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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454953" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ode X: To Thomas Edwards, Esquire: On The Late Edition Of Mr. Pope's Work</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Believe me, Edwards, to restrain<br>The licence of a railer's tongue<br>Is what but seldom men obtain<br>By sense or wit, by prose or song:<br>A task for more Herculean powers,<br>Nor suited to the sacred hours<br>Of leisure in the Muse's bowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>In bowers where laurel weds with palm,<br>The Muse, the blameless queen, resides:<br>Fair fame attends, and wisdom calm<br>Her eloquence harmonious guides:<br>While, shut for ever from her gate,<br>Oft trying, still repining, wait<br>Fierce envy and calumnious hate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>Who then from her delightful bounds<br>Would step one moment forth to heed<br>What impotent and savage sounds<br>From their unhappy mouths proceed?<br>No: rather Spenser's lyre again<br>Prepare, and let thy pious strain<br>For Pope's dishonor'd shade complain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>Tell how displeas'd was every bard,<br>When lately in the Elysian grove<br>They of his Muse's guardian heard,<br>His delegate to fame above;<br>And what with one accord they said<br>Of wit in drooping age misled,<br>And Warburton's officious aid:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate<br>To that melodious lyre assign'd<br>Beneath a tutor who so late<br>With Midas and his rout combin'd<br>By spiteful clamor to confound<br>That very lyre's enchanting sound,<br>Though listening realms admir'd around:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>How Horace own'd he thought the fire<br>Of his friend Pope's satiric line<br>Did farther fuel scarce require<br>From such a militant divine:<br>How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain<br>Who durst approach his hallow'd strain<br>With unwash'd hands and lips profane.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>Then Shakespear debonnair and mild<br>Brought that strange comment forth to view;<br>Conceits more deep, he said and smil'd,<br>Than his own fools or madmen knew:<br>But thank'd a generous friend above,<br>Who did with free adventurous love<br>Such pageants from his tomb remove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>And if to Pope, in equal need,<br>The same kind office thou would'st pay,<br>Then, Edwards, all the band decreed<br>That future bards with frequent lay<br>Should call on thy auspicious name,<br>From each absurd intruder's claim<br>To keep inviolate their fame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mark+Akenside">Mark Akenside</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=454953" data-title="Ode X: To Thomas Edwards, Esquire: On The Late Edition Of Mr. Pope's Work de Mark Akenside" data-description="I.
Believe me, Edwards, to restrain
The licence of a railer's tongue
Is what but seldom men obtain
By sense or wit, by prose or song:
A task for more Herculean powers,
Nor suited to the sacred hours
Of leisure in the Muse's bowers.

II.
In bowers ..."></div>
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