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Shall glitter o'er the pendent green,
LEST you should think that verse shall die
Which sounds the silver Thames along, Taught on the wings of Truth to fly
Above the reach of vulgar song ;
Tho' daring Milton sits sublime,
In Spenser native Muses play ; Nor yet shall Waller yield to time,
Nor pensive Cowley's moral lay
and Chiefs long since had birth Ere Cæsar was or Newton nam’d; These rais'd new empires o'er the earth,
And those new heav'ns and systems fram'd.
Vain was the chief 's, the sage's pride!
TO ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD AND LORD
SUCH were the notes thy once lov'd poet sung,
For him thou oft hast bid the world attend,
* Sent to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnell's Poems, published by our Author after the Earl's imprisonment in the Tower, and retreat into the country, in the year 1721.
Dextrous the craving, fawning, crowd to quit,
Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear,
In vain to desarts thy retreat is made,
30 When Int'rest calls off all her sneaking train, And all th’ oblig'd desert, and all the vain, She waits, or to the scaffold or the cell, When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewell. Ev’n now she shades thy ev’ning walk with bays, 35 (No hireling she, no prostitute to praise,)