TO
THE
Reverend
Dr.
AYSCOUGH
at
Oxford
.
Written
from
Paris
in
the
Year
1728.
By
the
Same
.
SAY
,
dearest
friend
,
how
roll
thy
hours
away
?
What
pleasing
study
cheats
the
tedious
day
?
Dost
thou
the
sacred
volumes
oft
explore
Of
wise
Antiquity's
immortal
lore
,
Where
virtue
by
the
charms
of
wit
refin'd
,
At
once
exalts
and
polishes
the
mind
?
How
diff'rent
from
our
modern
guilty
art
,
Which
pleases
only
to
corrupt
the
heart
;
Whose
curs'd
refinements
odious
Vice
adorn
,
And
teach
to
honour
what
we
ought
to
scorn
!
Dost
thou
in
sage
Historians
joy
to
see
How
Roman
Greatness
rose
with
Liberty
;
How
the
same
hands
that
tyrants
durst
controul
,
Their
empire
stretch'd
from
Atlas
to
the
Pole
;
Till
wealth
and
conquest
into
slaves
refin'd
The
proud
luxurious
masters
of
mankind
?
Dost
thou
in
letter'd
Greece
each
charm
admire
,
Each
grace
,
each
virtue
Freedom
could
inspire
;
Yet
in
her
troubled
states
see
all
the
woes
And
all
the
crimes
that
giddy
Faction
knows
;
Till
rent
by
parties
,
by
Corruption
sold
,
Or
weakly
careless
,
or
too
rashly
bold
,
She
sunk
beneath
a
mitigated
doom
,
The
slave
and
tut'ress
of
protecting
Rome
?
Does
calm
Philosophy
her
aid
impart
,
To
guide
the
passions
,
and
to
mend
the
heart
?
Taught
by
her
precepts
,
hast
thou
learnt
the
end
To
which
alone
the
wise
their
studies
bend
;
For
which
alone
by
nature
were
design'd
The
pow'rs
of
thought
—
to
benefit
mankind
?
Not
like
a
cloyster'd
drone
,
to
read
and
doze
,
In
undeserving
,
undeserv'd
repose
;
But
reason's
influence
to
diffuse
;
to
clear
Th'
enlighten'd
world
of
ev'ry
gloomy
fear
;
Dispel
the
mists
of
error
,
and
unbind
Those
pedant
chains
that
clog
the
freeborn
mind
,
Happy
who
thus
his
leisure
can
employ
!
He
knows
the
purest
hours
of
tranquil
joy
;
Nor
vex'd
with
pangs
that
busier
bosoms
tear
,
Nor
lost
to
social
Virtue's
pleasing
care
;
Safe
in
the
port
,
yet
lab'ring
to
sustain
Those
who
will
float
on
the
tempestuous
main
.
So
Locke
the
days
of
studious
quiet
spent
;
So
Boyle
in
wisdom
found
divine
content
;
So
Cambray
,
worthy
of
a
happier
doom
,
The
virtuous
slave
of
Louis
and
of
Rome
.
Good
Dr.
HOUGH
.
Wor'ster
thus
supports
his
drooping
age
,
Far
from
court-flatt'ry
,
far
from
party
rage
;
He
,
who
in
youth
a
tyrant's
frown
defy'd
,
Firm
and
intrepid
on
his
country's
side
,
Her
boldest
champion
then
,
and
now
her
mildest
guide
.
O
gen'rous
warmth
!
O
sanctity
divine
!
To
emulate
his
worth
,
my
friend
,
be
thine
:
Learn
from
his
life
the
duties
of
the
gown
;
Learn
not
to
flatter
,
nor
insult
the
crown
;
Nor
basely
servile
court
the
guilty
great
,
Nor
raise
the
Church
a
rival
to
the
State
:
To
Error
mild
,
to
Vice
alone
severe
,
Seek
not
to
spread
the
law
of
Love
by
Fear
.
The
priest
,
who
plagues
the
world
,
can
never
mend
:
No
foe
to
Man
was
e'er
to
God
a
friend
:
Let
reason
and
let
virtue
faith
maintain
,
All
force
but
theirs
is
impious
,
weak
,
and
vain
.
Me
other
cares
in
other
climes
engage
,
Cares
that
become
my
birth
,
and
suit
my
age
;
In
various
knowledge
to
improve
my
youth
,
And
conquer
Prejudice
,
worst
foe
to
Truth
;
By
foreign
arts
domestick
faults
to
mend
,
Enlarge
my
notions
,
and
my
views
extend
;
The
useful
science
of
the
world
to
know
,
Which
books
can
never
teach
,
or
pedants
shew
.
