Part of the NINTH ODE

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Of the FOURTH BOOK.

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 fublime,
In Spencer native Muses play;
Nor yet shall Waller yield to time,
Nor penfive Cowley's moral'lay.

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 Syftems 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.

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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 fofteft manners, gentleft arts adorn'd! Bleft in each science, bleft in ev'ry strain !

Dear to the Mufe! to HARLEY dear-in vain !

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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 ftate,
The fober follies of the wife and great ;
Dextrous, the craving, fawning croud to quit,
And pleas'd to 'fcape from Flattery to Wit.
Absent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear,
(A figh the absent claims, the dead a tear)
Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilfome days, 15
Still hear thy Parnelle in his living lays,

Who, careless now of Int'reft, Fame, or Fate,
Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was great;

NOTES.

Epift. to Robert Earl of Oxford.] This Epiftle was fent to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnelle's Poems publifhed by our Author, after the faid Earl's Imprisonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the Year 1721. P.

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Or