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[UPON THE BISHOP OF ROCHESTERS BANISHMENT, IN 1723.]

BY PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON.

I.

As o'er the fwelling ocean's tide

An exile TULLY rode,

The bulwark of the Roman ftate,

In act, in thought, a god,

The facred GENIUS of majestick Rome

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Defcends, and thus laments her patriot's doom.

II.

Farewel, renown'd in arts, farewel,

Thus conquer'd by thy foe,

Of honours and of friends depriv'd,

In exile must thou go:

Yet go content; thy look, thy will sedate,

Thy foul fuperior to the fhocks of fate.

III.

Thy wisdom was thy only guilt,

Thy virtue thy offence;

With godlike zeal thou didst efpouse

Thy country's just defence:

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No fordid hopes could charm thy steady foul,

No fears, nor guilty numbers could controul.

IV.

What tho' the nobleft patriots flood
Firm to thy facred cause,

What tho' thou couldft difplay the force

Of rhet'rick and of laws,

No eloquence, no reafons could repel

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Th' united ftrength of CLODIUS, and of hell.

V.

Thy mighty rain to effect

What plots have been devis'd!

What arts, what perjuries been us'd!

What laws and rites despis'd!

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How many fools and knaves by bribes allur'd, And witnesses by hopes and threats fecur'd!

VI.

And yet they act their dark deceit

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Veil'd with a nice difguife,

And form a fpecious fhew of right

From treachery and lies;

With arbitrary pow'r the people awe,

And coin unjust oppreffion into law.

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....CLODIUS, who procur'd the banishment of Ci CERO, was a lewd Roman fenator, and made tribune of the people. That great orator was afterwards recall'd by POMPEY, and CLODIUS was killed by MILO, a person of confular dignity; which the genius of ROME, in the two laft ftanzas, is here made particularly to point at, as in a prophetick manner. The character is intended for fir Robert Walpole.

VII.

Let CLODIUS now in grandeur reign,

Let him exert his pow'r,

A fhort-liv'd monster in the land,

The monarch of an hour;

Let pageant fools adore their wooden god,

And act against their fenfes at his nod.

VIII.

Pierc'd by an untimely hand

To earth fhall He defcend,

Tho' now with gaudy honours cloath'd,
Inglorious in his end.

Bleft be the man who does his pow'r defy,

And dares or truly Speak, or bravely Die.

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ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GENTLEMAN.

BY CHRISTOPHER PITT.*

WITH joy, bleft youth, we faw thee reach thy

goal;

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Fair was thy frame, and beautiful thy foul;
The Graces and the Muses came combin'd,
These to adorn the body, those the mind;
'Twas there we faw the fofteft manners meet,
Truth, fweetnefs, judgment, innocence, and wit.
So form'd, he flew his race; 'twas quickly won;
'Twas but a ftep, and finish'd when begun.
Nature herself furpriz'd would add no more,
His life compleat in all its parts before;
But his few years with pleasing wonder told,
By virtues, not by days; and thought him old.
So far beyond his age thofe virtues ran,
That in a boy fhe found him more than man.
For years let wretches importune the skies,
Till, at the long expence of anguish wise,
They live to count their days by miseries.
Those win the prize, who fooneft run the race,
And life burns brightest in the shortest space.

* Born 1699; dyed 1748.

So to the convex glass embody'd run,

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Drawn to a point, the glories of the sun;
At once the gathering beams intensely glow,
And through the ftreighten'd circle fiercely flow:
In one ftrong flame confpire the blended rays,
Run to a fire, and croud into a blaze.

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