A
nation
here
I
pity
,
and
admire
,
Whom
noblest
sentiments
of
glory
fire
,
Yet
taught
by
custom's
force
,
and
bigot
fear
,
To
serve
with
pride
,
and
boast
the
yoke
they
bear
:
Whose
Nobles
born
to
cringe
,
and
to
command
,
In
courts
a
mean
,
in
camps
a
gen'rous
band
;
From
each
low
tool
of
pow'r
content
receive
Those
laws
,
their
dreaded
arms
to
Europe
give
.
Whose
people
vain
in
want
,
in
bondage
blest
,
Though
plunder'd
,
gay
;
industrious
,
though
oppress'd
;
With
happy
follies
rise
above
their
fate
,
The
jest
and
envy
of
each
wiser
state
.
Yet
here
the
Muses
deign'd
awhile
to
sport
In
the
short
sun-shine
of
a
fav'ring
court
:
Here
Boileau
strong
in
sense
,
and
sharp
in
wit
,
Who
from
the
ancients
,
like
the
ancients
writ
,
Permission
gain'd
inferior
vice
to
blame
,
By
flatt'ring
incense
to
his
Master's
fame
.
Here
Moliere
,
first
of
comick
wits
,
excell'd
Whate'er
Athenian
theatres
beheld
;
By
keen
,
yet
decent
satire
skill'd
to
please
,
With
morals
mirth
uniting
,
strength
with
ease
.
Now
charm'd
,
I
hear
the
bold
Corneille
inspire
Heroick
thought
with
Shakespear's
force
and
fire
;
Now
sweet
Racine
with
milder
influence
move
The
soften'd
heart
to
Pity
and
to
Love
.
With
mingled
pain
and
pleasure
I
survey
The
pompous
works
of
arbitrary
sway
;
Proud
palaces
,
that
drain'd
the
subject
store
,
Rais'd
on
the
ruins
of
th'
oppress'd
and
poor
;
Where
ev'n
mute
walls
are
taught
to
flatter
state
,
And
painted
triumphs
stile
Ambition
GREAT
The
victories
of
LOUIS
XVI
.
painted
in
the
galleries
of
Versailles
.
.
With
more
delight
those
pleasing
shades
I
view
,
Where
Condé
from
an
envious
court
withdrew
Chantilly
.
;
Where
,
sick
of
glory
,
faction
,
pow'r
and
pride
,
(
Sure
judge
how
empty
all
,
who
all
had
try'd
)
Beneath
his
palms
the
weary
Chief
repos'd
,
And
life's
great
scene
in
quiet
Virtue
clos'd
.
With
shame
that
other
fam'd
retreat
I
see
Adorn'd
by
Art
,
disgrac'd
by
Luxury
St.
Cloud
.
;
Where
Orleans
wasted
ev'ry
vacant
hour
In
the
wild
riot
of
unbounded
pow'r
.
Where
feverish
Debauch
and
impious
Love
Stain'd
the
mad
table
and
the
guilty
grove
.
With
these
amusements
is
thy
friend
detain'd
,
Pleas'd
and
instructed
in
a
foreign
land
;
Yet
oft
a
tender
wish
recalls
my
mind
From
present
joys
to
dearer
left
behind
:
O
native
isle
,
fair
Freedom's
happiest
feat
!
At
thought
of
thee
my
bounding
pulses
beat
;
At
thought
of
thee
my
heart
impatient
burns
,
And
all
my
country
on
my
soul
returns
.
When
shall
I
see
the
fields
,
whose
plenteous
grain
No
pow'r
can
ravish
from
th'
industrious
swain
?
When
kiss
with
pious
love
the
sacred
earth
,
That
gave
a
BURLEIGH
,
or
a
RUSSEL
birth
?
When
,
in
the
shade
of
laws
,
that
long
have
stood
,
Prop'd
by
their
care
,
or
strengthen'd
by
their
blood
,
Of
fearless
independence
wisely
vain
,
The
proudest
slave
of
Bourbon's
race
disdain
?
Yet
oh
!
what
doubt
,
what
sad
presaging
voice
Whispers
within
,
and
bids
me
not
rejoice
;
Bids
me
contemplate
ev'ry
state
around
,
From
sultry
Spain
to
Norway's
icy
bound
;
Bids
their
lost
rights
,
their
ruin'd
glories
see
;
And
tells
me
,
These
,
like
England
,
once
were
Free
.