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ELEGIES

AND

EPITAPHS.

TO THE

MEMORY OF MR. OLDHAM.

FAREWELL, too little, and too lately known,
Whom I began to think, and call my own:
For fure our fouls were near allied, and thine
Caft in the fame poetic mould with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike, 5
And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike.
To the fame goal did both our studies drive ;
The last fet out, the fooneft did arrive.

Thus Nifus fell upon the flippery place,
Whilft his

young friend perform'd, and won the

race.

O early ripe! to thy abundant ftore

What could advancing age have added more?

10

Ver. 1. Farewell, too little,] This fhort elegy is finished with the most exquifite art and fkill. Not an epithet or expreffion can be changed for a better. It is alfo the moft harmonious in its numbers of all that this great mafter of harmony has produced. Oldham's Satire on the Jefuits is written with vigour and energy. It is remarkable that Dryden calls Oldham his brother in fatire, hinting that this was the characteristical turn of both their geniuses.

To the fame goal did both our studies drive.

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Ver. 7.
Dr. J. WARTON.

It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue.

But fatire needs not thofe, and wit will fhine 15
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
A noble error, and but seldom made,

When poets are by too much force betray'd. Thy generous fruits, though gather'd ere their prime,

Still fhew'd a quickness; and maturing time 20 But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets

of rhyme.

Once more, hail, and farewell; farewell, thou young,

But ah too fhort, Marcellus of our tongue! Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound; But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.

95

TO THE

PIOUS MEMORY

OF THE ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY,

MRS. ANNE KILLIGREW,

EXCELLENT IN THE TWO SISTER ARTS OF

POESY AND PAINTING.

AN ODE.

I.

THOU youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
Made in the laft promotion of the bleft;
Whofe palms, new pluck'd from paradise,
In fpreading branches more fublimely rife,

Ver. 1. Thou youngest virgin] At length we are arrived at the Ode on the Death of Mrs. Anne Killigrew, which Dr. Johnfon, by an unaccountable perverfity of judgment, and want of tafte for true poetry, has pronounced to be undoubtedly the nobleft Ode that our language ever has produced. The first ftanza, he says, flows with a torrent of enthusiasm. To a cool and candid reader, it appears abfolutely unintelligible. Examples of bad writing, of tumid expreffions, violent metaphors, farfought conceits, hyperbolical adulation, unnatural amplifications, interfperfed, as ufual, with fine lines, might be collected from this applauded Ode, fo very inferior in all refpects to the

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