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IV.

Cynthia! tune harmonious numbers;
Fair Difcretion! string the lyre;
Sooth my ever-waking flumbers:
Bright Apollo! lend thy choir.

V.

Gloomy Pluto! king of terrors,
Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors,
Wat'ring foft Elysian plains.

VI.

Mournful Cypress, verdant Willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus hov'ring o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows.

VII.

Melancholy smooth Mæander
Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin lovers wander,
With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd.

VIII.

Thus when Philomela drooping,
Softly feeks her filent mate,
See the bird of Juno stooping;

Melody refigns to Fate.

On a certain Lady at Court.

I KNOW the thing that's most uncommon ; (Envy be filent and attend !)

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I know a reafonable Woman,

Handfome and witty, yet a friend.

Not warp'd by paffion, aw'd by rumour,
Not grave thro' pride, nor gay thro' folly,
An equal mixture of good humour,

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And fenfible foft melancholy.

VOL. II.

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"Has the not faults then, (Envy says,) Sir?"

Yes, she has one, I must aver;

When all the world conspires to praise her,

The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.

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On his Grotto at Twickenham, composed of Marbles, Spars, Gems, Ores, and Minerals.

THOU who shalt stop where Thames' translucent

wave

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Shines a broad mirror through the shady cave;
Where ling'ring drops from min'ral roofs distil,
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill;
Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow,
And latent metals innocently glow;
Approach. Great Nature studiously behold!
And eye the mine without a wish for gold.
Approach: but awful! lo! th' Ægerian Grot,
Where nobly pensive St. John fat and thought,
Where British fighs from dying Wyndham stole,
And the bright flame was shot thro' Marchmont's foul.
Let such, such only, tread this facred floor,

Who dare to love their country and be poor.

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On receiving from the Right Hon. the Lady Frances Shirely a Standish and two Pens.

YES, I beheld th' Athenian Queen

Defcend in all her fober charms!
"And take," she said, and smil'd serene,
"Take at this hand celestial arms:

"Secure the radiant weapons wield;
" This golden lance shall guard defert,
" And if a vice dares keep the field,
"This steel shall stab it to the heart."

Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,
Receiv'd the weapons of the sky,
And dipp'd them in the fable well,
The fount of fame or infamy.

"What

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

"But, Friend! take heed whom you attack;
"You'll bring a House (I mean of Peers)
"Red, blue, and green, nay, white and black,
"L- and all about your ears.

"You'd write as smooth again on glass,
" And run on ivory so glib,
"As not to stick at fool or ass,
"Nor stop at flattery or fib.

"Athenian Queen! and sober charms!
"I tell ye, fool! there's nothing in't :
"'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;
"In Dryden's Virgil see the print.

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"Come, if you'll be a quiet soul,
"That dares tell neither truth nor lies,
"I'll lift you in the harmless roll
"Of those that sing of these poor eyes."

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1. On Charles Earl of Dorfet, in the Church of Witham, in Suffex.

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DORSET, the grace of courts, the Mufes's pride, Patron of arts, and judge of Nature, dy'd;

The scourge of pride,, tho' fanctify'd or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state;
Yet foft his nature, tho' fevere his lay,

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His anger moral, and his wifdom gay.

Blefs'd Satirift! who touch'd the mean so true,

As show'd vice had his hate and pity too.
Blefs'd Courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet facred keep his friendships and his eafe.
Blefs'd Peer! his great forefathers' ev'ry grace

Reflecting, and reflected in his race;

Where other Buckhursts, other Dorfets, shine,
And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.

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II. On Sir William Trumball, one of the principal Secretaries of State to King William III. who, having refigned his Place, died in his Retirement at Easthamstead in Berkshire, 1716.

A PLEASING form, a firm yet cautious mind,
Sincere, tho' prudent, constant, yet resign'd:
Honour unchang'd, a principle profest,
Fix'd to one fide, but mod'rate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too,
Just to his prince, and to his country true;
Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A fcorn for wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;
A gen'rous faith, from fuperftition free,

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A love to peace, and hate of tyranny:

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Such this man was, who now, from earth remov'd,

At length enjoys that liberty he lov'd.

III. On

III. On the Hon. Simon Harcourt, only Son of the Lord Chancellor Harcourt, at the Church of Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire, 1720.

To this fad shrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near;
Here lies the friend most lov'd, the son most dear;
Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he dy'd.
How vain is reason, eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak.
Oh! let thy-once lov'd friend inscribe thy stone,
And with a father's forrows mix his own!

IV. On James Craggs, Efq. in Westminster-Abbey,
JACOBUS CRAGGS

REGI MAGNA BRITANNIE A SECRETIS
ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,
PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET
DELICIA:

VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR
ANNOS, HEU PAUCOS, XXXV.

OB. FEB. XVI. M, DCC, XX,

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear!
Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,

Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Muse he lov'd.

V. Intended for Mr. Rowe in Westminster Abbey.
THY reliques, Rowe! to this fair urn we truft,
And facred, place by Dryden's awful dust:
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Bless'd in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.

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