Sages and Chiefs long fince had birth

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

And Thofe, 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 fchem'd, in vain they bled!
They had no Poet, and are dead.

Nec, fi quid olim lufit Anacreon,
Dolevit aetas: fpirat adhuc amor,
Vivuntque commiffi calores
Aeoliae fidibus puellae.

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; fed omnes illacrymabiles
Urguentur ignotique longa
Nocte, carent quia vate facro.

MISCELLANIES.

EPISTLE

то

ROBERT Earl of OXFORD, and Earl MORTIMER.

UCH were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet fung, 'Till Death untimely ftop'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, bleft in ev'ry strain ! Dear to the Mufe! to HARLEY dear-in vain! For him, thou oft had bid the World attend, Fond to forget the ftatefman in the friend; For SWIFT and him, defpis'd the farce of ftate, The fober follies of the wife and great ; Dextrous the craving, fawning crowd to quit, And pleas'd to 'fcape from Flattery to Wit.

5

IO

Epift. to Robert Earl of Oxford ] This Epiftle was fent to the Earl of Oxford with Dr Parnell's poems published by our Author, after the faid Earl's Imprifonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the year 1721

Abfent or dead, fill let a friend be dear,

(A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear)

Recall thofe nights that clos'd thy toilfome days, 15
Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays,

Who, careless now of Int'reft, Fame, or Fate,
Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was great;
Or deeming meaneft what we greatest call,
Beholds thee glorious only in thy Fall.

And fure, if aught below the feats divine
Can touch Immortals, 'tis a Soul like thine:
A Soul fupreme, in each hard inftance try'd,
Above all Pain, all Paffion, and all Pride,
The rage of Pow'r, the blaft of public breath,
The luft of Lucre, and the dread of Death.

In vain to Deserts thy retreat is made;

The Mufe attends thee to thy filent fhade;

20

25

'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace, Rejudge his acts, and dignify difgrace.

30

When Int'reft calls off all her fneaking train,

And all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain;

She waits, or to the Scaffold, or the cell,

When the laft ling'ring friend has bid farewel.

Ev'n now, fhe fhades thy Ev'ning-walk with bays,

(No hireling fhe, no prostitute to praise)

36

Ev'n now, obfervant of the parting ray,

Eyes the calm Sun-fet of thy various Day,

Thro' Fortuen's cloud one truely great can fee,

Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

40

EPISTLE

To JAMES CRAGGS, Efq; SECRETARY of STATE.

A

Soul as full of Worth, as void of Pride,

Which nothing feeks to fhew, or needs to hide,
Which nor to Guilt nor Fear, its Caution owes,
And boasts a warmth that from no Paffion flows.
A Face untaught to feign; a judging Eye,
That darts fevere upon a rifing Lye,
And strikes a blush thro' frontless Flattery.
All this thou wert, and being this before,

Know, Kings and Fortune cannot make thee more.
Then fcorn to gain a Friend by fervile ways,

Nor wish to lose a Foe these Virtues raise;
But candid, free, fincere, as you began,

Proceed- -a Minifter, but still a Man.
Be not (exalted to whatc'er degree)
Alham'd of any Friend, not ev'n of Me:

The Patriot's plain, but untrod, path purfue;

If not, 'tis I must be afham'd of You.

[Secretary of State] In the year 1720,

5

10