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For thy cord, and my cord both equally tie;
Derry down, etc.
Aulæ culmine lubrico, &c.
Their moral and economy
Slothful disorder filled his stable;
They paid the church and parish rate;
No man's defects sought they to know;
They neither added nor confounded;
Nor good, nor bad, nor fools, nor wise;
1 Scott, in his “Bride of Lammermoor,' borrows this. Johnnie Girder says, “If there is onything totally uneatable, let it be gien to the puir folk.'
Without love, hatred, joy, or fear,
HORACE, LIB. I, EPIST. IX. IMITATED.
Septimius, Claudi, nimirum intelligit unus,
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT HARLEY
(AFTERWARDS EARL OF OXFORD).
From this wild fancy, Sir, there may proceed
To shun this censure, I all shame lay by,
will find in letters, and in laws
Not unexpert, firm to his country's cause,
TO MR HARLEY, WOUNDED BY GUISCARD.
Ducit opes animumque ferro. HOR 1 In one great now, superior to an age,
The full extremes of Nature's force we find; How heavenly virtue can exalt, or rage
Infernal, how degrade the human mind. 2 While the fierce monk does at his trial stand,
He chews revenge, abjuring his offence; Guile in his tongue, and murder in his hand,
He stabs his judge to prove his innocence. 3 The guilty stroke and torture of the steel
Infixed, our dauntless Briton scarce perceives; The wounds his country from his death must feel,
The patriot views, for those alone he grieves. 4 The barbarous rage that durst attempt thy life,
Harley, great counsellor, extends thy fame; And the sharp point of cruel Guiscard's knife,
In brass and marble carves thy deathless name.
5 Faithful asserter of thy country's cause,
Britain with tears shall bathe thy glorious wound; She for thy safety shall enlarge her laws,
And in her statutes shall thy worth be found. 1 See Swift's prose works. Guiscard was an ex-abbot; became a colonel — then a spy on the English Court-was discovered, and stabbed Harley at the council before which he was sisted. Harley survived; but the assassin died of some wounds he received in the scuffle, in a few days.
6 Yet midst her sighs she triumphs, on the hand
Reflecting, that diffused the public woe; A stranger to her altars, and her land;
No son of hers could meditate this blow.
7 Meantime thy pain is gracious Anna's care ;
Our queen, our saint, with sacrificing breath, Softens thy anguish; in her powerful prayer
She pleads thy service, and forbids thy death.
8 Great as thou art, thou canst demand no more,
O breast bewailed by earth, preserved by heaven! No higher can aspiring virtue soar;
Enough to thee of grief, and fame is given.
AN EXTEMPORE INVITATION
TO THE EARL OF OXFORD, LORD HIGH TREASURER,
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