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LETTER

то

Mr.TICKELL,

Occafion'd by the Death of the Right Honourable

Jofeph Addifon, Efq;

Tu nunc eris Alter ab Illo. Virg.

Long with Me in Oxford-Groves confind,
In focial Arts, and facred Friendship join'd;
Fair Ifis Sorrow, and fair Ifis Boast,

Loft from her fide, but fortunately loft;
Thy wonted Aid, my dear Companion, bring,

And teach me thy departed Friend to fing.

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A Darling Theme! once pow'rful to Infpire,
And now to Melt the Mufe's mournful Choir;
Now, and now first, we freely dare commend
His modeft Worth, nor fhall our Praife offend.

Early he bloom'd amid the Learned Train,
And ravish'd fis liften'd to his Strain;
See, fee, the cry'd, old MARO's Mufe appears,
Wak'd from her Slumber of Two Thousand Years:
Her finifh'd Charms to ADDISON fhe brings,
Thinks in his Thought, and in his Numbers fings.
All read tranfported his pure Claffick Page,
Read, and forget their Climate and their Age.

The State, when now his rifing Fame was known,
Th' unrival'd Genius challeng'd for her own;

Nor wou'd, that one for Scenes of Action strong,
Shou'd let a Life evaporate in Song.

As Health and Strength the brightest Charms difpenfe,
Wit is the Bloffom of the foundest Senfe;
Yet few, how few with lofty Thought infpir'd,
With Quickness pointed, and with Rapture fir'd,
In confcious Pride, their own Importance find,
Blind to themselves, as the hard World is blind!
Wit they esteem a gay, but worthlefs Pow's,
The flight Amufement of a leifure Hour;
Unmindful, that conceal'd from vulgar Eyes,
Majeftick Wifdom wears the bright Difguife.

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Poor Dido fondled thus, with idle Joy,
Dread Cupid lurking in the Trojan Boy;
Lightly fhe toy'd, and trifled with his Charms,
And knew not that a GoD was in her Arms.

Who greatest Excellence of Thought cou'd boast,
In Action too have been diftinguish'd moft.
This SOMMERS knew, and ADDISON fent forth,
From the malignant Regions of the North,

To be matur'd in more indulgent Skies,
Where all the Vigour of the Soul can rife,
Through warmer Veins where fprightlier Spirits run,
And Serife-enliven'd Sparkles in the Sun.
With fecret Pain the prudent Patriot gave
The Hopes of Britain to the rolling Wave;
Anxious, the Charge to all the Stars refign'd,
And plac'd a Confidence in Sea and Wind.

Aufonia foon receiv'd her wond'ring Guest,
And equal Wonder in her turn confest,
To fee her Fervours rival'd by the Pole,
Her Luftre beaming from a Northern Soul:
In like Surprise was her Æneas loft,
To find his Picture grace a Foreign Coast.

Now the wide Field of Europe he furveys,

Compares her KINGS, her Thrones, and Empires

weighs,

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In ripen'd Judgment, and confummate Thought,

Great Work! by NASSAU's Favour cheaply brought.

He now returns, to Britain a Support, Wife in her Senate, graceful in her Court: And when the Publick Welfare wou'd permit, The Source of Learning, and the Soul of Wit. O WARWICK! (whom the Mufe is fond to Name, And kindles, confcious of her future Theme :) O WARWICK! by Divine Contagion bright, How early didft thou catch his Radiant Light! By him infpir'd, how shine before thy Time, And leave thy Years, and leap into thy Prime!

On fome warm Bank thus fortunately born,
A Rofe-bud opens to a Summer's Morn,
Full blown e'er Noon, her fragrant Pride difplays,
And fhews th Abundance of her Purple Rays.

WIT, as her Bays, was once a barren Tree,
We now furpriz'd, her fruitful Branches fee;
Or Orange-like, 'till his Aufpicious Time
It grew indeed, but fhiver'd in our Clime:
He first the Plant to richer Gardens led,
And fix'd indulgent in a warmer Bed.
The Nation pleas'd, enjoys the rich Produce,
And gathers from her Ornament her Ufe..

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When loose from Publick Cares the Grove he fought, And fill'd the leisure Interval with Thought; The various Labours of his eafy Page, A Chance-Amusement polifh'd half an Age. Beyond this Truth, old Bards cou'd fcarce invent, Who durft to frame a World by Accident.

What he has fung, how early, and how well,
The Thames fhall boast, and Romån Tyber tell.
A Glory more fublime remains in store,

Since fuch his Talents, that he fung no more.
No fuller Proof of Pow'r th' Almighty gave,
Making the Sea, then curbing her proud Wave.

Nought can the Genius of his Works tranfcend,
But their fair Purpose and important End;
To roufe the War for Injur'd Europe's Laws,

To fteel the Patriot in great BRUNSWICK's Cause,
With Virtue's Charms to kindle facred Love,

Or paint th' Eternal Bow'rs of Bliss above.

Where hadft thou room, great Author! where, to roll The mighty Theme of an Immortal Soul?

Thro' Paths unknown, unbeaten, whence were brought Thy Proofs fo ftrong for Immaterial Thought?

One let me join, all other may excel;

"How cou'd a Mortal Effence Think fo well?

Bút

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