He Nature taught her passions to outdo,
How to refine the old, and create new;
Which such a happy likeness seem'd to bear,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were.
Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept
In the same urn wherein his dust hath slept,
Nor had he ris' the Delphic wreath to claim,
30Had not the dying scene expir'd his name.
Oh the indulgent justice of this age,
To grant the Press, what it denies the Stage!