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SI am confcious, that no compofition of my own could be worthy to be laid at your Royal Highness's feet; it is my happiness, as an Editor, to have this opportunity of approaching you, by fubmitting to your protection the best Dramatic Poet that these kingdoms could ever boaft of. He enjoy'd, whilft living, the favour of the greatest Queen

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Queen that has fat on the English throne; and therefore, I hope, is entitled to your Royal Highness's fmiles over his urn.

Could I picture out his character equal to its merits, the world would foon difcover a fort of parallel betwixt the Poet and his Patronefs. His excellencies were as great, as they were various; his beauties flrong, and all native; the frame of his mind as fweet and candid, as his countenance was open and engaging; and his fentiments as chafte, as his conceptions were noble: He knew how to charm without affectation; and had the wondrous force of preferving all hearts, that once felt the influence of his attractions.

After what I have faid, MADAM, I am afraid the duty of this address should be mifconftrued a panegyrick on your Royal Highness. But I have profefs'd myself unequal to the task of drawing his portraiture, and my humble fphere in

life fets meat too great a distance to take even the outlines of your perfections. I would not therefore, where I cannot prefume to do justice, be thought to defcend to the unbecoming art of flattery. I must launch out, indeed, a great way, to make myself liable to that imputation, with regard to your Royal Highness; but Dedications are generally fufpected of overftraining.

How far foever, MADAM, my vanity or my ambition might mislead me into that tract, I'll oblige myself to govern both by duty; and turn all attempts of praife and compliment into veneration and pious wishes. That You may long continue to bless the eyes and arms of the PRINCE, your Illuftrious Confort; and that you may continue to bless the nation with a numerous fucceffion of Princes, to the future glory and fecurity of our establishment, is my ardent

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prayer; and in that I will center the only merit, by which I would pretend to profefs myself,



Moft dutiful and moft obedient,

humble fervant,



An EPITAPH on the admirable
Dramatic Poet, W. SHAKESPEARE.

WHAT neede my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones
The labour of an age, in piled ftones?

Or that his hallow'd reliques fhould be hid
Under a ftarr-y-pointing pyramid?

Deare fonne of memory, great heire of Fame,
What needst thou fuch dull witneffe of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Haft built thy felfe a live-long monument:
For whil'ft to th' fhame of flow-endevouring art
Thy eafie numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued booke,
Thofe Delphicke lines, fuch deep impreffion tooke:
Then thou, our fancy of her felfe bereaving,
Doft make us marble with too much conceiving:
And, fo fepulcher'd, in fuch pompe doft lie,
That kings for fuch a tombe would wish to die.


This Epitaph was written in 1630, when Milton was in his two and twentieth year; for he was born in 1608.

Buy . . . . . Be w

In Remembrance of



O D E.

Eware (delighted Poets!) when you fing
To welcome nature in the early spring,
Your num'rous feet not tread

The banks of Avon; foreach flower

(As it ne'er knew a fun, or fhower,)

Hangs, there, the penfive head.


Each tree, whofe thick and spreading growth hath made Rather a night beneath the boughs, than fhade,

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