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Who careless, now, of int’rest, fame, or fate,
Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e’er was great;
Or deeming 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; SIT
A soul supreme, in each hard instance try'd, - 1
Above all pain, all anger, and all pride, P A
The rage of power, the blast of public 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: yon T 'Tis her’s, the brave man's latest steps to trace," Re-judge his a&ts, and dignify disgrace. When int'rest calls off all her sneaking train, When all th'oblig'd defert, and all the vain; 6.91 She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell, N A When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewel." T Ev'n now she shades thy ev’ning walk with bays


. (No hireling she, no prostitute to praise) Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray, . . LYRIA Eyes the calm sun-set of thy various day, 31!'! Thro’ fortune's cloud one truly great can fee, Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

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W HAT antient times (those times we fancy wise)

Have left on long record of Woman's rise, What morals teach it, and what fables hide, What author wrote it, how that author dy'd, All these I sing. In Greece they fram'd the tale (In Greece, 'twas thought a Woman might be frail.) Ye modern beauties! where the poet drew His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you; And warn’d by him, ye wanton pens, beware How Heav'n's concern’d to vindicate the fair. The case was Hesiod's; he the fable writ; Some think with meaning, some with idle wit: Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please; I wave the contest, and commence the lays.

In days of yore, (no matter where or when, 'Twas ere the low creation swarm’d with men) That one Prometheus, fprung of heav'nly birth, (Our author's fong can witness) liv'd on earth.

He carv'd the turf to mold a manly frame,
And stole from Jove his animating flame,
The fly contrivance o’er Olympus ran,
When thus the monarch of the stars began.

Oh vers’d in arts ! whose daring thoughts aspire
To kindle clay with never dying fire!
Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine ;
The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine :
And such a gift, a vengeance so design’d,
As suits the counsel of a God to find;
A pleasing bosom cheat, a specious iH,
Which felt thy curse, yet covet still to feel.

He said, and Vulcan strait the fire commands, · To temper mortar with etherial hands;

In such a shape to mold a rising fair,
As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear ;
To make her eyes with diamond-water shine,
And form her organs for a voice divine.
'Twas thus the fire ordain’d; the pow'r obey'd ;
And work’d, and wonder'd at the work he made;
The faireft, softest, sweetest frame beneath,
Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breath,

As Vulcan ends, the chearful Queen of Charms
Clasp'd the new panting creature in her arms;
From that embrace a fine complexion spread,
Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red.
Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts,
Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts;

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