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Several Occasions.

Written by


Late Arch-Deacon of Clogher :


Published by Mr. POPE.

Dignum laude Virum Musa vetat mori. HoR.

Printed for B. Lintot, at the Cross-Keys, between

the Temple Gates in Fleet-street, 1722.

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Right Honourable, ROBERT, Earl of OXFORD



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UCH were the Notes, thy once-loyd Poet

fung, 'Till Death untimely stop'd his tuneful Tongue. Oh just beheld, and lost! admir'd, and mourn'd! With softest Manners, gentlest Arts, adorn'd!

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Blest in each Science, blest in ev'ry Strain! Dear to the Muse, to HARLEY dear in vain !

For him, thou oft hast bid the World attend,

Fond to forget the Statesman in the Friend ; For Swift and him, despis’d the Farce of State,

The sober Follies of the Wife and Great ;

Dextrous, the craving, fawning Crowd to quit, And pleas'd to 'scape from Flattery to Wit.

Absent or dead, still let a Friend be dear,

(A Sigh the Absent claims, the Dead a Tear)
Recall those Nights that clos’d thy toilfom Days,
Still hear thy Parnell in his living Lays:
Who careless, now, of Int'rest, Fame, or Fate,
Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was Great ;
Ordeeming meanest what we greatest call,
Beholds thee glorious only in thy Fall.


And sure if ought below the Seats Divine Can touch Immortals, 'tis a Soul like thine: A Soul supreme, in each hard Instance try'd, Above all Pain, all Anger, and all Pride,

The Rage of Pow'r, the Blast of publick Breath, The Lust of Lucre, and the Dread of Death.

In vain to Desarts thy Retreat is made ;

The Muse attends thee to the silent Shade:

Tis hers, the brave Man's latest Steps to trace,
Re-judge his Acts, and dignify Disgrace.
When Int’rest calls off all her sneaking Train,
When all th’ Obligʻd desert, and all the Vain;
She waits, or to the Scaffold, or the Cell,
When the last ling’ring Friend has bid farewel.
Ev'n now she shades thy Evening Walk with Bays,
(No Hireling she, no Prostitute to Praise)

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