native Strength, and Foreign Aid deny'd! Had not wild Fairies blasted his Design, Mæanides and Virgil had been Thine! Their Finish'd Poems He exactly view'd, But Chaucer's steps religiously pursu'd.

Spencer

    He cull'd, and pick'd, and thought it greater praise T'adore his Master, than improve his Phrase;   'Twas counted Sin to deviate from his Page; So secred was th' Authority of Age! The Coyn must sure for currant Sterling pass, Stamp'd with old Chaucer's Venerable Face. But Johnson found it of a gross Alloy, Melted it down, and slung the Dross away He dug pure Silver from a Roman Mine, And prest his Sacred Image on the Coyn. We all rejoyc'd to see the pillag'd Oar, Our Tongue inrich'd, which was so poor before. Fear not, Learn'd Poet, our impartial blame, Such Thefts as these add Lustre to thy Name. Whether thy labour'd Comedies betray The Sweat of Terence, in thy Glorious way, Or Catliine plots better in thy Play. Whether his Crimes more excellently shine, Whether we hear the Consul's Voice Divine, And doubt which merits most, Rome's Cicero, or Thine. All yield, consenting to sustain the Yoke, And learn the Language which the Victor spoke. So Macedon's Imperial Hero threw His wings abroad, and conquer'd as he flew. Great Johnson'sBen. Johnson. Deeds stand Parallel with His, Were Noble Thefts, Successful Pyracies.

Ben. Johnson.

    Souls of a Heroe's, or a Poet's Frame Are fill'd with larger particles of flame. Scorning confinement, for more Land they groan, And stretch beyond the Limits of their Own.

 Fletcher and Beaument Fletcher, whose Wit, like some luxuriant Vine, Profusely wanton'd in each golden Line. Who, prodigal of Sense, by Beaumont's care, Was prun'd so wisely, and became so fair. Could from his copious Brain new Humours bring, A bragging Bessus, or inconstant King. Could Laughter thence, here melting pity raise In his Amyntors, and Aspasia's. But Rome and Athens must the Plots produce With France, the Handmaid of the English Muse

Fletcher and Beaument

 Shakespear. Ev'n Shakespear sweated in his narrow Isle, And Subject Italy obey'd his Stile. Boccace and Cinthio must a tribute pay, T'inrich his Scenes, and furnish out a Play. Tho' Art ne're taught him how to write by Rules, Or borrow Learning from Athenian Schools:   Yet He, with Plautus, could instruct and please, * See Plutarch's Life of Theseus. And what 

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