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AREWÉL, too little, and too lately known,

Whom I began to think, and call my own :
For sure our souls were near allied, and thine
Caft in the same poetic mould with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike.
To the same goal did both our studies drive ;
The last set out, the soonest did arrive.
Thus Nisus fell upon the flipp’ry place,
Whilft his


friend perform’d, and won the race. O early ripe! to thy abundant store What could advancing age have added more ? It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the smoothness of thy native tongue, But fatire needs, not those, and wit will shine Thro' the harsh cadence of a rugged line. A noble error, and but seldom made, When poets are by too much force betray'd. Thy gen'rous fruits, tho'gather'd ere their prime, Still shew'd a quickness; and maturing time But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets of rhyme.

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1 Mr. John Oldham, celebrated chiefly for the severity of his fatires, was son of a nonconformist minister, who educated him at Oxford, where he took a batchelor's degree. Some verses of his, that were known in the world before the person of him who wrote them, brought him acquainted with the earl of Rochester, the earl of Dorset, and Sir Charles Sedley, through whose means he was introduced to the most shining men of the age, particularly to Dryden. He died of the small-pox in his 30th year, 1633, at the house of that nobleman, who treated him with all the goodness of a friend, VOL. II.



Once more, hail, and farewel; farewel, thou young,
But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue !
Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.


Pious Memory of the accomplished young Lady


Excellent in the Two SISTER-ARTs of


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HOU youngeft virgin-daughter of the fkies,

Made in the last promotion of the bleft ;
Whose palms, new pluck'd from paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Rich with immortal green above the rest :

2 This lady was daughter to Dr. Henry Killigrew, master of the Savoy, and a prebendary of Westminster. She died of the smallpox in her twenty-fifth year, on the 16th of June, 1685, being then one of the Dutchess of York's maids of honour. She was a great proficient both in painting and poetry. She drew the pictures of several people of the firft quality, with some history-pieces and landscapes. Her poems were collected and printed, after her death, in a thin quarto, with this poem prefixed, 4


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