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Receiving from the Right Hon. the Lady
'ES, I beheld th' Athenian Queen
Defcend in all her fober charms; "And take (the faid, and fmil'd ferene) "Take at this hand celeftial arms.
Secure the radiant weapons wield;
"This golden lance shall guard Defert,
"And if a Vice dares keep the field,
"This steel fhall stab it to the heart."
Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,
Receiv'd the weapons of the sky;
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.
"But, Friend, take heed whom you attack;
"You'll bring a house (I mean of Peers)
"Red, Blue, and Green, nay white and black,
and all about your ears
"You'd write as fimooth again on glass,
"And run, on ivory, so glib,
"As not to stick at fool or afs,
"Nor ftop at Flattery or Fib.
"Athenian Queen! and fober charms!
"I tell you, fool, there's nothing in 't :
"'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;
"In Dryden's Virgil fee the print.
"Come, if you 'll be a quiet foul,
"That dares tell neither Truth nor Lies,
"I'll lift you in the harmless roll
"Of those that fing of these poor eyes."
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 Imprisonment in the Tower, and Retreat into the Country, in the year 1721.
UCH were the notes thy once-lov'd Poet fung,
Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue.
Oh juft beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd!
With foftest manners, gentleft arts adorn'd!
Bleft in each science, bleft in every ftrain!
Dear to the Mufe! to Harley dear-in vain!
For him, thou oft haft bid the World attend,
Fond to forget the statesman in the friend;
For Swift and him, despis'd the farce of state,
The fober follies of the wife and great;
Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,
And pleas'd to 'scape from Flattery to Wit.
Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear,
(A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear)
Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilsome days,
Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays,
Who, careless now of Intereft, 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 aught below the feats divine
Can touch Immortals, 'tis a Soul like thine:
A Soul Supreme, in each hard instance try'd,
Above all Pain, and Passion, and all Pride,
The rage of Power, the blast of public breath,
The luft of Lucre, and the dread of Death.
In vain to Deferts thy retreat is made;
The Muse attends thee to thy filent shade >
'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace,
Rejudge his acts, and dignify disgrace.
When Intereft calls off all her sneaking train,
And all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the Scaffold, or the cell,
When the last lingering friend has bid farewell.
Ev'n now, the fhades thy Evening-walk with bays
(No hireling the, no prostitute to praise);
Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm Sun-fet of thy various Day,
Through Fortune's cloud one truly great can see,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he