Untouch'd thy tomb, uninjur'd be thy dust,
As thy own fame among the future just,
Till in last sounds the dreadful trumpet speaks;
Till judgment calls, and quicken'd nature wakes;
Till thro' the utmost earth and deepest sea
Our scatter'd atoms find their destin'd way,
In haste to clothe their kindred souls again,
Perfect our state, and build immortal man:
Then fearless thou, who well sustain'dst the fight,
To paths of joy and tracts of endless light,
Lead up all those who heard thee and believ'd;
'Midst thy own flock,great Shepherd, be receiv'd,
And glad all Heav'n with millions thou hast sav'd.

TO A PERSON

Who wrote ill, and spoke worse, against me.

LIE, Philo, untouch'd, on my peaceable shelf, Nor take it amiss that so little I heed thee; I've no envy to thee and some love to myself; Then why should I answer, since first I must read thee?

Drunk with Helicon's waters and double-brew'd

bub,

Be a linguist, a poet, a critic, a wag; To the solid delight of thy well-judging club, To the damage alone of thy bookseller Brag.

Pursue me with satire; what harm is there in't? But from all viva voce reflection forbear;

There can be no danger from what thou shalt print; There may be a little from what thou mayst

swear.

ON THE SAME PERSON.

WHILE, faster than his costive brain indites,
Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes;
His case appears to me like honest Teague's,
When he was run away with by his legs.
Phœbus, give Philo o'er himself command;
Quicken his senses, or restrain his hand;
Let him be kept from paper, pen, and ink;
So may he cease to write, and learn to think.

TO THE

LADY ELIZABETH HARLEY,

AFTERWARDS MARCHIONESS OF CAERMARTHEN,

On a Column of her drawing.

WHEN future ages shall with wonder view These glorious lines which Harley's daughter drew, They shall confess that Britain could not raise A fairer Column to the father's praise.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE

COUNTESS DOWAGER OF DEVONSHIRE,

On a Piece of Wiessen's, whereon were all her
Grandsons painted.
WIESSEN and Nature held a long contest,
If she created or he painted best;

With pleasing thought the wondrous combat grew,
She still form'd fairer, he still like her drew.
In these sev'n brethren they contended last;
With art increas'd, their utmost skill they try'd,
And both well pleas'd they had themselves

surpast,

The Goddess triumph'd, and the painter dy'd.
That both their skill to this vast height did raise,
Be ours the wonder, and be yours the praise:

For here, as in some glass, is well descry'd
Only yourself, thus often multiply'd.

When Heav'n had you and gracious Anna * made,
What more exalted beauty could it add?
Having no nobler images in store,

It but kept up to these, nor could do more
Than copy well what it had fram'd before.
If in dear Burghley's gen'rous face we see
Obliging truth and handsome honesty,

With all that world of charms, which soon will

move

Rev'rence in men, and in the fair ones love;

* Eldest daughter of the Countess.

His very grace his fair descent assures,
He has his mother's beauty, she has yours.
If ev'ry Cecil's face had ev'ry charm

That thought can fancy or that Heav'n can form,
Their beauties all become your beauty's due,
They are all fair, because thy're all like you.
If ev'ry Ca'ndish great and charming look,
From you that air, from you the charms, they took.
In their each limb your image is exprest,
But on their brow firm courage stands confest;
There their great father, by a strong increase,
Adds strength to beauty, and completes the piece.
Thus still your beauty in your sons we view,
Weissen sev'n times one great perfection drew;
Whoever sat, the picture still is you.

So when the parent-sun with genial beams
Has animated many goodly gems,

He sees himself improv'd, while ev'ry stone,
With a resembling light, reflects a sun.

So when great Rhea many births had giv'n, Such as might govern earth and people heav'n, Her glory grew diffus'd; and, fuller known, She saw the Deity in ev'ry son;

And to what God soe'er men altars rais'd, Hon'ring the off'spring, they the mother prais'd.

In short-liv'd charms let others place their joys, Which sickness blasts, and certain age destroys; Your stronger beauty time can ne'er deface, "Tis still renew'd, and stamp'd in all your race.

Ah! Weissen, had thy art been so refin'd As with their beauty to have drawn their mind, Thro' circling years thy labours would survive, And living rules to fairest virtue give, To men unborn and ages yet to live: 'Twould still be wonderful, and still be new, Against what time, or spite, or fate, could do, Till thine, confus'd with nature's pieces, lie, And Can dish's name and Cecil's honor die.

TO A YOUNG LADY,

WHO WAS FOND OF FORTUNE-TELLING.

You, Madam, may with safety go
Decrees of destiny to know;

For at your birth kind planets reign'd,
And certain happiness ordain'd:
Such charms as yours are only giv'n
To chosen favourites of Heav'n.

But such is my uncertain state,
'Tis dangerous to try my fate;
For I would only know from art
The future motions of your heart,
And what predestinated doom
Attends my love for years to come;
No secrets else, that mortals learn,
My cares deserve, or life concern ;
But this will so important be,
I dread to search the dark decree;