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Oh, Goldsmith ! how fall forrow now essay
To murmur out her low Incondite lay?
In what fad accents mourn the luckless hour
That yielded thee to unrelenting power?
Thee, the proud boast of all the tuneful train
That Tweep the lyre, or fwell the polith'd ftrain?
Much honour'd Bará! if iny uotutor'd verse
Could pay a tribute worthy of thy hearse,
With fearless hands I'd build the fane of praish
And boldly ftrew the never-fading bays.
But say, what boots it o'er thy hallow'd duft
To heap the graven pile, or laureli'd bust;
Since by thy hands already rais'd on high,
We see a fabric tow'ring to the sky;
Where, hand and hand with time, the sacred lore
Shall travel on till Nature is no more!

Monody on the Death of Dr. Goldsmith.

EMBELLISHED WITH SUPERB ENGRAVINGS.

London:
Printed for C. COOKE, No. 17, Paternoster-Row;
Aud fold by all the Bookfellers in

Great Britain and

Ireland

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THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

CONTAINING HIS

DESERTED VILLAGE, PROLOGUES,
TRAVELLER,

EPILOGUES,
HERMIT,

SONGS,
RETALIATION,

ELEGIES,
MISCELLANIES,

EPITAPHS,
&c. &c. &c.

Adieu, sweet bard! to each fine feeling true,
Thy virtues many, and thy foibles' few;
Thore form'd to charm, even vicious minds--and there
With harmless mirth the social soul to please.
Another's woe thy heart could always melt;
None gave more free---for pone more deeply felt.
Sweet bard, adieu ! thy own harmonious lays
Have fculptur'd out thy monument of praise :
Yes, there furvive to time's remotest day;
While drop the bust, and boastful tombs decay.
Reader, if number'd' in the muse's train,
Go, tune the lyre, and imitate his ftrain :
But, if no poet thou, reverse the plan ;
Depart in peace, and imitate the man.'

Woty's Verses on the Death of Goldsmith.

London:

PRINTED AND EMBELLISHED
Under the Direction of

C. COOKE.

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