Miscellaneous Poems and Translations (1726) 180-81.

With modern Strains and tuneful Trifles tir'd,
Poetick Charms my Soul no longer fir'd;
No more I rais'd my Voice in faint Essays,
Nor strove to mimick what I could not praise:
Till yours appear'd, with ev'ry Grace endu'd,
Gave true Delight, and my old Flame renew'd.
Fresh Raptures to my Mind your Scenes infuse;
Teach Verse to charm, and rouse the sleeping Muse;
Who, starting from her Trance, addresses you,
Her first-fruit Off'rings are at least your Due.
So teach the rising Larks — the warbling Throng
First hail the Sun, who wak'd them to the Song.

SHAKESPEAR, whom All admire, Few understand,
By others marr'd, comes mended from your Hand,
What higher Praise can wait upon your Thoughts,
Than that his Beauties are esteem'd your Faults?
High was that Chief in Classic Tale renown'd,
Who made Rome Marble, which he Brick-work found:
Nor less your Fame which from this Piece is told,
You found it Copper, and you made it Gold.

Accept this Homage which a Stranger pays,
Unconscious who it is deserves the Praise;
Who feels his Heart with Admiration glow,
Nor knows the wondrous Man who charms him so.
Since thus the fam'd Athenian's Zeal was shown,
Who built an Altar to the God unknown.