EPISTLE

то

ROBERT Earl of OXFORD, and Earl MORTIMER.

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

SUCH

'Till Death untimely ftop'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 Muse! 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.

NOTES.

5

10

Epiftle to Robert Earl of Oxford.] This Epiftle was sent to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnelle's Poems publish'd by our Author, after the faid Earl's Imprisonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the Year 1721. P.

Abfent or dead, still let a friend be dear, (A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear) T Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilfome days, Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays, Who, careless now of Int'reft, Fame, or Fate, Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was great; Or deeming meaneft what we greatest call, Beholds thee glorious only in thy Fall.

16

20

And fure, if aught below the feats divine Can touch Immortals, 'tis a Soul like thine: A foul fupreme, in each hard inftance try'd, Above all Pain, all Paffion, and all Pride, The rage of Pow'r, the blast of public breath, 25 The luft of Lucre, and the dread of Death.

In vain to Deferts thy retreat is made;

The Muse attends thee to thy filent fhade:
'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace,
Rejudge his acts, and dignify difgrace.

When Int'rest calls off all her sneaking train,
And all the oblig'd defert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,
When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewel.

30

Ev'n now, she shades thy Ev'ning-walk with bays, (No hireling the, no prostitute to praise)

Ev'n now, obfervant of the parting ray,

Eyes the calm Sun-fet of thy various Day.
Thro' Fortune's cloud one truly great can see,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

36

40.

t

(44)

EPISTLE

To JAMES CRAGGS, Efq. SECRETARY of STATE.

A

Soul as full of Worth, as void of Pride,
With nothing feeks to fhew, or needs to

Wiek ar to Gult nor Fear, its Caution owes,
And Nu & Warmth that from no Paffion flows.
A Face untaught to feign, a judging Eye,
That dars ivere upon a rifing Lye,

3

تم

Kod Åks & Vol thro' frontless Flattery.
À, this thou see, and being this before,
Know, King and Fortune cannot make thee more.
Ther can to gain & Friend by fervile ways,
No wid te kot & For theie Virtues raife;
endid, tree, fincere, as you began,

- Minifter, but fill a Man.
Soxalted to whate'er degree)

10

am'd of art Friend, not ev'n of Me:

The Patriot's plain, but untrod, path pursue;

not is I muk be asham'd of You.

Mamona Sear) In the Year 1-25. P.

15

EPISTLE

To Mr. JERVAS,

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

TH

HIS Verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refufe

5

This, from no venal or ungrateful Muse.
Whether thy hand strike out fome free design,
Where Life awakes, and dawns at ev'ry line;
Or blend in beauteous tints the colour'd mass,
And from the canvas call the mimic face:
Read these instructive leaves, in which confpire
Fresnoy's close Art, and Dryden's native Fire:
And reading with, like theirs, our fate and fame,
So mix'd our studies, and fo join'd our name; 10
Like them to shine thro' long fucceeding age,
So just thy fkill, fo regular my rage.

NOTES.

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