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ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A49438	Luctus britannici, or, The tears of the British muses for the death of John Dryden, Esq., late poet laureat to Their Majesties, K. Charles and K. James the Second written by the most eminent hands in the two famous universities, and by several others.	Playford, Henry, b. 1657.; Roper, Abel, 1665-1726.	1700 (1700)	Wing L3451; ESTC R21041	34,391	86

Oh Transcendent Dryden can we raise To thy unequal'd Numbers equal Praise When all their Talents made not up thy One Which Nobler grew as they became thy own Like Fruits Transplanted to a Warmer Sun Thy Mem'ry ever Sacred will survive Thy matchless Works that common Bounty give And you in them like other Poets live But as you flourish'd Albion's Pride and Grace And she in you did all the World surpass Sure she 'l contrive some Monument unknown To show her Gratitude and thy Renown And out do All as Thou hast All ourdone C. H ton To the Memory of John Dryden Esq Hunc quoque summa dies nigro summersit Aver●o Effugi●t Avidos Carmina sola rogos Ovid. in mortem 〈◊〉 Coelestial Muse whose God-head could inspire The Bards of Old with Rays of Genial Fire And Teach 'em with Harmonious Tunes to raise Immortal Structures to their Hero's praise By whom ev'n late Posterity might know How much the greatest Men to Poets owe. You that our Orpheus could such numbers Teach And Learn'd the Mantuan Swan what Notes to reach When he of burning Ilium's Turrets Sung And told poor Dido's Love and Dido's wrong You that this Island with a Cowley blest And chose Immortal Dryden from the rest To rule the Muses Land with powerful Sway And make the British Tongue his Art obey That we with wonder might his Works peruse And find a Rival for great Homer's Muse. If yet remains one Spark of Living Fire That did not with your Dryden's Life Expire Let me a while with Zealous sorrow tell How much he thought and Writ and yet how well How long he Envy'd Liv'd yet how Lamented fell But Oh how fond it is to wish how vain To hope for that which we can ne're obtain None but a Dryden should of Dryden Write And he alass is set in endless Night At rest he lies within the silent Grave Not its own Verse could it's own Master Save Death knew not Harmony nor felt the Charms Of Verse but close within it's Icy Arms. It Clasp'd the Bard whilst to its Natives Skies His Rising Soul enlarg'd from Bondage flies Where now his Numbers most Serenely flow On Nobler Subjects than he chose below Farewell Thou great Departed Shade Farewell No Humane Tongue our Grief or Loss can tell Thy Muse no more with her inchanting lays To Extasy our Wondring Souls can raise No more our Breasts with gentle raptures move Describing the immortal Joys of Love As the bleak Winter stops the Warbling Breath Of Philomel so Thine is stopt by Death But with this Difference the returning Spring Renews her Voice and she again will Sing Again run all her Mournful Musick ore But thou alas must Write must Sing no more 'T is true thou long hadst left th' ungrateful Stage Where only Congreve now can please this Age. Congreve the Darling of the Sacred Nine Whose Charming Numbers only yield to Thine Yet still new Worlds of Wit Thy Cares Explor'd We Read with Wonder what we still ador'd In English Dress we View great Maro's Song Nor has Thy Version done its Author wrong So justly wrought so lofty smooth and fine That when the Latin we compare with Thine Which Merits most our praise its hard to tell He Wrote and thou Translatedst him so well Nay hadst thou liv'd thy Muse had brought from Greece A Nobler Treasure than the Golden Fleece Achilles then upon the Brittish plain Had fought and mourn'd his Dear Patroclus Slain Then Chast Penelope had wept to prove An absent Husband had her present Love And we all Wondring at her Arts had stood To see her by such Grecian Nobles Woo'd Yet still refuse them with an Air Divine Though Courted in such Magick Verse as Thine But thus it will not be The Muse is fled A●d there amongst the mighty Rivals dead Methinks I see the Reverend Shades prepare With Songs of Joy to waft thee through the Air. And lead Thee o're the bright Aetherial Fields To tast the Bliss which their Elizium yields Whe●e Chaucer Iohnson Shakespear and the rest Kindly embrace their venerable Guest Then in a Chorus sing an Ode of Praise And Crown thy Temples with Eternal Bays Whilst we in pensive Sables clad below Bear hence in solemn Grief and pompous