EEEEEEEEEEE

DEDICATION.

то

Dr. PARNELL'S POEMS.

By the fame.

To the Right Honourable Robert, Earl of Oxford, and Earl Mortimer.

(UCH were the notes, thy once-lov'd Poet fung,

'Till death untimely ftop'd his tuneful tongue.

Oh just beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd With fofteft manners, gentleft arts, adorn'd Bleft in each science, bleft in ev'ry strain! Dear to the Mufe, to Harley dear in vain! For him thou oft haft bid the world attend, Fond to forget the ftatefman in the friend; For Swift and him, defpis'd the farce of ftate, The fober follies of the wife and great;

Dextrous,

Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,

And pleas'd to 'fcape from flattery to wit..
Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear,

(A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear) Recall thofe 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
Can touch immortals 'tis a foul like thine.
A foul fupreme in each hard inftance try'd,
Above all pain, all anger, and all pride,
The rage of pow'r, the blaft of publick breath,
The luft of lucre, and the dread of death.

In vain to defarts thy retreat is made;

The mufe attends thee to the filent fhade : 'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace, Rejudge his acts, and dignify difgrace.

When int'reft calls off all her fneaking train, When all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain; She waits, or to the fcaffold, or the cell, When the laft ling'ring friend has bid farewel

Ev'n now, fhe fhades thy evening walk with bays,

(No hireling the, no prostitute to praise)

Ev'n now obfervant of the parting ray,

Eyes the calm fun-fet of thy various day,
Thro' fortune's cloud one truly great can fee,
Nor fears to tell, that Mortimer is he.

Sept. 25.
1721.

то

TWO

CHORU S'S

TO THE

Tragedy of Brutus,

Not yet Publick.

Chorus of Athenians.

Strophe 1.

E fhades, where facred truth is fought;
Groves, where immortal fages taught;

YR

Where heav'nly vifions Plato fir'd,

And godlike Zeno lay infpir'd!
In vain your guiltless laurels stood,
Unfpotted long with human blood.

War,

War, horrid war, your thoughtful walks invades,
And fteel now glitters in the mufes fhades.
Antiftrophe 1..

Oh heav'n-born fifters! fource of art!

Who charm the fenfe, or mend the heart;
Who lead fair virtue's train along,
Moral truth, and myftic fong!

To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forfaken, friendlefs, fhall ye fly?

Say, will ye blefs the bleak Atlantic shore,
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

Strophe z

When Athens finks by fates unjuft,
When wild Barbarians fpurn her duft;
Perhaps ev❜n Britain's utmoft fhore J
Shall cease to blush with ftranger's gore,
See arts her favage fons controul,

An Athens rifing near the pole!

Till fome new tyrant lifts his purple hand,

And civil madness tears them from the land.

Antiftrophe 2.

Ye Gods! what juftice rules the ball?

Freedom and arts together fall;

Fools