TO Mr. JOHN TAYLOR, junior, BY Mr. BOYCE

While modest Merit does its Rays conceal, Let the just Muse draw the injurious Veil; 'Tis her's, fair Truth, distinguish'd to display, And place by Vertue, in its native Day. Then take rare Oculist, these artless Lays, As the free Tribute of unpurchas'd Praise. No longer timid, in Retirement pine, But claim the Notice that is justly Thine.

SAY, of the Blessings to Mankind decreed, From great Hippocrates, to greater Mead, The sov'reign Secrets of their Godlike Art, Which oft have warded Fate's approaching Dart; Can any with thy noble Science vie? Which guards that guiding Lamp of Life, the Eye; Gives us the heavenly Joys of Light to know, For what is Darkness, but infernal Woe! And clear from Clouds, redeems the visual Ray, To bless the Blind, who wish in vain for Day.

RARE Oculist! could'st thou restore aright But intellectual, as Organic Sight; Cou'd thy enlightning Needle but advance, The Cataracts to remove, of Ignorance; Unveil the Films, couch the distorted Eyes Of squinting Envy, scoulding Prejudice; Art would, with Praise, and Wealth embroider'd be, And Worth, no more dwell with Obscurity; Thy Cures, with Fame's best Quills, she should record Thy Lights, thro' Men, should glorify their Lord, Thy Skill, all Eyes, from deepest Darkness free; Tho' none so blind, as those who will not see.