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MISCELLANIE S.

EPISTLE

ΤΟ

ROBERT Earl of OXFORD, and Earl MORTIMER.

UCH were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet fung,

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!
For him, thou oft hast bid the World attend,
Fond to forget the Statesman in the Friend;
For SWIFT and him, defpis'd the farce of state,
The fober follies of the wife and great;
Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,
And pleas'd to 'fcape from Flattery to Wit.

Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear,
(A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear)
Recall thofe nights that clos'd thy toilfome days,
Still hear thy Parnell 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.

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Epifle 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 Imprisonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the year 1721.

VOL. IV.

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And fure, if aught below the feats divine
Can touch Immortals, 'tis a Soul like thine:
A Soul Supreme, in each hard inftance try'd,
Above all Pain, and Paffion, and all Pride,
The rage of Pow'r, the blast 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 shade:
'Tis her's, the brave man's latest steps to trace,
Rejudge his acts, and dignify difgrace.
When Int'reft calls off all her sneaking train,
And all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,
When the last lingʼring friend has bid farewell.
Ev'n now,
fhe fhades thy Ev'ning-walk with bays, 35
(No hireling fhe, no prostitute to praise)
Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm Sun-fet of thy various Day,
Thro' Fortune's cloud one truly great can fee,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

EPIST

To JAMES CRAGGS, Efq.
SECRETARY OF STATE.

LE

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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 Lie,
And strikes a blufh through frontless Flattery.

Secretary of State.] In the year 1720.

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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,
Nor wish to lose a Foe these Virtues raise;
But candid, free, fincere, as you began,
Proceed-a Minifter, but ftill a Man.
Be not (exalted to whate'er degree)
Afham'd of any Friend, not ev'n of Me:
The Patriot's plain, but untrod path, pursue;
If not, 'tis I must be afham'd of You.

EPISTLE

THIS
HIS Verfe be thine, my Friend, nor thou refuse
This, from no venal or ungrateful Mufe.
Whether thy hand ftrike out fome free defign,
Where Life awakes, and dawns at ev'ry line ;.
Or blend in beauteous tints the colour'd mafs,
And from the canvas call the mimic face:
Read these inftructive leaves, in which confpire
Frefnoy's close Art, and Dryden's native Fire:
And reading wifh, like theirs, our fate and fame,
So mix'd our studies, and so join'd our name;

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To Mr. JERVAS,

With Mr. DRYDEN's Tranflation of FRESNOY'S Art of Painting.

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Epifle to Mr. Jervas.] This Epiftle, and the two following, were written fome years before the reft, and originally printed in 1717.

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