A haughty bard to fame by volumes rais'd,

At Dick's, and Batfon's, and thro' Smithfield prais'd;
Cries out aloud-Bold Oxford bard forbear
With rugged numbers to torment my ear;
Yet not like thee the heavy critick foars,
But paints in fuftian, or in turn deplores ;
With Bunyan's ftyle profanes heroic fongs,
To the tenth page lean homilies prolongs;
For far-fetch'd rhymes makes puzzled angels ftrain,
And in low verse dull Lucifer complain;

His envious muse by native dulness curst,
Damns the best poems, and contrives the worst.

Beyond his praife or blame thy works prevail,
Compleat where Dryden and thy Milton fail;
Great Milton's wing on lower themes fubfides,
And Dryden oft' in rhyme his weakness hides ;
You ne'er with jingling words deceive the ear,
And yet, on humble fubjects, great appear.

Thrice happy youth, whom noble Ifis crowns!
Whom Blackmore cenfures, and Godolphin owns ;
So on the tuneful Margarita's tongue

The lift'ning nymphs, and ravish'd heroes hung;
But cits and fops the heav'n-born mufick blame,
And bawl, and hifs, and damn her into fame ::

Like her sweet voice is thy harmonious fong,
As high, as: fweet, as eafy, and as ftrong.

Oh! had relenting heav'n prolong'd his days,
The tow'ring bard had fung in nobler lays,
How the last trumpet wakes the lazy dead,
How faints aloft the crofs triumphant spread;
How op'ning heav'ns their happy regions show,
And dawning gulphs with flaming vengeance glow,
And faints rejoice above, and finners howl below:
Well might he fing the day he could not fear,
And paint the glories he was fure to wear.

Oh best of friends, will ne'er the filept urn
To our juft vows the hapless youth return?
Must he no more divert the tedious day?
Nor sparkling thoughts in antique words convey?
No more to harmless irony defcend,

To noify fools a grave attention lend,
Nor merry tales with learn'd quotations blend ?
No more in falfe pathetick phrase complain
Of Delia's wit, her charms, and her disdain ?
Who now fhall God-like Anna's fame diffuse ?
Muft fhe, when most she merits, want a muse?
Who now our Twyfden's glorious fate fhall tell;
How lov'd he liv'd, and how deplor'd he fell :

}

How,

How, while the troubled elements around,

Earth, water, air, the stunning din resound; Through ftreams of fmoak, and adverfe fire he rides;

While ev'ry shot is levell'd at his fides;

How, while the fainting Dutch remotely fire,
And the fam'd Eugene's iron troops retire,
In the firft front amidst a slaughter'd pile,
High on the mound he dy'd near Great Argyle.
Whom fhall I find unbyafs'd in difpute,
Eager to learn, unwilling to confute ?
To whom the labours of my foul disclose ?
Reveal my pleasure, or discharge my woes ?
Oh! in that heav'nly youth for ever ends
The best of fons, of brothers, and of friends.
He facred friendship's ftricteft laws obey'd,

Yet more by confcience than by friendship sway'd;
Against himself his gratitude maintain’d,

By favours paft, not future prospects gain'd:

Not nicely chufing, tho' by all defir'd;

Tho' learn'd, not vain; and humble, tho' admir'd:

Candid to all, but to himself severe,

In humour pliant, as in life auftere.

A wife content his even foul fecur'd,

By want not shaken, nor by wealth allur’d.

To

To all fincere, tho' earneft to commend,

Could praise a rival, or condemn a friend.

To him old Greece and Rome were fully known,
Their tongues, their fpirit, and their ftyles his own:
Pleas'd the least steps of famous men to view,

Our author's works, and lives, and fouls he knew ;
Paid to the learn'd and great the fame esteem,
The one his pattern, and the one his theme:
With equal judgment his capacious mind
Warm Pindar's rage, and Euclid's reason join❜d.
Judicious phyfick's noble art to gain

All drugs and plants explor'd, alas in vain!
The drugs and plants their drooping mafter fail'd,
Nor goodness now, nor learning aught avail'd:
Yet to the bard his Churchill's foul they gave,
And made him fcorn the life they could not fave.

Elfe could he bear unmov'd the fatal guest,
The weight that all his fainting limbs oppreft,
The coughs that ftruggled from his weary breast
Could he unmov'd approaching death sustain ?
Its flow advances, and its racking pain?
Could he ferene his weeping friends furvey,
In his last hours his easy wit display,...

Like the rich fruit he fings, delicious in decay?

Once

Once on thy friends look down, lamented shade,
And view the honours to thy ashes paid ;
Some thy lov'd dust in Parian stones enfhrine,
Others immortal epitaphs defign;

With wit, and strength, that only yields to thine:
Ev'n I, tho' flow to touch the painful string,
Awake from flumber, and attempt to fing.
Thee, Philips, thee defpairing Vaga mourns,
And gentle Ifis foft complaints returns ;
Dormer laments amidst the war's alarms;

And Cecil weeps in beauteous. Tufton's arms;
Thee on the Po kind Somerfet deplores,

And ev❜n that charming fcene his grief restores:
He to thy lofs each mournful air applies,

Mindful of thee on huge Taburnus lies,

But most at Virgil's tomb his fwelling forrows rife.
But you, his darling friends, lament no more,
Difplay his fame, and not his fate deplore:
And let no tears from erring pity flow,

For one that's blest above, immortaliz'd below.

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THE