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O Sacred Weapon left for Truths Defence Sole Dread of Folly Vice and Insolence

All, all but Truth, drops dead-born from the press,
Like the last Gazette, or the laft address.

When black ambition ftains a public caufe,
A monarch's fword when mad vain-glory draws,
Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fear,
Not Boileau turn the feather to a ftar.

Not fo, when diadem'd with rays divine,


Touch'd with the flame that breaks from Virtue's shrine,
Her priestess Muse forbids the good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.


There, other trophies deck the truly brave,
Than fuch as Anftis cafts into the grave;
Far other ftars than * and ** wear,

And may defcend to Mordington from STAIR; †
(Such as on HOUGH's unfully'd Mitre shine,
Or beam, good DIGBY, from a heart like thine)
Let Envy howl, while Heav'n's whole chorus fings,
And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let Flatt'ry fick'ning fee the incense rise,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies:
Truth guards the poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verfe as mean as mine.
Yes, the laft pen for freedom let me draw,
When Truth ftands trembling on the edge of law;
Here, laft of Britons! let your names be read;





Are none, none living? let me praise the dead,

*The cafe of Cromwell in the civil war of England; and (ver. 229) of Louis XIV. in his conqueft of the Low Countries.

§ The chief herald at arms. It is the custom, at the funeral of great peers, to caft into the grave the broken staves and ensigns of honour.

↑ John Dalrymple earl of Stair, knight of the thistle, served in all the wars under the duke of Marlborough; and afterwards as ambaffador in France.

Dr. John Hough, bishop of Worcester, and the lord Digby. The one an affertor of the church of England, in opposition to the faife measures of king James II. The other as firmly attached to the cause of that king. Both acting out of principle, and equally men of honour and virtue.


And for that cause which made your fathers fhine,
Fall by the votes of their degen'rate line.

F. Alas! alas! pray end what you began,
And write next winter more Ejays on Man*.

This was the last poem of the kind printed by our author, with a refolution to publish no more; but to enter thus, in the most plain and folemn manner he could, a fort of PROTEST against that infuperable corruption and depravity of manners, which he had been fo unhappy as to live to fee. Could he have hoped to have amended any, he had continued thofe attacks: but bad men were grown fo fhameless and fo powerful, that ridicule was become as unsafe as it was ineffectual. The Poem raised him, as he knew it would, fome enemies; but he had reason to be satisfied with the approbation of good men, and the testimony of his own conscience.



Receiving from the Right Hon, the Lady



YES, I beheld th' Athenian queen

Descend in all her fober charms!

"And take (fhe faid, and fmil'd ferene) "Take at this hand celeftial arms.

"Secure the radiant weapons wield;
"This golden lance shall guard desert,
"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 dipt them in the fable well,
The fount of fame or infamy.

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

A lady whofe great merit Mr. Pope took a real pleasure in celebrating.


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