To the Reverend T— T—, D. D. Sneyd Davies Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.006 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. VI. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 142-147. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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To the Reverend T— T— , D. D. "To his friend and neighbour Dr. Thomas Taylor. 1744." (1782) — FRench pow'r , and weak allies , and war , and want — No more of that , my friend ; you touch a string That hurts my ear . All politics apart , Except a gen'rous wish , a glowing prayer For British welfare , commerce , glory , peace . Give party to the winds : it is a word , A phantom sound , by which the cunning great Whistle to their dependents : a decoy To gull th' unwary , where the master stands Encouraging his minions , his train'd birds , Fed and caress'd their species to betray . See with what hollow blandishment and art They lead the winged captive to the snare ! Fools ! that in open aether might have soar'd , Free as the air they cut ; sip'd purest rills , Din'd with the Thames , or bath'd in crystal lakes . We wear no badges , no dependence own : Who truly loves thee , dearest Liberty , A silken fetter will uneasy sit . Heav'n knows it is not Insolence that speaks ! The tribute of respect to greatness due Not the brib'd sycophant more willing pays . Still , still as much of party be retain'd , As principle requires , and sense directs : Else our vain bark , without a rudder , floats The scorn and pastime of each veering gale . This gentle ev'ning let the sun descend Untroubled , while it paints your ambient hills With faded lustre , and a sweet farewel . Here is our seat : that castle opposite , Proud of its woody brow , adorns the scene , Dictate , O vers'd in books , and just of taste , Dictate the pleasing theme of our discourse . Shall we trace Science from her Eastern home Chaldaean ; or the banks of Nile , where Thebes , Nursing her daughter arts , majestic stood , And pour'd forth knowledge from an hundred gates ? There first the marble learn'd to mimic life , The pillar'd temple rose , and pyramids , Whose undecaying grandeur laughs at Time ; Birth-place of letters , where the sun was shewn His radiant way , and heav'ns were taught to roll . There too the Muses tun'd their earliest lyre , Warbling soft numbers to Serapis' ear ; 'Till chac'd by tyrants , or a milder clime Inviting , they remov'd with pilgrim harps , And all their band of harmony to Greece . As when a flock of linnets , if perchance Deliver'd from the falcon's talon , fly With trembling wing to cover , and renew Their notes ; tell ev'ry bush of their escape , And thrill their merry thanks to Liberty . The tuneful tribe , pleas'd with their new abode , Polish'd the rude inhabitants , whence tales Of list'ning woods , and rocks that danc'd to sound . Hear the full chorus lifting hymns to Jove ! Linus and Orpheus catch the strain , and all The raptur'd audience utter loud applause . A song , believe me , was no trifle then : Weighty the Muse's task , and wide her sway : Her's was religion , the resounding fanes Echo'd her language ; polity was her's , And the world bow'd to legislative verse . As states increas'd , and governments were form'd , Her aid less useful , she retir'd to grots And shady bow'rs , content to teach and please . Under her laurel frequent bards repos'd ; Voluble Pindar troll'd his rapid song , Or Sappho breath'd her spirited complaint : Here the stage buskin , there the lyric choir , And Homer's epic trumpet . Happy Greece , Bless'd in her offspring ! Seat of eloquence , Of arts and reason ; patriot-virtue's seat ! Did the sun thither dart uncommon rays ! Did some presiding genius hover o'er That animated soil with brooding wings ! The sad reverse might start a gentle tear — Go , search in Athens for herself , enquire Where are her orators , her sages now : Her arsenal overturn'd , her walls in dust , But far less ruin'd than her soul decay'd . The stone inscrib'd to Socrates , debas'd To prop a reeling cot : Minerva's shrine Possess'd by those who never heard her name . Upon the mount where old Mùsaeus sung , Sits the grim turban'd captain , and exacts Harsh tribute ; on the spot where Plato taught His heav'nly strains sublime , a stupid Turk Is preaching ignorance and Mahomet . Turn next to Rome : is that the clime , the place , Where once , as Fame reports , Augustus liv'd ? What magic has transform'd her , shrunk her nerves ? A wither'd laurel , and a mould'ring arch ! — Cou'd the pure crimson tide , the noblest blood That ever flow'd , to such a puddle turn ? She ends , like her long Appian , in a marsh ; Or Jordan's river pouring his clear urn Into the black Asphaltus' slimy lap . Patrons of wit , and victors of mankind , Bards , warriors , worthies ( revolution strange ) Are pimps and fidlers , mountebanks and monks . In Tully's beehive , magazine of sweets , The lazy drones are buzzing or asleep . But we forgive the living for the dead ; Indebted more to Rome than we can pay . Of a long dearth prophetic , she lay'd in A feast for ages . — O thou banquet nice , Where the soul riots with secure excess ! What felt delight ! what pleasing useful hours Repeated owe we to her letter'd sons ! We by their favour Tiber's walks enjoy , Their temples trace , and share their noble games ; Enter the crowded theatre at will , Go to the forum , hear the consul plead , Are present in the thund'ring Capitol When Tully speaks ; at softer hours attend Harmonious Virgil to his Mantuan farm , Or Baian ; and with happy Horace talk In myrtle groves by Teverone's cascade . Hail , precious pages ! that amuse and teach , Exalt the genius , and improve the breast . Ye sage historians all your stores unfold , Reach your clear steady mirror — in that glass The forms of good and ill are well portray'd . But chiefly thou , divine Philosophy , Shed thy bless'd influence ; with thy train appear Of graces mild , far be the Stoic boast , The Cynic's snarl , and churlish pedantry . Bright visitant , if not too high my wish , Come in the lovely dress you wore , a guest At Plato's table , or at Tusculum , The Roman feasting his selected friends . Tamer of pride ! at thy serene rebuke See crouching insolence , spleen , and revenge Before thy shining taper disappear . Tutor of human life , auspicious guide , Whose faithful clue unravels ev'ry Muse , Whose conduct smooths the roughest paths ; whose voice Controuls each storm , and bids the roar be still : O condescend to gild my darksome roof : Let me know thee — the Delphic oracle Is then obey'd — and I shall know myself .