To Mr. James Thompson; on His Asking My Advice, to What Patron He Should Address his Poem, Called Winter

Some Peers have noble skill to judge , 'tis true,
Yet, no poor prospect bounds the muse's view:
Firm, in your native strength, thus greatly shown,
Slight such delusive props , and stand alone:
Fruitless dependance, oft has prov'd, too late,
That greatness dwells not, always, with the Great .
Patrons are N ATURE ' nobles , not the S TATE'S ,
And Wit's a title, no broad seal creates:
E'en K INGS , from whose high source, all honours flow,
Are poor , in pow'r , when they would souls bestow.
He, who stoops safe , beneath a patron's shade,
Shines, like the moon , but by a borrow'd aid:
Truth should, unbias'd, free, and open, steer,
Strong, as heav'n 's heat, and, as its brightness, clear!
Heedless of fortune , then, look down, on state ,
Balanc'd, within, by merit's conscious weight:
Divinely proud, of independent will ,
Prince of your wishes, live, a sov'reign, still;
Oh! swell not, then, the bosoms of the vain ,
With false conceit , you their protection gain.
Poets , like you, their own protectors stand,
Plac'd, above aid, from pride's inferior hand.
Time , that devours a lord's un-lasting name ,
Shall lend her soundless depth , to float your fame:
On verse , like yours , no smiles, from pow'r expect,
Born, with a worth , that doom'd you to neglect .
Yet, would your wit be prais'd — reflect no more,
Let the smooth veil of flatt'ry , silk you o'er:
Aptly attach'd, the court's soft climate try;
Learn your pen's duty, from your patron's eye.
Ductile of soul, each pliant purpose wind,
And, following int'rest close, leave doubt behind:
Then, shall your name strike, loud, the public ear ,
For, through good fortune, virtue's self shines clear.

But, in defiance of our taste — to charm ,
And fancy's force, with judgment's caution, arm,
Disturb, with busy thought , so lull'd an age ,
And plant strong meanings o'er the peaceful page .
Impregnate sound, with sense , teach nature art ,
And warm ev'n winter , 'till it thaws the heart:
How could you, thus, your country's rules transgress,
Yet, think of patrons , and presume success!
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