Woe Thy sacred Dust to Chaucer's peaceful Urn And round thy awful Tomb profusely mourn Here take thy rest enjoy thy sweet repose Death has secur'd thy Mem'ry from thy Foes And though my Verse must perish as it s born If thy great Name protect it not from scorn Thine thine shall live when Time shall have no Name Eternal in its Beauties and its Fame On the Death of John Dryden Esq FArewel thou Chiefest of the Sons of Fame Ev'n I who formerly presum'd ●o blame Now change my Stile and Celebrate thy Name Not that I writ with Prejudice or Spite But might too warmly vindicare the Right But dy thy Faults and Mine and with 'em dy All vain Religious Animosity The Seamless Coat by our Divisions torn Is by the py-ball'd Sects in Patches worn Each has its Rent and they no more require Which we agreeing shou'd pr●serve intire The way thus clear'd Lo Noble Ghost I come One of thy num'rous Train to sing Thee home The Triumphs of thy Numbers to proclaim And join my Voice with theirs whose Voice is Fame Scarce did Thy Phoebus soar a loftier pitch Than what thy own Aspiring Notes cou'd reach They did not strain to rise or faintly fly But with a Seraph's Pinion wingd the Sky While list'ning Angels did thy Layes admire And wish Thee there in the Celestial Quire Thy Human with their Heav'nly Songs to join To make the Concert perfectly Divine But tho' to Honour Thee we all agree What can we add to thy Repute or Thee Short-liv'd and vain is all th' Applause we give Our Lines must dye and only Yours will live When Homer who is now Thy nearest Mate Was call'd from Earth to his Immortal State That Life and Glory with the Gods to share Which has been since so Celebrated he●e The Youth of Greece no doubt as One did join All grateful to his Fame as we to Thine It e●'●y Breast did warm to an Extreme To be the first on such a glorious Theme Yet not a Line and not a Name we see His vastly louder Fame has Theirs engrost As Human Voices are in Thunder lost The Greater Blaze of Light the Less o'er-pow'rs And so Thy Verse will once Extinguish Ours He 't was that did the Grecian Language rear To all the Strength and Loftiness 't wou'd bear The Latin Virgil seated in the Skies And beyond which it cou'd no higher rise And you the Third have fixt the British Tongue To run as Copious and to last as long Made by thy Purity of Phrase and Sense Not capable of further Excellence So God his Bounds to the wide Ocean laid And told it Hither come And here be staid This Fate besides peculiarly You bear In

●ohn Dryden Esq LUCTUS BRITANNICI OR THE TEARS OF THE British Muses FOR THE DEATH OF IOHN DRYDEN Esq LATE Poet Laureat to Their Majesties K. Charles and K. Iames the Second WRITTEN By the most Eminent Hands in the two Famous Vniversities and by several Others For ev'n when Death dissolve's our Humane Frame The Soul return's to Heav'n from whence it came Earth keep 's the Body Verse preserves the Fame Mr. Dryden in his Epistle to his Kinsman in his Fables Ancient and Modern LONDON Printed for Henry Playford in the Temple-Change and Abel Roper at the Black-Boy in Fleet-street And Sold by Iohn Nutt near Stationer's Hall 1700. TO William Stephens Esq Of Barton in the Isle of Wight SIR THE great Worth of the Deceas'd who is the Lamented Subject of the following Poems and the great value You had for His i●estimable Composures will We hope render the Present which is made to You of 'em more acceptable You have too great a knowledge of His Merit to want any thing to be said here in it's behalf and are so unwilling to hear any Panegyric on Your own that We shall omit the Common way of Dedications And since it is no News to those who have the Honour of Your Acquaintance to be told You are the Delight of the Country You live in that Your Temper is without Affectation Your Behaviour Courteous Your Generosity bounded with Discretion and that You have all the Politeness of the City in an Island so remote from it We shall only beg the favour of Your Patronage for what is Consecrated to the Memory of a Gentleman who when Living deserv'd more than one Mecaenas and beg leave to Subscribe SIR Your most Humble and most Obedient Servants Henry Playford Abel Roper The Booksellers to the READER THough the Gentlemen who have contributed to this Excellent Collection stand in need of no Advocates to Vindicate what they have Written Yet the Reflections of some who decry'd the Design because they had no concern in it and the Malice of others who gave it out for an Vn-correct and Trisling