ON

Mr. HOBBS

AND HIS

WRITING S.

UCH is the Mode of thefe cenforious Days,

SUC

The Art is loft of knowing how to praise ;

Pocts are envious now, and Fools alone
Admire at Wit, because themselves have none.
Yet whatfoe'er is by vain Criticks thought,
Praifing is harder much than finding fault;
In homely Picces ev'n the Dutch excel,
Italians only can draw Beauty well.

As Strings, alike wound up, fo equal prove,
That one refounding makes the other move;

From

From fuch a caufe our Satires please so much,
- We sympathize with each ill-natur'd Touch,
And as the fharp Infection fpreads about,
The Reader's Malice helps the Writer out.
To blame, is easy; to commend, is bold;
Yet, if the Mufe infpires it, who can hold ?
To Merit we are bound to give Applaufe,
Content to fuffer in fo juft a Cause.

(While in dark Ignorance we lay afraid

Of Fancies, Ghofts, and every empty Shade;

Great HоBBS appear'd, and by plain Reafon's Light Put fuch fantastick Forms to fhameful Flight.

Fond is their Fear, who think Men needs must be

To Vice enflav'd, if from vain Terrors free

The Wife and Good, Morality will guide;
And Superftition all the World befide.

In other Authors tho' the Thought be good,
'Tis not sometimes fo eas'ly understood;
That Jewel oft unpolish'd has remain'd,

Some Words should be left out, and fome explain'd;

So that in fearch of Senfe, we either stray,
Or else grow weary in fo rough a way,

But here fweet Eloquence does always fmile,
In fuch a choice, yet unaffected Style,

As must both Knowledge and Delight impart,
The Force of Reason, with the Flowers of Art ;
Clear as a beautiful tranfparent Skin,

Which never hides the Blood, yet holds it in:
Like a delicious Stream it ever ran,

As finooth as Woman, but as ftrong as Man,
BACON himself, whofe univerfal Wit
Does Admiration through the World beget,
Scarce more his Age's Ornament is thought,
Or greater Credit to his Country brought.

While Fame is young, too weak to fly away,
Malice pursues her, like fome Bird of Prey ;
But once on wing, then all the Quarrels cease;
Envy her felf is glad to be at peace,

Gives over, weary'd with so high a Flight,
Above her reach, and fcarce within her Sight.

HOBBS

mile,

HOBBS to this happy Pitch arriv'd at last,

Might have look'd down with Pride on Dangers paft.
But fuch the Frailty is of Human Kind,

Men toil for Fame, which no Man lives to find;

part

Long ripening under-ground this China lics;

of &

Fame bears no Fruit, till the vain Planter dies.
Thus Nature, tir'd with his unusual length
Of Life, which put her to her utmoft Strength,
Such Stock of Wit unable to fupply,

To fpare her felf, was glad to let him die.

t

Writ

N 4

Written over a GATE.

H

ERE lives a Man, who by relation
Depends upon Predeftination;

For which the Learned and the Wife,
His Understanding much defpife:
But I pronounce with loyal Tongue
Him in the right, them in the wrong.
For how could fuch a Wretch fucceed?

But that, alas, it was Decreed!

The