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grace adorn,

Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th’ungrateful stage:
Unprofitably kept at-heaven's

expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence:
But
you,
whom
every

mufe and
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and 0 defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend !
Let not th’insulting foe my fame pursue,
But shade those laurels which descend to you:
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more ; nor could my love do less.

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5

IT

IT

A Vfpicious poet, wert thou not my friend,

How could I envy, what I must commend!
But since 'tis nature's law in love and wit,
That youth should reign, and withering age submit,

With less regret those laurels I resign,
Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine.
With better grace an ancient chief may yield
The long contended honors of the field,
Than venture all his fortune at a cast,
And fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last.
Young princes, obstinate to win the prize,
Tho yearly, beaten, yearly yet they, rise :
Old monarchs, tho successful, still in doubt,
Catch at a peace, and wisely turn devout.
Thine be the laurel then ; thy blooming age
Can best, if any can, support the stage ;
Which so declines, that shortly we may see
Players and plays reduc'd to fecond infancy.
Sharp to the world, but thoughtless of renown,
They plot not on the stage, but on the town,
And, in despair their empty pit to fill,
Set up some foreign'monster in a bill.
Thus they jog on, still tricking, never thriving,
And murd'ring plays, which they miscal reviving:
Our sense is nonsense, thro their pipes convey'd;
Scarce can a poet know the play he made ;
'Tis so disguis’d in death ; nor thinks 'tis he
That suffers in the mangled tragedy.

Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th’ungrateful ftage :
Unprofitably kept at-heaven's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence:
But
you,
whom

every mufe and grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and 0 defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th’insulting foe my

fame pursue,
But shade those laurels which descend to you :
And take for tribute what these lines express:
You merit more ; nor could my love do lefs.

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A Vfpicious poet, wert thou not my friend,

How could I envy, what I must commend !
But since 'tis nature's law in love and wit,
That youth should reign, and witheringage submit,

With less regret those laurels I resign,
Which, dying on my brows, revive on thine.
With better grace an ancient chief may yield
The long contended honors of the field,
Than venture all his fortune at a caft,
And fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last.
Young princes, obstinate to win the prize,
Tho yearly, beaten, yearly yet they rise :
Old monarchs, tho successful, still in doubt,
Catch at a peace, and wisely turn devout. '
Thine be the laurel then ; thy blooming age
Can best, if any can, support the stage ;
Which so declines, that shortly we may see
Players and plays reduc'd to second infancy.
Sharp to the world, but thoughtless of renown,
They plot not on the stage, but on the town,
And, in despair their empty pit to fill,
Set

up some foreign monster in a bill. Thus they jog on, still tricking, never thriving, And murd’ring plays, which they miscal reviving. Our fenfe is nonsense, thro their pipes convey’d; Scarce can a poet know the play he made ; 'Tis so disguis’d in death ; nor thinks 'tis he That suffers in the mangled tragedy.

you, whom

whom every

Already I am worn with cares and

age,
And just abandoning th’ungrateful ftage :
Unprofitably kept at heaven's expence,
I live a rent-charge on his providence :
But

mufe and grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and 0 defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend!
Let not th’insulting foe my

fame pursue, But shade those laurels which descend to you: And take for tribute what these lines express: You merit more ; nor could my love do less.

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EPIST LE the ELEVENTH.

Τ Ο

Mr. GRAN VILL E,

ON HIS

Excellent Tragedy call’d, Heroic Love.

my

friend, How could I envy, what I must commend! But since 'tis nature's law in love and wit, That youth should reign, and witheringage submit,

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