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HOBBS to this happy Pitch arriv'd at last,

Might have look'd down with Pride on Dangers paft.
But fuch the Frailty is of Human Kind,

Men toil for Fame, which no Man lives to find;
Long ripening under-ground this China lies;
Fame bears no Fruit, till the vain Planter dies.
Thus Nature, tir'd with his unusual length
Of Life, which put her to her utmost Strength,
Such Stock of Wit unable to fupply,
To fpare her felf, was glad to let him die.

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Written over a GATE.

H

ERE lives a Man, who by relation
Depends upon Predestination;

For which the Learned and the Wife,
His Understanding much defpife:
But I pronounce with loyal Tongue
Him in the right, them in the wrong.
For how could such a Wretch fucceed?

But that, alas, it was Decreed!

The

The MIRACLE, 1707.

M

ERIT they hate, and Wit they flight,

They neither act, nor reason right,

And nothing mind but Pence :

Unskilful they Victorious are,

Conduct a Kingdom without Care,

A Council without Sense.

So Moses once, and JOSHUA,
And that Virago DEBORA,

Beftrid poor ISRAEL:

Like Rev'rence pay to these ! for who

Could ride a Nation as they do,

Without a Miracle?

ODE

ODE on the Death of Henry Purcell. Set to Mufick.

G

OOD Angels fnatch'd him eagerly on high;
Joyful they flew, finging and foaring thro' the

Sky,

Teaching his new-fledg'd Soul to fly

While we, alas! lamenting lie,

He went mufing all along,

Composing new their heav'nly Song.

A while his skilful Notes loud Hallelujah's drown'd;

But foon they ceas'd their own, to catch his pleafing

Sound.

DAVID himself improv'd the Harmony,
DAVID in facred Story fo renown'd

No lefs for Mufick, than for Poetry!

Genius fublime in either Art:

Crown'd with Applaufe furpaffing all Defeft!
A Man juft after God's own Heart!
If human Cares are lawful to the Bleft,
Already fettled in eternal Rest 3

Needs must he wish that PURCELL only might

Have liv'd to set what he vouchfaf'd to write;
For, fure, the noble Thirft of Fame

With the frail Body never dies;

But with the Soul ascends the Skies
From whence at firft it came.

'Tis fure no little Proof we have
That part of us furvives the Grave,

And in our Fame below ftill bears a Share

Why is the future elfe fo much our Care

Ey'n in our latest Moment of Despair?

And Death defpis'd for Fame by all the wife and

brave?

Oh, all ye bleft harmonious Quire!

Who Pow'rAlmighty only love,and only that admire!

Look

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