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Bleft in each Science, bleft in ev'ry Strain!
Dear to the Mufe, to HARLEY dear -in vain!


For him, thou oft haft bid the World attend, Fond to forget the Statesman in the Friend; For Swift and him, defpis'd the Farce of State, The fober Follies of the Wife and Great ; Dextrous, the craving, fawning Crowd to quit, And pleas'd to 'scape from Flattery to Wit.

Abfent or dead, ftill let a Friend be dear, (A Sigh the Abfent claims, the Dead a Tear) Recall thofe Nights that clos'd thy toilfom Days, Still hear thy Parnell in his living Lays: Who careless, now, of Int'reft, Fame, or Fate, Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was Great ; Or deeming meanest what we greatest call, Beholds thee glorious only in thy Fall.


And fure if ought below the Seats Divine Can touch Immortals, 'tis a Soul like thine: A Soul fupreme, in each hard Instance try'd, Above all Pain, all Anger, and all Pride, The Rage of Pow'r, the Blast of publick Breath, The Luft of Lucre, and the Dread of Death.

In vain to Defarts thy Retreat is made ; The Muse attends thee to the filent Shade: 'Tis hers, the brave Man's latest Steps to trace, Re-judge his Acts, and dignify Difgrace. When Int'reft calls off all her sneaking Train, When all th' Oblig'd desert, and all the Vain; She waits, or to the Scaffold, or the Cell, When the last ling'ring Friend has bid farewel. Ev'n now she shades thy Evening Walk with Bays, (No Hireling fhe, no Prostitute to Praise)

Ev'n now, observant of the parting Ray,
Eyes the calm Sun-set of thy Various Day,
Thro' Fortune's Cloud One truly Great can fee,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is He.

Sept, 25.



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