Part of the NINTH ODE L Of the FOURTH BOOK. EST you should think that verse shall die, Taught, on the wings of Truth to fly Above the reach of vulgar fong; Tho' daring Milton fits fublime, Nor yet Sages and Chiefs long fince had birth Ere Cæfar was, or Newton nam'd; These rais'd new Empires o'er the Earth, And Those, new Heav'ns and Syftems fram'd, Vain was the Chief's, the Sage's pride! EPISTLE то ROBERT Earl of OXFORD and Earl MORTIMER. UCH were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet fung, 5 'Till Death untimely stop'd his tuneful tongue. Who, careless now of Int'reft, Fame, or Fate, NOTES. I Epift. to Robert Earl of Oxford.] This Epifle was fent to the Earl of Oxford with Dr Parnelle's Poems published by our Author, after the faid Earl's Imprisonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the Year 1721. P. |