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 Beyond Love's Kingdom let him tretch his Pen;

He paus'd, and all the People cry'd Amen.

Then thus, continu'd he, my Son advance

Still in new Impudence, new Ignorance.

Succes let others teach, learn thou from me

Pangs without Birth, and fruitles Indutry.

Let Virtuoo's in five years be Writ;

Yet not one Thought accue thy toil of Wit.

Let gentle George in Triumph tread the Stage,

Make Dorimant betray, and Loveit rage;

Let Cully, Cockwood, Fopling, charm the Pit,

And in their folly hew the Writers wit.

Yet till thy Fools hall tand in thy defence,

And jutify their Author's want of Sene.

Let 'em be all by thy own Model made

Of Dullnes, and deire no Foreign Aid:

That they to future Ages may be known,

Not Copies drawn, but Iue of thy own.

Nay let thy Men of Wit too be the ame,

All full of Thee, and differing but in Name;

But let no Alien S—dl—y interpoe

To lard with Wit thy hungry Epom Proe.

And when fale Flowers of Rhetorick thou would't cull,

Trut Nature, do not labour to be dull;

But write thy bet, and top; and in each line,

Sir Formal's Oratory will be thine.

Sir Formal, though unought, attends thy Quill,

And does thy Northern Dedications fill.

Nor let fale Friends educe thy Mind to Fame,

By arrogating Johnon's hotile Name.

Let Father Fleckno fire thy Mind with Praie,

And Uncle Ogleby thy Envy raie.

Thou art my Blood, where Johnon has no part;

What hare have we in Nature or in Art?

Where did his Wit on Learning fix a Brand,

And rail at Arts he did not undertand?

Where made he Love in Prince Nicander's Vein,

Or wept the Dut in Pyche's humble Strain? Rh