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Long ripening under-ground this China lies?
Fame bears no fruit, till the vain planter dies.

Thus nature, tir'd with his unusual length
Of life, which put her to her utmost strength,
Such stock of wit unable to fupply,

To fpare herself, was glad to let him die.

WRITTEN OVER A GATE..

HERE lives a man, who, by relation,

Depends upon predestination;

For which the learned and the wife
His understanding much defpife:
But I pronounce with loyal tongue
Him in the right, them in the wrong.
For how could fuch a wretch fucceed?
But that, alas, it was decreed !

THE MIRACLE,

MERIT they hate, and wit they flight;

They neither act, nor reason right,
And nothing mind but pence..
Unfkilful they victorious are,
Conduct a kingdom without care,

A council without fenfe.

1707.

So

So Mofes once, and Joshua,

And that virago Debora,
Beftrid poor Ifrael:

Like reverence pay to these! for who
Could ride a nation as they do,

Without a miracle?

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GOOD angels fnatch'd him eagerly on high;

Joyful they flew, finging and foaring through the
íky,

Teaching his new-fledg'd foul to fly;
While we, alas! lamenting lie.
He went mufing all along,

Compofing new their heavenly fong.

A while his fkilful notes loud hallelujahs drown'd; But foon they ceas'd their own, to catch his pleafing found.

David himself improv'd the harmony,

David in facred story fo renown'd
No lefs for mufic, than for poetry!

Genius fublime in either art!

Crown'd with applause surpaffing all defert!
A man juft after God's own heart!

If human cares are lawful to the bleft,
Already fettled in eternal reft ;

Needs muft he wish that Purcell only might
Have liv'd to fet what he vouchsaf'd to write;
For, fure, the noble thirst of fame

With the frail body never dies;

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But with the foul afcends the skies

From whence at firft it came.
'Tis fure no little proof we have
That part of us furvives the grave,

And in our fame below ftill bears a fhare :
Why is the future clfe fo much our care,
Ev'n in our latest moment of despair?

And death despis'd for fame by all the wife and brave ?
Oh, all ye bleft harmonious choir !

Who power almighty only love, and only that admire !
Look down with pity from your peacful bower,
On this fad ifle perplex'd,

And ever, ever vex'd

With anxious care of trifles, wealth and power,

In our rough minds due reverence infufe

For fivcet melodious founds, and cach harmonious Mufe.
Mufic exalts man's nature, and inspires
High elevated thoughts, or gentle, kind defires.

Оп

On the Lofs of an only Son, ROBERT Marquis of NORMAN BY.

Οι

UR morning's gay and fhining;
The days our joys declare;

At evening no repining ;

And night 's all void of care.

A fond transported mother
Was often heard to cry,
Oh, where is fuch an other
So blefs'd by heaven as I ?

A child at firft was wanting;
Now fuch a fon is fent,
As parents most lamenting

In him would find content.

A child of whom kind heaven
Not only hope bestows,
But has already given
Him all our hopes propofe.

The happy fire's poffeffing
His fhare in fuch a boy,
Adds ftill a greater bleifing
To all my other joy.

But ah! this shiny weather
Became too hot at laft;

Black clouds began to gather,

And all the fky o'erçaft.

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So fierce a fever rages,

We all lie drown'd in tears; And difmal fad prefages

Come thundering in our ears.

The doubts that made us languish,
Did worse, far worse than kill.
Yet, oh, with all their anguish,
Would we had doubted still!

But why fo much digreffion,
This fatal lofs to show ;
Alas, there's no expreffion
Can tell a parent's woe!

ON MR. POPE, AND HIS POEMS.

WITH age decay'd, with courts and bufinefs tir'd,

Caring for nothing but what eafe requir'd,

Too ferious now a wanton Muse to court,
And from the critics safe arriv'd in port;
I little thought of launching forth again,
Amidft adventurous rovers of the pen ;
And, after fome small undeferv'd fuccefs,
Thus hazarding at last to make it lefs.
Encomiums fuit not this cenforious time,
Itself.a fubject for fatiric rhyme;
Ignorance honour'd, wit and worth defam'd,
Folly triumphant, and ev'n Homer blam’d.

But

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