EPISTLE

ΤΟ

ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD,

AND

EARL MORTIMER,

SENT to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnell's Poems, published by our Author after the faid Earl's Impriforment in the Tower, and Retreat into the country, in the year 1721.

SUCH were the notes thy once-loved poet fun 'Till death untimely ftopp'd his tuneful tongue.

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Oh just beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd!
With fofteft manners, gentleft arts adorn'd!
Bleft in each science, bleft in every train!
Dear to the Mule! to Harley dear---in vain!
For him, thou oft hatt bid the world attend,
Fond to forget the ftate han in the friend!
For Swift and him defpis'd the farce of ftate,
The fober follies of the wife and great:
Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,
And pleas'd to 'fcape from Flattery to Wit.

Abient or dead, ftill let a friend be dear, (A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear) Recall thofe nights that clos'd thy teilfome days,15 Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays, Who, careless now of intereft, farne, or fate, Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great; Or, deeming meaneft what we greatest call, Beholds thee glorieus only in thy fall.

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And fure, if aught below the feats divine Can touch immortals, 'tis a foul like thine : A foul fupreme, in each hard inftance try'd, Above all pain, and paffion, and all pride, The rage of power, the blaft of public breath, 25

The luft of lucre, and the dread of death.

A

EPISTLE

TO JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.

SECRETARY OF STATE IN THE YEAR 1720. SOUL as full of worth, ar vcid of pride, Which nothing feeks to fhew, or needs to Lide;

Which nor to guilt, nor fear, its caution owes, And boafts a warmth that from no paffion flows: A face untaught to feign; a judging eye, 5 That darts fevere upon a rifing lic,

And ftrikes a blufh through frontle's flattery: All this thou wert; and being this before, Know, kings and fortune cannot make thee

This, from no venal or ungrateful mufe.
Whether thy hand ftrike out fome free defign,
Where life awakes, and dawns at every line;
Or blend in beauteous tints the colour'd maís, 5
And from the canvas call the mimic face:
Read thefe inftructive leaves, in which confpire
Frefnoy's clofe art, and Dryden's native fire:
So mix'doar ftudies, and to join'd our name; 10
And reading wifh, like theirs, our fate and fame,
Like them to fhine through long fucceeding age,
So fuft thy skill, fo regular my rage.

Smit with the love of fifter-arts we came, And met congenial, mingling flame with flame: Like friendly colours found them both unite, 15 And each from each contract new strength and light.

How oft in pleafing tasks we wear the day,
While fummer-funs roll unperceiv'd away!
How oft our flowly-growing works impart,
While images reflect from art to art!
How oft review; each finding like a friend
Something to blame, and fomething to commend!
What flattering fcenes our wandering fancy

wrought,

Rome's pompous glories rifing to our thought!
Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly,
Fir'd with ideas of fair Italy.

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With thee on Raphael's monument I mourn,
Or wait infpiring dreams at Maro's urn:
With thee repofe, where Tully once was laid,
Or feek fome ruin's formidable fhade:
While fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view,
And builds imaginary Rome anew.
Here thy well-ftudied marbles fix our eye;
A fading Frefco here demands a figh:
Each heavenly piece unwearied we compare,
Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air,
Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line,
Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine.
How finish'd with illuftrious toil appears
This fmall, well-polish'd gem the work of years!40
Yet ftill how faint by precept is exprefs'd
The living image in the painter's breaft!
Thence endlefs ftreams of fair Ideas flow,
Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow;
Thence beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies 45
An angel's fweetnefs, or Bridgewater's eyes.
Mufe! at that name thy facred forrows fhed,
Thofe tears eternal that embalm the dead;
Call round her tomb each object of defire,
Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire:
Bid her be all that chears or softens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife:
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore;
Then view this marble, and be vain no more!
Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint en-
gage;
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Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age.
Beauty, frail flower that every feason fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.
Thus Churchill's race fhall other hearts furprife,
And other beauties envy Worley's eyes;
Each pleafing Blount fhall endless fmiles beftow,
And foft Belinda's blush for ever glow.

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Oh, lafting as thofe colours may they fhine, Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line; New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay; Led by fome rule, that guides, but not constrains; And finifh'd more through happiness than pains! The kindred arts fhall in their praife confpire, One dip the pencil, and one ftring the lyre. Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on every face: Yet fhould the Mufes bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, And these be fung till Granville's Myra die: Alas! how little from the grave we claim ! Thou but preferv't a Face, and I a Name.

EPISTLE

TO

MISS BLOUNT,

;

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WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE.

IN thefe gay thoughts the loves and Graces fhine,
And all the Wiiter lives in every line:

His ealy Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themfelves are elegant in him.

Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flattery pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with esteem no lefs convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-
bred:

His heart, his miftrefs and his friend did fhare;
His time, the Mufe, the witty and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
Till fate fcarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft;
As fmiling infants fport themselves to reft.
Ev'n rival wits did Voiture's death deplore, 15
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd be-
fore:

The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brighteft eyes:
The Smiles and Loves had died in Voiture's
death,

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But that for ever in his lines they breathe.
Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and ferious comedy;
In every scene fome moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular,
Have humour, wit, a native cafe and grace,
Though not too ftrictly bound to time and place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please ;
Few write to thofe, and none can live to thefe. 30
Too much your fex are by their forms con-
fin'd,

Severe to all, but moft to Womankind;
Cuftom, grown blind with age, must be your
guide;

Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;
By nature yielding, ftubborn but for fame;
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Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by
fhame.

Marriage may all thofe petty tyrants chace,
But fets up one, a greater in their place;
Well might you wifh for change by thofe ac-
curft,

But the laft tyrant ever proves the worst.
Still in constraint your fuffering fex remains,
Or bound in formal or in real chains:
Whole years neglected, for fome months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah, quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let falfe fhews, nor empty titles pleafe:
Aim not at joy, but reft content with eate.

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The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her prayers, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders mares,50 The fhining robes, rich jewels, beds of ftate, And, to complete her blifs, a Fool for mate. She glares in balls, front boxes, and the ring, A vain, unquiet, glittering, wretched thing! Pride, pomp, and ftate, but reach her outward 55 part;

She ghs, and is no Duchefs at her heart.

Bur, madun, if the lates withstand, and you
Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too ;
Truft net too much your now refifles charms,

Thofe, age or fick nefs, foon or late difarms: 60
Good-humour only teaches charms to laft,
Still makes new conqueft, and maintains the paft;,

day;

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To part her time 'twixt reading and Bohea,
To mufe, and fpill her folitary tea;
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, teli ftories to the 'Squire; 20
Up to her godly garret after feven,
There ftirve and pray, for that's the way to
Heaven.

Some 'Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack; Whole game is whift, whofe treat a toaft is fack:

* Mademsifelle Baules.

Makes love with nods, and, knees beneath a table, Whofe laughs are hearty, though his jets are coarfe,

And loves you beft of all things--but his horfe. 3
In fome fair evening, on your elbow laid,
You dream of triumphs in the rural fhade;
In penfive thought reeall the fancy'd scene,
See coronations rife on every green;
Before you pals th' imaginary fights
Of Lords, and Earl. and Dukes, and garter'd
Knights,

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While the fpread fan o'erfhades your closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vifion flies.
Thus vanifa fceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls! 40
So when your flave, at fome dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with head-aches, or the want of
rhyme)

Stands in the streets, abftracted from the crew,
And while he feems to ftudy, thinks of you.
Juft when his fancy points your fprightly eyes, 45
Or fees the blush of foft Parthenia rile,
Gay pats my fhoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs, tufh upon my fight;
Vex'd to be ftill in town, I knit my brow,

Look four, and hum a tune, as you may now. 50

LOVET.

Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I stay, Though time is precious, and I want forme tea.

CARDELIA.

SMILINDA.

CARDELIA.

But of what marble must that breaft be form'd, 75
To gaze on Baflet, and remain unwarm'd?
When kings, queens, knaves, are fet in decent
rank;

Guineas, half-guineas, all the fhining train;
Expos'd in glorious heaps the tempting bank,
The winner's pleasure, and the lofer's pain:
They strike the foul, and glitter in the ere.
In bright confufion open Rondeaus lie,
Fir'd by the fight, all reafon I did in;
My paffions rife, and will not bear the rein.
Look upon Baffet, you who reafon boaft ;
And fee if reason must not there be loft.

SMILINDA

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85

What more than marble muft that heart compofe,

Then, when he trembles! when his blushes rife!
Can hearken coldly to my Sharper's vows?
When awful love feems melting in his eyes! 90
He loves.---I whisper to myself, he loves!
With eager beats his Mechlin cravat moves:
Such unfeign'd paffion in his looks appears,
I lose my memory of my former fears;
My panting heart confeffes all his charms,
I yield at once, and fink into his arms.
Think of that moment, you who Prudence boaft;
For luch a moment, Prudence well were loft.

CARDELIA.

95

At the Groom-Porter's, batter'd bullies play, Some Dukes at Marybone bowl time away. But who the bowl, or rattling dice compares 190 To Baffet's heavenly joys, and pleafing cares?

SMILINDA.

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