'Twas pity to us that so long delayed

His blest translation to eternal light ;

Or, otherwise may we not be afraid,
'Twas for the sins of some who durst presume to
write ;

Who durst in verse, in sacred poetry.
Even heaven's own design bely,
And damn themselves with utmost industry !

For this may we not dread
The mighty prophet's taken from our head 1
And though the fate of these I fear,
I in respect must venture here.
A long and racking war was sent.
Of common sins, a common punishment ;
To the unthinking crowd the only curse,
Who feel no loss but in their purse :
But. ah ! what loss can now be worse ?
The mighty Pan has left our mournful shore ;
The mighty Pan is gone, Dryden is here no more.
IV.
When to the blest bright region he was come,
The vulgar angels gazed, and made him room :
Each laureat monarch welcomes him on high.
And to embrace him altogether fly :

Then strait the happy guest is shown

To his bright and lofty throne.
Inferior there to none.
A crown beset with little suns, whose rays
Shoot forth in foliages resembling bays.
Now on his head they place :

Then round him all the sacred band

Loudly congratulating stand :

When after silence made.
Thus the sweetest Waller said : —



APPENDIX. A. 249

" Well hast thou merited, triumphant bard !
For, once I knew thee militant below,

When I myself was so ;
Dangerous thy post, the combat fierce and hard,

Ignorance and rebellion still thy foe ;
But for those little pains see now the great reward

Mack-Flecknoe and Achitophel
Can now no more disturb thy peace.
