A PINDARICO DE

TO THE MEMORY OF

DR. WILLIAM KING.

I.

A WIDOW'D Friend invites a widow'd Mufe
To tell the melancholy news,

And cloath herself with fable weeds,

Such as will fhew her heart with forrow bleeds;
With grief fhe can't exprefs,

But in foft moving verse,

Which melts to tears, like that dark night
In which thou vanished'st from fight,
To mount the regions of eternal light.
For Heaven, it seems, denied a longer date.
Thy happy course was run,
Thy bufinefs here was done,

And thou art fet, like the all-glorious fun.
Yet, just before thy death,

Thou rais'dft thy tuneful breath.
Like dying fwans at their approaching fate.

11.

Come hither, friendly Mufe, and tell

How this good Prophet fell,

That liv'd fo well:

What faucy meffenger durft ftrike the blow

Of fatal Death,

And feize his breath,

Who always was in readiness to go?

c Written by Mr. Oldisworth, who continued the Examiners when Dr. Swift had given them up, and whom our Author is fuppofed occafionally to have assisted in those papers.—Whatever may be thought of Mr. Oldifworth's poetry, the warmth of friendship which breathes through this Pin@arick demands our commendation.

Could

Could not thy wit command

25

The Fugitive to stand,

Which others could forbid to die,

And blefs their names with. immortality?

Hadft thou but us'd thy art,

Death would have dropt his dart,

And wondering ftopt the preffure of his leaden hand.

III.

Alas, he's cold! Oh, for a grave

To bury the fad tale;

For tears will not prevail

Where Humour, Wit, or Virtue, could not fave !

Learning we boast in vain :

A tomb is all we gain.

For a life fpent in study and in pain.

Wretched Mortality!

Couldft thou thyself but fee,

Thou wouldst hate life as we love thee.

Why then fo fond to live are vain mankind?
Why all thofe joys pursue,

That feem to make life new?

30

35

How fhouldst thou live in fuch an age of vice?
The Phoenix only dwells in Paradise.

Earth was too narow for thy mind,
And thou, to all its flatteries blind,
'Now in the bowers of blifs

50

Whilst we lament thy too, too early fate :
But greatest bleffings have the shortest date.
In mournful Poetry

Our last efforts we'll try,

Who beft can write upon a theme fo great.

V.

Like warriours well appointed for the fight,
Poffefs'd with generous rage,

Each Poet fhould engage;

Each strive who beft could prove
His duty or his love;

Each freely pay his tributary mite.

Well may we grieve, well may we mourn thy lofs,
From whom fo many drew

Such Heliconian dew,

From whose celestial spring such influence flows.

Thy wit did kindly give

Food by which others live:

For, at thy call, mirth fat on every face

The favage throng

Follow'd thy fong:

Thus ravish'd and amaz'd,

They danc'd around in one harmonious pace;
And still with aweful filence gaz'd,

VI.

But why do I expoftulate,

Since forrow comes too late

To hinder thine or fave another's fate?
When Heaven doth a defiring foul receive,
He feems to envy, that pretends to grieve.

Of what strange atoms are we made,
That we of Death fhould be afraid,
That's but a still, refreshing dream!
Why should we dread to mix with Earth,
Our parent-clay that gave us birth:
Or meet the Tyrant who hath loft his sting.
The King of Terrors; then no more a King,
But we triumphant o'er the Grave and Him?

60

65

75

80

83

90

VII, The

VII.

The world, ungrateful, feldom doth produce

A fruitful harvest for a virtuous Mufe;

If Piety appear

To crown the happy year,

'Tis always with indifference heard,

And with fuch cool regard,

The grudging foil just nourishment denies,

And fo the hopeful plant too early dies;

Such marks of goodness seldom last,
But where they're rooted faft.

Religion here and Duty easy grew,
Thy Loyalty no new-taught doctrines knew,
But principles from education drew.

Envy herself muft ftop ev'n here,
And close the falfe malicious ear.

VIII.

Thy Virtue's fled beyond her poisonous blaft,

Which can no longer last;

Since Heaven, from her peculiar care,

Did for thy fame prepare,

For fear the vicious world should spoil the growth,

Have chang'd thy virtue, or debas'd thy worth!

But pity 'twas that thou shouldft die,
Firft-born of modest Poetry;

Pity, thy gaiety and wit,

Should only now for worms be fit,

a

And, mix'd with Nature's rubbish, huddled lie!

95

100

195

119

115

120

CRAPU

T 3

CRAPULIA is a very fair and large territory, which on the

North is bounded with the Æthiopic Ocean, on the Eaft with Laconia and Viraginia, on the South by Moronia Felix, and Weftward with the Tryphonian Fens. It lies in that part of the Universe where is bred the monftrous bird called Ruc, that for its prey will bear off an Elephant in its talons; and is defcribed by the modern Geographers.

The foil is too fruitful, and the heavens too ferene; fo that I have looked upon them with a filent envy, not without pity, when I confidered they were bleffings fo little deferved by the inhabitants. It lies in feventy-four degrees of longitude, and fixty degrees of latitude, and eleven degrees diftant from the Cape of Good Hope; and lies, as it were, oppofite to the whole coaft of Africa. It is commonly divided into two provinces, Pamphagonia and Ivronia, the former of which is of the fame length and breadth as Great Britain (which I hope will not be taken as any reflection), the other is equal to the High and Low Dutch Lands. Both obey the fame prince, are governed by the fame laws, and differ very little in their habit or their manners.

"A fatire on the Dutch," fays the Editor of Dr. King's "Re"mains."His conjecture may poffibly be right; or, having Dr. King's papers in his poffeffion, it may even have appeared from them that fuch was the intention if it had been completed. But, in its present unfinished ftate, it must be owned, there is no friking resemblance.

e Of whom, fee above, p. 96.

CHAP.