Performance renders a defence of it wholly Necessary The Reader will soon be satisfied that the Care which has been taken in Compiling this Volume has been more than has hitherto been usual in Collections of this Nature and will agree with us that Iustice has been done to the Great Man they are written in Honour of As the Gentlemen whom we have entrusted with the Supervisal and Choice of the several Poems have had our Thanks so we question not but they will have those of the Reader And if some Gentlemen among the many others whose Verses are not inserted should take it amiss we can excuse our selves no other way than by giving them to understand we are satisfied of the Iudgment of those Learned Gentlemen who did us the favour of making Choice of the most Valuable Performances though they may perhaps call it in question because it has run Counter to theirs H. P. A. R. LUCTUS BRITANNICI To the MEMORY of0 IOHN DRYDEN Esq WHEN Kings or Poets greater Monarchs die For even they must yield to Destiny Who can refuse a Tribute to their Hearse A grateful Tribute of a weeping Verse When Poets fall Death strikes a general Blow And Kings and Kingdoms share the Mighty Woe They and their Deeds together would decay Their Kingdoms too now ●lourishing and gay Must shortly yield to some fierce Enemy And low in Ruines and Oblivion lie Were not some pitying Poet nigh Troy still remains a Foyl to envious Age And dares the Graecian's Power and Goddess's Rage Embalm'd in Sacred Rhimes its Heroes live Nor shall e'en Time their Memory survive But Greece no more this Noble Song shall boast And Rome's last Refuge is in Maro lost Rome govern'd still in that harmonious Song But now the Glory does to us belong The Mighty Dryden bears aloft the Prize Rais'd on the Mantuan Swan away he flies Sung his last Song and mounted to the Skies Ye Sons of Art one farewel Verse bestow If yet your Griefs a calm of Thought allow Numbers perhaps your Sorrows may asswage Let Dryden then the pensive Muse engage Dryden the Wonder of a wondrous Age. Dryden The Charms of whose commanding Pen Immortaliz'd the best and worst of Men. He rais'd forgoten Heroes from their Graves And Re-inthron'd whom Death had deem'd her Slaves Fly trembling Ghost th' incestuous Theban raves The frighted Laius hears and dares not stay But back to Acheron he wings his wondring way E'en now the Roman Anthony repines And the scorn'd Globe for Love ambitiously resigns While busie Statesmen 'gainst their Monarchs plot Achitophel shall never be forgot Nor Cromwell e'er shall feel the force of Time Now he may justly glory in his Crime Condemn'd to Greatness by thy greater Rhime Preposterous Kindness Sh ll too in Thee Is handed down to late Posterity Thou didst the Greek and Roman Mines explore Refin'dst and purifi'dst the baser Oar Before thou land'st it on the British Shore Thou with new Flames didst Ovid's Breast inspire Thou charm'dst when e'er thou tun'dst the Roman Lyre Didst with more awful Rage the Satyrists fire Thou chac'dst the Clouds that did their Thoughts obscure And mad'st their Streams more Chrystalline and pure Thou 'st taught Lucretius a far Nobler Song His Numbers smoother and his Proofs more strong Theocritus and all the Bards of old Compell'd by Thee their Mysteries unfold But stop my Muse unable to relate His juster Glories let us mourn his Fate To sing his Praises gives but weak Relief The greater was his Praise the greater is our Grief When Years and Cares did Ovid's Breast invade His Lawrels faded as his Youth decay'd Age too th' Achaean Muse betray'd But Dryden still stemm'd this unequal Tide Did o'er these threatning Waves in Triumph ride Laught at their Envy and expos'd their Pride Not Age's Frost could thy brisk Spirits bind Or chill the active Vigour of thy Mind In vain did baffled Age pursue Whilst Eagle-like thou didst thy Bloom renew Thy powerful Nature felt no slow Decay But thy mourn'd Night was glorious as thy Day Farewel bright Shade and Triumph in the Grave Poets in Death their truest Glories have The well-plac'd Lawrel which did once adorn Thy aged Brow shall thence no more be torn Untouch'd it shall around thy Temples spread Kings Crown'd thee living but Fate Crown'd thee dead Ch. Vi. On this Collection of POEMS upon the Death of Mr. Dryden THO' well we know this Monument we frame Can nothing add to his Immortal Name Yet when a Theme so noble doth invite Our grateful Pens who can forbear to write 'T is true that Dryden's worth there 's none so well As Dryden's self in his own Works can tell But still these Essays this new Knowledge raise That as his Merits far exceed our Praise So tho' remorsless Fate did never yield For Fancy's various Flights a larger Field Yet He by Sence and Judgment

