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Part of the NINTH ODE

Of the FOURTH BOOK.

L

EST

you

should think that verse shall die, Which founds the Silver Thames along, Taught, on the wings of Truth to fly

Above the reach of vulgar song;

Tho' daring Milton fits sublime,

In Spencer native Muses play; Nor yet shall Waller yield to time,

Nor pensive Cowley's moral lay.

Sages and Chiefs long since had birth

Ere Cæfar was, or Newton nam’d; These rais'd new Empires o'er the Earth,

And Those, new Heav'ns and Systems fram'd,

Vain was the Chief's, the Sage's pride !

They had no Poet, and they died.
In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled!

They had no Poet, and are dead.

MISCELLANIES.

A

I D

E PIST LE

то ROBERT Earl of OXFORD

and Earl MORTIMER.

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UCH were the notes thy once-lov’d Poet sung,

'Till Death untimely stop'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld, and loft! admir'd and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd! Bleft in each science, blest in ev'ry strain !

5 Dear to the Muse! to HARLEY dear--in vain !

For him, thou oft haft bid the World attend,
Fond to forget the statesman in the friend;
For Swift and him, despis'd the farce of state,
The sober follies of the wise and great ;
Dextrous, the craving, fawning croud to quit,
And pleas'd to 'scape from Flattery to Wit.

Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear,
(A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear)
Recall those nights that clos’d thy toilsome days, 15
Still hear thy Parnelle in his living lays,
Who, careless now of Int'rest, Fame, or Fate,
Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was great ;

NOTES. Epift. to Robert Earl of Oxford.] 'This Epistle was sent to the Earl of Oxford with Dr Parnelle's Poems publifhed by our Author, after the said Earl's Imprisonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the Year 1721, P. I D2

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