University of Virginia Library

To my deare friend the Authour on his Fatall Union.

Thus (Friend) the bayes still flourish; Johnson dead,
Randolph deceas'd, they fall to crowne thy head;
Yet see, how full his flowing fancie meetes
With thy rich Genius! and sweetly greets
Thy first-borne infant, making almost one
A jealous, and a Fatall Union:
Thine is a full, stuff't, fluent wit, that speakes
Meerly it's owne; not like the running leakes
Of a crack't crazy braine, that dribbles forth
Either but little, or what's little worth;
His straines lift high too, thine mount; all confesse
Both tyre expression with a curious dresse,
And tricke it up so neatly, 'tdoth surpasse;
The Muses sure lent both a looking-glasse;
The difference (if any) this may be,
Chame brought him up, but Isis foster'd thee.
'Twixt thee and him (Great Ben!) a parallel
Would chance strike credit deafe, make envie swell,
Swell then who list, and burst; since deads thy heire,
He's to thy wit the sole Executer:
(T. Randolph.)
The legacies being paid, all he assayes,
S'no more than what he well deserves, thy bayes:
His Muse but yet new borne hath felt thy fate;


And like thine glories in the rabbles hate;
As soone as shee had life, she was wish't dead,
Or under her owne ashes buried;
But now a glorious Phœnix rais'd is shee
From this and her supposed Tragedie.
Rich. Doddridge. A. B. C. Exon.