Dr. SEWELL, TO JAMES MOORE, Esq

Dear MOORE, While you, (so Poetry begins, When eager Youth by Imitation sins) So twice e'en ADDISON himself began, But the Verse mended as the Poems ran: This Censure past, those common Words erase, And kindly fancy better in the Place: From Oxford Groves, the Muses fav'rite Scene, To Baiae travel, to correct the Spleen, But count not Inns and Sign-Posts in the Way, And pen a Journey, like poor Poet GAY. With easy Converse from the ancient Store, Draw solid Wit, and from thy Genius more, Each by the other set, will brighter shine, As diff'rent Sweets in well-chose Flow'rs combine. Some Wits, too partial, to this Side incline, And ev'ry Ancient is, with them, Divine; They by their Language each Perfection scan, And measure by the Dress, and not the Man. To these, bright sparkling Phrases are a Rule, And Judgment follows Charms observ'd at School: Yet who shall tell that Age's proper Thoughts, If Critics deem'd them Beauties, or if Faults. Caesar to Terence lent but half a Smile, And nicer Pollio laught at Livy's Style; Horace with Freedom rough Lucilius blames, And gives poor Plautus' Quibbles harder Names: The Truth is this, of Language long since dead, No certain Rule or Standard can be had.