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Then with a groan-support me, O! beware
Of holding worth, however great, too dear ! *

Pardon, my lord, the privilege of grief,
That in untimely freedom seeks relief;
To better fate your love I recommend,
O! may you never lose so dear a friend!
May nothing interrupt your happy hours;
Enjoy the blessings peace on Europe thowers :
Nor
yet

disdain those blessings to adorn ;
To make the Muse immortal, you was born.
Sing; and in latest time, when story 's dark,
This period your surviving fame shall mark ;
Save from the gulph of years this glorious age,
And thus illustrate their historian's page.

The crown of Spain in doubtful balance hung,
And Anna Britain sway'd, when Granville fung:
That noted year Europa sheath'd her sword,
When this great man was first faluted lord.

* The Author here bewails that most ingenious gentleman, Mr. William Harrison, Fellow of NewCollege, Oxon. YOUNG.-[See a more particular account of him in the “ Supplement to Swift.”]

TWO

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E P I S T L E I.

WH

HILST

you at Twickenham plan the future

wood,
Or turn the volumes of the wise and good,
Our fenate meets; at parties, parties bawl,
And pamphlets stun the streets, and load the stall;
So rushing tides bring things obscene to light,
Foul wrecks emerge, and dead dogs swim in sight;
The civil torrent foams, the tumult reigns,
And Codrus’ prose works up, and Lico's strains.
Lo! what from cellars rise, what rush from high,
Where speculation roosted near the sky ;
Letters, Eslays, Sock, Buskin, Satire, Song,
And all the Garret thunders on the throng !

O Pope ! I burst; nor can, nor will, refrain ;
I'll write ; let others, in their turn, complain :
Truce, truce, ye Vandals! my tormented ear
Less dreads a pillory than a pamphleteer ;
I 've heard myself to death ; and, plagu'd each hour,
Shan't I return the vengeance in my power ?
For who can write the true absurd like me ?-
Thy pardon, Codrus ! who, I mean, but thee ?

Pope ! if like mine, or Codrus', were thy style,
The blood of vipers had not stain'd thy file;
Merit less solid, less despite had bred;
They had not bit, and then they had not bled.
Fame is a public mistress, none enjoys,
But, more or less, his rival's peace destroys;

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