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Show APPENDIX 31 But when our Shakespeare's matchless pen Like Alexander's sword had done with men He heay'd no sigh, he made no moan Not limited to huma kind He fir'd his wonder-teeming mind Rais'd other worlds and beings of -his own IV Oh fro his muse of fir Could but one spark be caught Then might these humble strains aspire T tell the wonders he has wrought To tell,-how sitting on his magi throne Unaided and alone In dreadful stat Th subject passions round him wait inflames, o turns their ma career s He checks Whom, tho' unchain'd, and raging there i ii Which winds the fiery steed at wil skill With that superio |