Bleft in each Science, bleft in ev'ry Strain! For him, thou oft haft bid the World attend, Fond to forget the Statesman in the Friend; For Swift and him, despis'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 those 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 And fure if ought below the Seats Divine A Soul fupreme, in each hard Instance try'd, The Rage of Pow'r, the Blaft of publick Breath, 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 defert, 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) |