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Part of the NINTH ODE
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 fong;
Tho' daring Milton fits fublime,
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 Systems fram'd.
Vain was the Chief's, the Sage's pride!
ROBERT Earl of OXFORD and Earl MORTIMER.
UCH were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet fung, "Till Death untimely stop'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld, and loft! admir'd and mourn'd! With softeft 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 haft bid the World attend, Fond to forget the statesman in the friend; For SWIFT and him, despis'd the farce of state, The fober follies of the wife and great ; Dextrous, the craving, fawning croud to quit, And pleas'd to 'fcape from Flattery to Wit. Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear, (A figh the absent claims, the dead a tear) Recall thofe 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,
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.