the Phantom smile Charm'd with the hopes of visiting our Isle Poor cheated Shade back to your Mansion go N●ne dares attempt to waft you over now The Piece the Fam'd Apelles once began Could ne'er be finish'd by another Man Who now will care a British Muse to read The Soul the God of English Verse is Dead Yet after all His great Atchievements done Of whi●h the least a Deathless Wreath has won Some wretched Men I speak it to their Shame Have drawn their Impious Pens to daub His Fame Tho all their spight could not provoke His Ire Nor did He make the trifling things retire But Lion-like disdain'd Ignoble Wars And scorn'd to turn and tear the whifling Curs But stay Methinks I see Great Congreve Frown And Southern look's with Indignation down To see an Unlearn'd Pen unknown to Fame In tuneless Lines Prophane their Father's Name My Muse at sight of Theirs is Aw'd and gone As twinkling Stars expire before the Sun Doddershall in Com. Bucks May 28th 1700. A. M. On the DEATH of Mr. DRYDEN DEad No 't is all Mistake he cannot Die Who e'er like Him secures His Memory His Soul and Fame how e'er his Body die Shall share unequal Immortality Tho Common Fate require his Vital breath H● still is safe and born to Fame in Death His Works with each succeeding Age shall vie And only with all humane Nature die Inferior Wits like less●r Stars each Age Have found with twinkling 〈…〉 S●age But He like Blazing-Star more rare in Sight Was rich in Wit Extravagant in Light But this unwonted Fate 'bove all we fear Thô he dy'd Rich yet none can be his Heir Hen. Hoyle A. M. Trin. Col. Cantab. On the Death of Mr. John Dryden LEt others when some Mighty Man they 'd Praise And Tro●hies ●qual to His Merits raise A single Muse Invoke t' Inspire their Lays But now there 's need of all the Sacred Nine Nay Phoebus too must in the Concert join To make the Numbers Sweet to make the Thoughts Divine He 's gone the Glory of our English Stage The Learned'st Poet in the Learned'st Age. Soft was His Verse and Charming was his Song His Genius sprightly and his Fancy young Ev'n Age on Him had no Imp●ession made The Poet Flourish'd thô the Man D●cay'd They say indeed Art's long and Life but Short But 't is not always so For thô he did the utmost bounds of Knowledge find They were not half so large as his Capacious Mind What thô Impartial Fate ha's taken Him away Reduc'd His Body to its Native Clay Yet in His Works he will for ever live In Congreve too his Glory will survive Congreve the Lawful Heir of all his Sense His Language Fancy and his Eloquence To which Estate none else can make Pretence B. K. Trin. Col. Cantab. Alum To the Memory of the truly Honoured JOHN DRYDEN Esq By a Young LADY DIsconsolate Britannia Mourning sate Sighs told her Loss and Tears Neander's Fate Each recollected Line renew'd Her Care And ev'ry Thought Inhanc'd her vast Despair Thus Gen'rous Grief long struggl'd in Her Breast But want of Language Passion 's Voice supprest At last spring-tides of Sorrow Silence broke And in an Agony these words she spoke Ye Pow'rs above that Rule this Earthly Stage Ye Sacred Numens of the present Age What has Britannia done to meet your Hate Why is she punish'd in Neander's Fate Could none but He have made your Anger known Could nothing l●ss than He your Wrath atone He whom Apollo's sacred Self Inspir'd Envy'd by many but by most Admir'd Who gave us Virgil in our Native Tongue And Absalom's Misfortunes so Divinely Sung DRYDEN on whom each Science did attend The gr●atest Genius and the greatest Friend Who Iuvenal and Persius overcame He taught them English yet preserv'd their Flame With Worlds of Words He did our Speech Refine And Manly strength with Modern softness join Each Language made subservient to His end And those Acquiests as bravely did Defend Not Fam'd Timotheus could with greater ease Command our Anger or our Wrath appease True Measure with his Verse our Passions kept And as He Pleas'd we either Smil'd or Wept How Noble was His Stile Sublime his Thought How nicely Just was ev'ry Piece he wrote But with His last what Numbers can compare Not dying Swan's more Sweet and Regular And till Neander Grac'd the British Sphere How abject did our Muses Sons appear They Coasted by the Shoar a Lazy way But all the Inlands