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IV.

Cynthia! tune harmonious numbers;
Fair Difcretion! ftring the lyre;
Sooth my ever-waking flumbers:
Bright Apollo! lend thy choir.

V.

Gloomy Pluto! king of terrors,
Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors,
Wat'ring foft Elyfian plains.

VI.

Mournful Cyprefs, verdant Willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus hov'ring o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows.

VII.

Melancholy smooth Meander

Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander,

With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd.

VIII.

Thus when Philomela drooping,

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Softly feeks her filent mate,

See the bird of Juno ftooping;

Melody refigns to Fate.

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On a certain Lady at Court.

KNOW the thing that's moft uncommon;
(Envy be filent and attend!)

I know a reasonable Woman,

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Handfome and witty, yet a friend.

Not warp'd by paffion, aw'd by rumour,

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Not grave thro' pride, nor gay thro' folly,

An equal mixture of good humour,
And fenfible foft melancholy.

"Has

VOL. II.

"Has the not faults then, (Envy says,) Sir ?"
Yes, the has one, I muft aver;

When all the world confpires to praise her,
The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.

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On his Grotto at Twickenham, compofed of Marbles, Spars, Gems, Ores, and Minerals.

THOU who fhalt stop where Thames' translucent

wave

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Shines a broad mirror through the fhady cave;
Where ling'ring drops from min'ral roofs distil,
And pointed crystals break the fparkling rill;
Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow,
And latent metals innocently glow;
Approach. Great Nature ftudiously behold!
And eye the mine without a wifh for gold.
Approach: but awful! lo! th' Ægerian Grot,
Where nobly penfive St. John fat and thought,
Where British fighs from dying Wyndham stole,
And the bright flame was shot thro' Marchmont's foul.
Let fuch, fuch only, tread this facred floor,
Who dare to love their country and be poor.

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On receiving from the Right Hon. the Lady Frances Shirely a Standish and two Pens.

YES, I beheld th' Athenian Queen

Defcend in all her fober charms!

"And take," the faid, and fmil'd ferene, "Take at this hand celeftial arms:

Secure the radiant weapons wield;
"This golden lance shall guard defert,
"And if a vice dares keep the field,
"This fteel fhall ftab it to the heart."

Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,
Receiv'd the weapons of the fky,
And dipp'd them in the fable well,
The fount of fame or infamy.

"What

"What well? what weapon?" Flavia cries,
"A ftandish, fteel, and golden pen!
"It came from Bertrand's, not the skies;
"I gave it you to write agen.

"But, Friend! take heed whom you attack;
"You'll bring a House (I mean of Peers)
“ Red, blue, and green, nay, white and black,
"L- and all about your ears.

« You'd write as smooth again on glass,
"And run on ivory fo glib,
"As not to stick at fool or ass,
"Nor ftop at flattery or fib.

"Athenian Queen! and fober charms!
"I tell ye, fool! there's nothing in't :
"'Tis Venus, Venus gives thefe arms;
"In Dryden's Virgil fee the print.

"Come, if you'll be a quiet foul,
"That dares tell neither truth nor lies,
"I'll lift you in the harmless roll
"Of those that fing of these poor eyes."

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1. On Charles Earl of Dorfet, in the Church of Witham, in Suffex.

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DORSET, the grace of courts, the Mufes's pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of Nature, dy'd;
The fcourge of pride,, tho' fanctify'd or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in ftate;
Yet foft his nature, tho' fevere his lay,
His anger moral, and his wifdom gay.
Blefs'd Satirift! who touch'd the mean fo true,
As fhow'd vice had his hate and pity too.

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Blefs'd Courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet facred keep his friendships and his ease.
Blefs'd Peer! his great forefathers' ev'ry grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;

Where other Buckhurfts, other Dorfets, fhine,
And patriots ftill, or poets, deck the line.

II. On Sir William Trumball, one of the principal Secretaries of State to King William III. who, having refigned his Place, died in his Retirement

at Easthamftead in Berkshire, 1716.

A PLEASING form, a firm yet cautious mind,
Sincere, tho' prudent, conftant, yet refign'd:
Honour unchang'd, a principle profeít,
Fix'd to one fide, but mod'rate to the rest:
An honeft courtier, yet a patriot too,
Juft to his prince, and to his country true;
Fill'd with the fenfe of age, the fire of youth,
A fcorn for wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;
A gen'rous faith, from fuperftition free,
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny:

Such this man was, who now, from earth remov'd,
At length enjoys that liberty he lov’d.

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III. On the Hon. Simon Harcourt, only Son of the Lord Chancellor Harcourt, at the Church of Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire, 1720.

To this fad fhrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near; Here lies the friend moft lov'd, the fon most dear; Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he dy'd. How vain is reason, eloquence how weak! If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak. Oh! let thy-once lov'd friend infcribe thy ftone, And with a father's forrows mix his own!

IV. On James Craggs, Efq. in Westminster-Abbey,
JACOBUS CRAGGS

REGI MAGNE BRITANNIE A SECRETIS
ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,

PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET
DELICIE:

VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR
ANNOS, HEU PAUCOS, XXXV.

OB. FEB. XVI. M,DCC,XX.

Statefman, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear!
Who broke no promife, ferv'd no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approv❜d,

Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Muse he lov'd,
V. Intended for Mr. Rowe in Westminster-Abbey.
THY reliques, Rowe! to this fair urn we truft,
And facred, place by Dryden's awful dust :
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle fhade, and endless rest!
Blefs'd in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame fupplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.

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