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"The relicks of a lofty mind,

"That lately wars and crowns design'd,
"Tolt for a jeft from wind to wind,
"Bid me be humble, and forbear
"Tall monuments of fame to rear,
"They are but caftles in the air.
"The towering heights, and frightful falls,
"The ruin'd heaps, and funerals,
"Of fmoaking kingdoms and their kings,
"Tell me a thousand mournful things
"In melancholy filence.-

"That living could not bear to fee

"An equal, now lies torn and dead;


"Here his pale trunk, and there his head;
"Great Pompey! while I meditate,
"With folemn horror, thy fad fate,
"Thy carcafe, fcatter'd on the fhore
"Without a name, inftructs me more
"Than my whole library before.

"Lie ftill, my Plutarch, then, and fleep,
"And my good Seneca may keep
"Your volumes clos'd for ever too,
"I have no further ufe for you:
"For when I feel my virtue fail,
"And my ambitious thoughts prevail,
"I'll take a turn among the tombs,
"And fee whereto all glory comes:


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"There the vile foot of every clown
"Tramples the fons of honour down.
"Beggars with awful afhes fport,
"And tread the Cæfars in the dirt."




EMPT me no more. My foul can ne'er comport
With the gay flaveries of a court :

I've an averfion to thofe charms,

And hug dear liberty in both mine arms.

Go, vaffal-fouls, go, cringe and wait, And dance attendance at Honorio's gate,

Then run in troops before him to compofe his fate;
Move as he moves: and when he loiters, ftand;
You 're but the fhadows of a man.

Bend when he speaks; and kifs the ground:
Go, catch th' impertinence of found:
Adore the follies of the great;

Wait till he fmiles: But lo, the idol frown'd
And drove them to their fate.

Thus bafe-born minds: but as for Me,
I can and will be free:

Like a strong mountain, or fome stately tree,

My foul grows firm upright,

And as I ftand, and as I go,

It keeps my body fo;


No, I can never part with my
Let flaves and asses stoop and bow,


I can

I cannot make this iron knee

Bend to a meaner power than that which form'd it free.

Thus my bold harp profufely play'd
Pindarical; then on a branchy fhade

I hung my harp aloft, myfelf beneath it laid.
Nature that liften'd to my ftrain,

Refum'd the theme, and acted it again.

Sudden rofe a whirling wind

Swelling like Honorio proud,

Around the ftraws and feathers crowd,

Types of a flavish mind;

Upwards the ftormy forces rife,

The duft flies up and climbs the skies,
And as the tempeft fell th' obedient vapours funk:
Again it roars with bellowing found,

The meaner plants that grew around,

The willow, and the asp, trembled and kiss'd the ground:

Hard by there ftood the iron trunk

Of an old oak, and all the ftorm defy'd;
In vain the winds their forces try'd,
In vain they roar'd; the iron oak
Bow'd only to the heavenly thunder's ftroke.


On Mr. LoCKE's Annotations upon feveral Parts of the New Teftament, left behind him at his Death.

HUS reafon learns by flow degrees,


What faith reveals; but ftill complains

Of intellectual pains,

-And darkness from the too exuberant light.
The blaze of those bright myfteries

Pour'd all at once on nature's eyes
Offend and cloud her feeble fight.

Reafon could fcarce fuftain to fee
Th' Almighty One, th' Eternal Three,
Or bear the infant Deity;

Scarce could her pride defcend to own
Her Maker ftooping from his throne,
And drest in glories fo unknown.
A ranfom'd world, a bleeding God,
And heaven appeas'd with flowing blood,
Were themes too painful to be understood.

Faith, thou bright cherub, speak, and say
Did ever mind of mortal race

Coft thee more toil, or larger grace,

To melt and bend it to obey.

'Twas hard to make fo rich a soul submit,`

And lay her fhining honours at thy fovereign feet.

Sister of faith, fair charity,

Shew me the wondrous man on high,

Tell how he fees the Godhead Three in One;
The bright conviction fills his eye,

His noblest powers in deep proftration lie
At the mysterious throne.

"Forgive, he cries, ye faints below,
"The wavering and the cold affent
"I gave to themes divinely true;
"Can you admit the blessed to repent?
"Eternal dark nefs vail the lines

"Of that unhappy book,

"Where glimmering reafon with falfe luftre fhines, "Where the mortal pen miftook "What the celeftial meant!"



AM not concern'd to know

What to-morrow fate will do:

'Tis enough that I can say,

I've poffefs'd myself to-day:
Then if haply midnight-death

Seize my flesh, and ftop my breath,
Yet to-morrow I fhall be

Heir to the best part of me.

Glittering stones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever fluttering to be gone,

I could never call my own:

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