And giving us the use, did soon recal,
Ere we could spare, the mighty principal.
Thus then he disappear'd, was rarify'd;
For 'tis improper speech to say he dy'd :
He was exhal'd; his great Creator drew
His fpirit, as the fun the morning dew...
'Tis fin produces death; and he had none
But the taint Adam left on ev'ry fon.
He added not, he was so pure, fo good,
'Twas but th' original forfeit of his blood:
And that so little, that the river ran
More clear than the corrupted fount began.
Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay;
The length of course had wash'd it in the way:
So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.
As fuch we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd,
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford.
Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above
Grew angry at our fuperftitious love :
For when we more than human homage pay,
The charming cause is justly snatch'd away.

Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone: And yet we murmur that he went fo foon; Tho miracles are short and rarely shown.

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Hearn then, ye mournful parents, and divide That love in many, which in one was ty'd. That individual blessing is no more, But multiply'd in your remaining store. The flame's difpers'd, but does not all expire; The sparkles blaze, tho not the globe of fire. Love him by parts, in all your num'rous race, And from those parts form one collected grace; Then, when you have refin'd to that degree, Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.

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UPON

Young Mr. ROGERS Of Gloucestershire.

F gentle blood, his parents only treasure,
Their lasting forrow, and their vanish'd
pleasure,

Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace,
A large provifion for fo short a race;

More mod'rate gifts might have prolong'd his date,
Too early fitted for a better state;
But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay,
He leap'd o'er age, and took the shortest way.

They strain their warbling throats,

To welcome in the spring.

But in the close of night,

When Philomel begins her heavenly lay,

They cease their mutual spite,
Drink in her music with delight,

And lift'ning filently obey.

II.

So ceas'd the rival crew, when Purcell came; They fung no more, or only sung his fame : Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man:

The godlike man,

Alas! too foon retired,

As he too late began.

We beg not hell our Orpheus to restore :
Had he been there,
Their sovereign's fear

Had fent him back before.

The power of harmony too well they knew : He long ere this had tun'd their jarring sphere,

And left no hell below.

III.

Theheavenly choir, who heard his notes from high, Let down the scale of music from the sky:

They handed him along,

And all the way he taught, and all the way they sung.
Ye breth'ren of the lyre, and tuneful voice,
Lament his lot; but at your own rejoice :
Now live secure, and linger out your days;
The gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's lays,
Nor know to mend their choice.

EPI T APH

ON THE

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LADY WHITMORE.

F

AIR, kind, and true, a treasure each alone, A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one, Rest in this tomb, rais'd at thy husband's coft, Here sadly summing, what he had, and loft. Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join, Come first, and offer at her facred shrine; Pray but for half the virtues of this wife, Compound for all the rest, with longer life; And with your vows, like hers, may be return'd, So lov'd when living, and when dead fo mourn'd.

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礼

ΕΡΙ

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