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E

P I S T L

E

TO

ROBERT Earl of OXFORD,

and Earl of MORTIMER.

onco

CUCH were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet

fung, 'Till Death untimely stop'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld, and lost! admir'd and mourn’d! With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn’d! Blest in each science, blest in ev'ry strain! 5 Dear to the Muse! to HARLEY dear—in vain !

For him, thou oft has 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 ; 10 Dextrous, the craving, fawning croud to quit, And pleas’d to 'scape from Flattery to Wit.

NOT E s. Epistle to Robert Earl of Oxford. 1 This Epistle was sent to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnelle's Poems published by our Author, after the said Earl's Imprisonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the Year 1721. P,

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 ; Or deeming meanest what we greatest call, Beholds thee glorious only in thy Fall. 20

And sure, if aught below the seats divine Can touch Immortals, 'tis a Soul like thine: A Soul supreme, in each hard instance try'd, Above all Pain, all Passion, and all Pride, The rage of Pow'r, the blast of public breath, 25 The luft of Lucre, and the dread of Death.

In vain to Deserts thy retreat is made ; The Mufe attends thee to thy silent shade : 'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace, , Rejudge his acts, and dignify disgrace. 30 When Int’rest calls off all her sneaking train, And all th'oblig'd desert, and all the vain ; She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell, When the last ling’ring friend has bid farewell.

Ev'n now, she shades thy Ev'ning-walk with bays,
(No hireling she, no prostitute to praise) 36
Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm Sun-set of thy various Day,
Thro’ Fortune's cloud one truly great can see,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he. 40

E PISTLE: TO JAMES CRAGGS, Efq. · SECRETARY of STATÉ..

A Soul as full of Worth, as void of Pride,
1. Which nothing seeks to shew, or needs

to hide,
· Which nor to Guilt nor Fear, its Caution owes,
And boasts a Warmth that from no Passion flows.
A Face untaught to feign; a judging Eye, 57
That darts severe upon a rising 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 scorn to gain a Friend by servile ways, 10
Nor wish to lose a Foe these Virtues raise;
But candid, free, fincere, as you began,
Proceed—a Minister, but still a Man.
Be not (exalted to whate’er degree)
Alham'd of any Friend, not ev'n of Me: 15
The Patriot's plain, but untrod, path pursue ;
If not, 'tis I must be asham’d of You.

NOT E s.
Secretary of State] In the Year 1720.

P.

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