Undiscover'd lay Wit 's Empire Dryden boldly did explore And like the Hero could have Wept for more But Gen'rously He 〈…〉 Rage And for His Albion's sake His Passion did asswage Through gloomy Shades unlighted by the day And Heights untrod He forc'd an open way For ev'ry Province Beacons did provide And marks succeeding Travellers to guide Then gave us Charts of what was long Conceal'd And to th' admiring World th' Incognita reveal'd Oh! had ye lengthen'd out His fleeting Hours Had he but liv'd t' ave made Great Homer ours Redeem'd his injur'd Sire and set him free From Chapman Hobb's and mangling Ogilby How had the Bard exulted in his mind And with what Pleasure his Great Soul resign'd But ah Britannia thou complain'st too late There 's no reversing the Decrees of Fate In vain we Sigh in vain alas we Mourn Th' Illustrious POET never will return All like himself he Dy'd so calm so free As none could equal but his Emily Weep weep Britannia never cease thy Tears But still encrease thy Sorrow with thy Years 'T was mighty Dryden gave thy Island Fame And made that Honour lasting with his Name This said She Pensively reclining lay And spent with Grief wore out the tedious day When sudden Beams of Light around her broke And in a Vision thus Apollo spoke Much lov'd Britannia from this Posture rise Lament no more nor dull thy beautous Eyes See where thy Dryden at my Elbow stand's And with what Pow'r he now the Nine Command's To gain his Plaudit how they all aspire And he the Genius is of Albion's Tuneful Quire Then up thou sluggish Isle revere his Name Let all thy Sons my Dryden's Worth proclaim And in Elegiac Numbers celebrate his Fame To the Memory of John Dryden Esq WIth flouds of Tears and with unbounded Grief We Mourn the Muse departed in Her Chief As ev'ry Poet Crown'd with Cypress pay's And Consecrates the Lawrel to Thy Praise Weeping to see such Hoary Merits fall And blaming Fate 's irrevocable Call Oh! sacred Bard in whose instructive Strains Maro ●s high Sense with Maro's Beauty reign 's In whose Translations we their Author's see And truly know their Worth by knowing Thee Accept the Sorrows which thy Sons bestow And Sighs which from our Breasts incessant flow Grief is the only Off'ring we can give Since thou who taught'st us Verse ha'st ceas'd to Live Not but thy Poems Dare the Fatal Pow'rs And give that Life Thou can'st not take from Ours 〈◊〉 B●rridge

his Loss and sing our selves to Death But whither whither wouldst Thou sly My feeble Muse The Quarry's much too high To some great Genius leave his praise Which may survive to After-days Let Congreve then in Deathless Song His Father's Loss deplore Congreve must his Fame prolong In such soft rural Strains as once he Sung before Whilst generous Montague both Great and Just In some rich Urn preserves his Sacred Dust And or'e his Grave a Mausolaeum rears To be the Envy'd Wonder of succeeding Years Iohn Froud An ELEGY on the much Lamented Death of John Dryden Esq the famous English Poet. Tu Decus omne tuis Postquam te fata tulerunt Ipsa Pales Agros Atque ipse relignit Apollo Virg. THE careful Business of the day was done And gloomy Darkness reign'd where Phaebus shone When with the Sun a Swain retir'd to rest T' allay the Troubles of his anxious Breast Scarce on the Couch his weary Limbs were spread And on the Down reclin'd his pensive head But the sad startling Tydings reach'd his Ear Too doleful to be false too true to hear Long with himself the matchless Man he mourn'd And slumbring to th' unwelcome Task return'd He Curs'd the day that rowl'd the Message on And the shrill Tongue that made the Message known Then murmur'd at the changing Scenes below Whilst from his Eyes salt Streams disclos'd his Woe Sleep ●led his Eyes and anxious Thoughts possess'd The restless Region of his throbbing breast A●●last his Passion half becalm'd and dead In broken Words and mournful Sighs he said Happy the glorious Days when thou didst sit Unrivall'd in the sacred Throne of Wit When of Parnassian Sons a num'rous Throng Stood listning at their charming Phabus's Song ●●ke Iove sublime and great like Venus soft and young How sweetly would fair Albion's Cliffs rebound And loth to lose the Voice dilate the sound From Vale to Vale and all the Forrest round No rugged Notes from his blest Lips cou'd fall Phaebus inspir'd as Phaebus chose them all Lofty his Verse as the blest Seats above Yet calm as are the Rea●ms of blissful of Love Serene and smooth as Ev'ning Rivers rowl As Nectar sparkling