To Mr. Howard: An Ode

DEAR Howard, from the soft assaults of Love,
Poets and Painters never are Secure :
Can I untouch'd the Fair ones Passions move ?
Or Thou draw Beauty, and not feel it's Pow'r ?

To Great Apelles when Young Ammon brought
The darling Idol of his Captive Heart ;
And the pleas'd Nymph with kind Attention sat,
To have Her Charms recorded by His Art:

The am'rous Master own'd Her potent Eyes ;
Sigh'd when He look'd, and trembl'd as He drew:
Each flowing Line confirm'd his first Surprize ;
And as the Piece advanc'd, the Passion grew.

While Philip's Son, while Venus' Son was near,
What different Tortures does his Bosom feel ?
Great was the Rival, and the God severe :
Nor could He hide his Flame, nor durst reveal.

The Prince, renown'd in Bounty as in Arms,
With Pity saw the ill-conceal'd Distress;
Quitted His Title to Campaspe's Charms,
And gave the Fair one to the Friend's Embrace.

Thus the more beauteous Cloe sat to Thee,
Good Howard, emu'lous of the Grecian Art :
But happy Thou, from Cupid's Arrow free,
And Flames that pierc'd Thy Predecessor's Heart.

Had Thy poor Breast receiv'd an equal Pain ;
Had I been vested with the Monarch's Pow'r ;
Thou must have sigh'd, unlucky Youth, in vain ;
Nor from My Bounty hadst Thou found a Cure.

Tho' to convince Thee, that the Friend did feel
A kind Concern for Thy ill-fated Care,
I would have sooth'd the Flame, I could not heal :
Giv'n Thee the World ; tho' I with-held the Fair.