What Prospects on his growing Years rely'd!
And when he fell what Expectations dy'd!

Then faw I Multitudes with Grief o'ercome,
Half loft to Life, half Partners in his Doom;
Tumultuous Crouds astonish'd with the Blow,
And rugged Peasants civiliz'd with Woe.
But what avail the Offices I pay,

The fond Remembrance, and the duteous Lay?
Nor That one Moment can my Friend retrieve,
Nor gives him This in well-fung Strains to live.
Fain wou'd I from Oblivion fnatch his Name,
And what he loft in Life fupply in Fame,
His equal Praise in lofty Numbers try,
Nor let him quite be loft, and wholly die:
This to attempt my Love and Zeal persuade;
But ah! how vainly were that Effort made!
Too fure has every human Thing its Date!
And we alas! and ours are due to Fate:.

Soon

Soon, like the mourn'd, the Mourner must away;

And endless Silence close the mortal Lay.

O ever-loving, ever-lov'd, adieu!

No more thy pleasing Aspect holds my View;
No longer glads thy Voice this wishful Ear:
No more I fee thee, and no more I hear.
Without thee muft I pass this earthly Stage,
A joyless, melancholy Pilgrimage!

Yet will I bear thee ever in my Breast,

And meditate the Days which thou haft blest:
Yet will I hope that when my Sun fhall set,
And I to Nature pay my final Debt;

I still may thy Society obtain,

And what I loft by Death, by Death regain.

EPI

O

EPIGRAM from the Greek.

N Stygian Banks, Diogenes the Wife

Bursts into Laughter when he Crafus fpies;

And thus bespeaks, in threadbare Cloak and old,

The Monarch famous for his gather'd Gold:
I, nothing leaving, all to Charon bear;
Thou, Crafus, rich on Earth hast nothing here.

On the foregoing EPIGRAM.

HE Lydian Prince is blam'd for Wealth alone,

TH

Tho' greater in his Virtues than his Throne, The Cynick Churl is prais'd, of Fame secure, Tho' void of ev'ry Grace, but being poor. Norwonder whence this partial Judgment fprings, Such Crowds are envious, and fo few are Kings.

The

The

HORN-BOO K.

Magni magna patrant, nos non nifi ludicra
Podagra hac otia fecit.

H

Ail! antient Book, moft venerable Code,

Learning's first Cradle, and its last Abode!

The huge unnumber'd Volumes which we fee, T By lazy Plagiaries are ftol'n from Thee:

Yet future Times to thy fufficient Store
Shall ne'er prefume to add one Letter more.

Thec will I fing, in comely Wainscot bound, 2 And Golden Verge inclofing Thee around; M The faithful Horn before, from Age to Age,

Preferving thy invaluable Page

Behind thy Patron Saint in Armour fhines,

With Sword and Lance to guard thy facred Lines: Beneath his Courfer's Feet the Dragon lies

Transfix'd, his Blood thy fcarlet Cover dyes;

Th' inftructive Handle's at the Bottom fixt,

Left wrangling Critics should pervert the Text.
Or ev❜n to Gingerbread if thou descend,

And liqu'rish Learning to thy Babes extend ;
Or if a Plain, o'er-spread with beaten Gold,
The fugar'd Treasure of thy Letters hold;
Thou still shalt be my Song- Apollo's Choir
I fcorn; let Cadmus all my Verfe inspire:
'Twas Cadmus who the first Materials brought,
Of all the Learning which has fince been taught.
Soon made compleat; for Mortals ne'er fhall know
More than contain'd of old the Christ-Cross-
[Row;

What Masters dictate, or grave Doctors preach,

Wife Matrons hence ev'n to our Children teach.

But as the Name of ev'ry Plant and Flow'r (So common that each Peafant knows its Pow'r) Physicians in mysterious Cant express,

T'amuse their Patients and enhance their Fees;

So