To
the
Reverend
Mr.
Mabell
,
of
Cambridge
,
who
has
publish'd
Proposals
for
a
Translation
of
Longinus
.
By
William
Ward
,
Esq
;
Bath
,
Dec.
20.
1731.
Tho'
great
Longinus
claims
thy
aiding
Hand
,
And
hopes
,
thro'
thee
,
t'instruct
a
barb'rous
Land
,
Where
vile
Conceits
the
Pow'r
of
Wit
confound
,
And
true
Sublimity
is
lost
in
Sound
;
Where
Folly
,
dress'd
ten
thousand
various
Ways
,
The
Bar
,
the
Play-house
,
and
the
Pulpit
sways
;
Yet
to
my
Verse
thy
kind
Attention
lend
;
Pardon
the
Poet
,
and
indulge
the
Friend
.
From
Noise
,
and
Nonsense
,
and
vain
Laughter
free
,
I
steal
a
thoughtful
Hour
,
and
give
to
thee
;
To
thee
,
Conductor
of
my
heedless
Youth
,
Who
taught
me
first
to
rev'rence
Sense
,
and
Truth
;
Virtue
to
praise
;
and
boldly
Vice
deride
,
With
all
the
Pomp
of
Fashion
on
her
Side
.
Behold
the
Scene
a
motley
Tribe
compose
,
Wives
,
Widows
,
Maids
,
and
intermingled
Beaux
,
All
Orders
,
Ages
,
in
one
League
unite
,
And
to
dear
Passage
consecrate
the
Night
!
Now
the
Dice
rattle
in
the
sounding
Box
;
Now
groans
the
Table
with
repeated
Knocks
;
(
Delightful
Musick
to
the
Gamester's
Ear
!
)
While
ev'ry
Bosom
beats
with
Hope
or
Fear
.
A
Pass
resounds
—
What
wond'rous
Transports
rise
In
Celia's
Breast
,
and
lighten
in
her
Eyes
!
She
sweeps
the
Board
—
The
Fop
,
with
ardent
Gaze
,
Admires
the
Beauty
that
her
Arm
displays
.
But
who
,
unmov'd
,
can
bear
the
piteous
Sight
,
While
Cynthia
frets
and
raves
at
Fortune's
Spite
?
Fled
from
her
Cheek
are
ev'ry
Love
and
Grace
,
And
all
the
Fury
threatens
in
her
Face
:
Distracted
,
lost
,
with
Grief
and
Rage
o'ercome
,
She
quits
the
Dice
,
and
flies
to
storm
at
home
.
When
I
a
Curse
implore
,
may
courteous
Fate
With
such
a
Consort
curse
the
Man
I
hate
!
But
is
there
One
amongst
the
Many
found
,
Adorn'd
with
Modesty
,
with
Reason
crown'd
;
Who
treads
the
slipp'ry
Paths
of
Youth
with
Care
,
And
uninfected
breathes
in
tainted
Air
?
If
such
there
be
,
kind
Heav'n
,
afford
thy
Aid
,
And
soften
to
my
Wish
the
virtuous
Maid
!
See
the
Belle
flutter
with
the
sprightly
Beau
!
They
trip
it
on
the
light
,
fantastic
Toe
:
Nor
Words
,
nor
Sighs
,
their
am'rous
Thoughts
impart
;
They
dance
,
and
glitter
at
each
other's
Heart
!
With
honest
Scorn
survey
yon
various
Croud
,
Of
supple
Slaves
,
or
Lords
of
Titles
proud
!
Stiff-nodding
Fools
!
a
Mob
in
Masquerade
!
Whom
Honours
brand
,
and
Dignities
upbraid
.
Yet
some
there
are
,
with
Worth
and
Wisdom
blest
.
A
noble
Few
!
who
satirize
the
rest
;
Who
scorn
to
boast
their
great
Fore-father's
Rays
,
Shine
of
themselves
,
and
mingle
Blaze
with
Blaze
.
And
such
is
Orrery
;
whose
gen'rous
Mind
,
Still
prone
to
Pity
,
feels
for
human
Kind
.
A
Zeal
for
Piety
inflames
his
Breast
,
Temper'd
with
Charity
,
in
Meekness
dress'd
:
Grandeur
and
Ease
his
ev'ry
Action
guide
;
He
nor
assumes
,
nor
condescends
in
Pride
:
Add
sprightly
Wit
,
by
prudent
Laws
confin'd
,
A
Judgment
sober
,
and
by
Books
refin'd
:
Add
that
the
Muses
ev'ry
Charm
dispense
,
To
tune
his
Voice
,
and
beautify
the
Sense
.
This
to
my
Friend
:
And
,
O
!
may
this
inspite
Love
of
fair
Fame
,
and
fan
the
sacred
Fire
!
Dare
to
have
Taste
,
and
urge
thy
glorious
Toil
,
To
teach
th'
Unknowing
,
and
to
please
a
Boyle
.