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Printed for, and under the Direction of,

G. CAWTHORN, British Library, STRAND,


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Come thou, my Friend! my Genius! come along;

Oh, master of the poet and the song!

And while the Muse now stoops, or now ascends
To man's low passions or their glorious ends,
Teach me, like thee, in various Nature wise,
To fall with dignity, with temper rise.....
Oh! while along the stream of time thy name
Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame,
Say, shall my little bark attendant sail,
Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale!
Shall then this Verse to future age pretend
Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend?
That, urg`d by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art
From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart;
For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light,
Shew'd erring Pride, whatever is is right----
That virtue only makes our biiss below,
And all our knowledge is ourselves to know.



Printed for, and under the Direction of,

C. CAWTHORN, British Library, STRAND.




THIS illustrious Poet was born at London in 1688, and was descended from a good family of that name in Oxfordshire, the head of which was the Earl of Downe, whose sole heiress married the Earl of Lindsey. His father, a man of primitive simplicity and integrity of manners, was a merchant of London, who, upon the Revolution, quitted trade, and converted his effects into money, amounting to near 10,000l. with which he retired into the country; and died in 177, at the age of seventy-five.

Our Poet's mother, who lived to a very advanced age, being ninety-three years old when she died in 1733, was the daughter of William Turner, Esq. of York. She had three brothers, one of whom was killed, another died in the service of King Charles; and the eldest, following his fortunes, and becoming a general officer in Spain, left her what estate remained after sequestration and forfeitures of her family. To these circumstances our Poet alludes in his Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, in which he mentions his parents.

Of gentle blood (part shed in Honour's cause,
While yet in Britain honour had applause)

Each par nt sprang---What fortune pray?-- their own;
And better got than Bestia's from the throne.

Born to no pride, inheriting no strife,

Nor marrying discord in a noble wife;

Stranger to civil and religious rage,

The good man walk'd innoxious thro' his age:
No courts he saw, no suits would ever try;

Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie:

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