Oh B——le! or S—n—pe, P—m-ke; any Name,

That Arts, or Virtue; raises into Fame,

Be to my Muse a Friend; assist my Cause;

Be Friend to Science, fix'd on Nature's Laws.

On that alone, on Nature's perfect Plan,

I form my System, as I FIRST began.

By YOU inspir'd, I boldly lay the Line,

And ev'n am vain to call the Subject mine.

So Orpheus, once by more than human Sway,

Tam'd savage Beasts, or Men as wild as they;

And when Amphion, built the Theban Wall,

The Stones, by Magick Power, obey'd his Call.

So Ancient, even in Egypt's pristine State,

Recorded Architecture, has its Date.

Since thus, my Lord; what Gods and Kings inspire,

What bids my Bosom glow with arduous Fire;

This Noble Art, disdain not to protect;

If not the Art, at least the Architect.

If Art, or Nature, form'd me what I am;

If one or both, assisted in the Plan,

It is beyond, my utmost Power to say:

Whether I Art, or Nature's Laws obey.

Without each other, we in vain should strive;

To Build, or keep the Sciences alive;

Each mutually assist, and each will need,

The other's Help, as Nature has decreed.

He that intends an Architect to be,

Must seriously deliberate, like me;

Must see the Situation, Mode and Form,

Of every Structure, which they would adorn:

All Parts External, and Internal, view;

Before they aim to raise, a something new.

Ask G——s, or F—tc—t, to correct your Plan,

They'll freely, where you err, instruct the Man,

In what's amiss, with Judgment, and with Care,

Where needful add; and where profusive; spare.

But if you selfish; foolishly defend;

Your glaring Faults, and will not strive to mend,

To his own Folly——leave the Wretch alone,

And without Rival, let him Blunder on.

Those Things which seem of little Consequence,

And slight and trivial; know; you some time hence,

When you are made ridiculous; will find,

They are important, and instruct the Mind:

If in a Building Fit, a Frantic Man:

Should wildly scheme, a bad, or monstrous Plan,

Not minding where, or how, or what, to lay,

For a Foundation, or his Workmen pay:

If he should find, a Prison for his Pains,

(Misfortune justly suited to his Brains)

No one would pity, or condole his Fate,

But think he merited, the Bedlam-State.

Empedocles, with Madness sought the Flame,

And thought by that; to gain immortal Fame.

Let Architects, and Builders, mad as they,

In Folly; run, and make themselves away;

Why should it be a Sin, such Men to kill,

More than to keep alive, against their Will?

It was not Chance, but Choice, the Poet made,

To seek Divinity, in Lethe's Shade;

For if he was, from Pluto's Sable Plain,

Return'd to Earth,——He'd Ætna seek again.

'Tis hard to say, whether the Gloomy Clime,

Or Murder, Incest, or some heinous Crime,

Sends Building-Fiends, into the Madding World,

Govern'd by Frenzy; by Confusion hurl'd,

Seize all they meet; and——like the baited Bear,

Without Distinction, Range, and Rend, and Tear:

No one escapes them: from Lord O—r—d: down,

To B——s, and every errant Fool in Town:

They build, or teach; are leading, or are led;

And never cease, till they're in Jail, or dead.