Oh to be there to tread that friendly shore Where falsehood, pride, and statesmen are no more!
But ere indulged-ere Fate my breath shall claim,
A Poet still is anxious after fame,
What future fame would my ambition crave?
This were my wish-could aught my memory
Say, when in death my sorrows lie reposed,
That my past life no venal view disclosed;
Say, I well knew, while in a state obscure,
Without the being base, the being poor;
Say, I had parts, too moderate to transcend,
Yet sense to mean, and virtue not t'offend,
My heart supplying what my head denied;
Say, that by Pope esteem'd I lived and died,
Whose writings, the best rules to write could give;
Whose life, the nobler science how to live.
Printed by S. Hollingsworth, Crane-court, Fleet-street.