in th' immorta● Bowl And Heav'nly magick Work 's in ev'ry Line And through the whole surprizing Fancies shine Oh were He deathless as his VVorks Divine As Iove his Forme so He could change his Muse And now the Heroe now the Drama Chuse His Heroe lofty as the Eagle flies And like the Eagle comes from upper Skies See See! where most his happy Genious shines Behold the Beauteous Verse and Deathl●ss Lines How Sweetly does he Tune Great Maro's Lyre And fills but never Satisfies desire So Heavenly Joys with Raptures please the Mind And always leave a present Thirst behind The Silvan Songs how pleasant and how Sweet Where Maro's Thoughts and DRYDEN's Numbers meet His Thoughts how bold his Words how dazling brigh When Arms and War provoke a Nobler slight How Manly he the Grecian Muse bestrides And through the Air on strongest Pinions rides Oh that He 'd liv'd the finish'd VVork to view But now 't is left harmonious Garth for you So Canaan's happy Plains were seen from far But ne'er receiv'd the Sacred Tra●eller So younger Ioshua past the Adverse Sand And brought lost Israel to the blissful Land His Drama's just and great and as it ought Without or Want or over-plus of Thought Not like the Infant Muse in frothy Fit That lavishes away its sterling Wit And when both Flame and Heat the Subject wants Has drain'd the Fountain's head in needless Rants That balks the longing Reader 's strong desire And this O●tends him with excess of Fire But 'twixt the two his Vessel safe appears And in the Golden Medium wisely steers If once his stabbing Pen the Poet drew He spar'd the Wits but all the Blockheads slew So the far-shooting God is God of Sounds And with a Nodd the wandring Rabble wounds 'T was he that made old crabbed Iuv'nal plain And brought dark Persius to the Light again So Phaebus banishes the gloomy Night From our black Coasts on Wings of Morning Light But who can all th' Immortal Beauties tell That from his Heav'nly Muse divinely fell ' Twou'd ask a Tongue Divine as was his own To make his Worth his Value truly known Such was the Man the Man because retir'd His Death by All deplor'd as was his Life desir'd Unhappy Land thy radiant Glory 's gone As Ev'ning Rays sink with the Setting-Sun The Ghastly Truth is heard and flies and spreads And as it flies infectious Sorrow sheds All Albion's Sons with Sorrow delug'd round Full of the News lye prostrate on the Ground And clad with Weeds and melancholy vails Each mourning Swain the God-like Bard bewails His Mind was grown too pure and Heav'nly bright And must the Carcass leave and take to Heav'n its flight More he had spoke but Phaebus rais'd his head From off his watry Couch and thus he said Long have I mourn'd my Son's unhappy Fate But now am Summon'd on my Carr to wait Cease then to Weep till I have gain'd the Sky Least Grief shou'd to the World my Beams deny In Garth or Congreve shall his Genius shine Then cease thy Tears nor at harsh Fate repine He said the Promise cheer'd his drooping Breast And Light the present Deity confest R Key On the Death of John Dryden Esq IS DRYDEN Dead In whining Canto's Mourn And Tears profusely shed upon his Urn Ye servile Scriblers who were late his Scorn Whilst I rejoyce so great a Man was Born Not in the folly of an empty Mind Rail at his Stars or call the Fates unkind Cause he devested of Mortallity Has past Deaths narrow Po●ts t' Eternity To grieve at 's Death were impiously to Mourn At 's Life and murmur that he e're was Born Since Death is Life's Condition and to Dye As Nat'ral is as to be Born Then why With Clam'rous Plants should I perplex the Skies Disturb the Air with Groans the Winds with Sighs Or fouly fall upon the Destinies The Gods that gave Him might have kept him still His Being was appendent on their Will 'T was in their Power alone to make him be Or to have kept him in Nonentity And not t' have been's the same as not to be One Power at Once did Life and Death Decree And that he is not where 's the Injury Forth ' Blessings of his Life I thank the Gods Nor envy's Bliss in their Divine abodes 'T is true he whilst on Earth most sweetly Sung Soft melting Musick dwelt upon his Tongue And the Indulgent Gods they lent him long His Life our Blessing was his Death no wrong Tho' gone yet he has left in part behind The blest Ideas of his God-like Mind A Portion of his Soul to Human kind Dryden alone can spake alone can shew What we to his Informing Genius owe. Read but his Learned Works and there you 'l find The Native Lustre of his