There are, indeed, whose wish pursues, And inclination courts the muse; Who, happy in a partial fame, A while possess a poet's name, But read their works, examine fair, —Shew me invention, fancy there, Taste I allow; but is the flow Of genius in them? Surely, no. 'Tis labour from the classic brain. Read your own ADDISON'S CAMPAIGN.
E'en he, nay, think me not severe, A critic fine, of Latin ear, Who toss'd his classic thoughts around With elegance on Roman ground, Just simmering with the muse's flame Woos but a cool and sober dame; And all his English rhimes express But beggar-thoughts in royal dress. In verse his genius seldom glows, A POET only in his prose, Which rolls luxuriant, rich, and chaste, Improved by Fancy, Wit, and Taste.
