UCH were the notes, thy once-lov'd Poet fung, SUCH 'Till death untimely stop'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd! For him, thou oft haft bid the world attend, For SWIFT and him, defpis'd the farce of ftate, The fober follies of the wife and great; Dextrous, the craving, fawning croud to quit, And pleas'd to 'scape from flattery to wit. a Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend he dear, (A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear) Recal 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 meaneft what we greatest call, Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall. And fure, if ought below the feats divine A foul fupreme, in each hard inftance try'd, 'Tis her's, the brave man's latest steps to trace, When int'reft calls off all her fneaking train, When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewel. SEPT. 25, A. POPE. B 4 HESIOD: |