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Formal in figure, and in manners cold,
No passion warms him but the love of gold;
Aiming at eloquence beyond his reach,
He toils for words, and labours in his speech;
Wearied attention cannot long endure
His measur'd language, and his phrase obscure,
But turns where genius, and where wit attend
A gay companion, and an ardent friend.

H ONESTUS , liberal, sincere, and true,
A polish'd scholar, would be poet too:
In this a false ambition he betrays,
And risks his reputation in his lays;
For him no flow'rs the ardent Muses cull,
Coldly correct, and classically dull!
Promethean fires to poets should belong,
Or the mind wearies with the vapid song;
In formal trammels measur'd language flows,
And the Muse smiles to hear such rhyming prose.
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