em, in
his letter to Lord Harley of the date of 1721: "Poor
Parnell, before he died, left me the charge of publishing
those few remains of his: I have a strong desire to make
them, their author, and their publisher, more considerable,
by addressing and dedicating them all to you, &c. All I
shall say for it is that 'tis the only dedication I ever
writ, and shall be the only one, whether you accept it or
not: for I will not bow the knee to a less man than my Lord
Oxford, and I expect to see no greater in my time."

The following is the latter part of the _Poetical Epistle_
here alluded to:

And sure, if aught below the seats divine
Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine:
A soul supreme, in each hard instance tried,
Above all pain, all passion, and all pride;
The rage of power, the blast of public breath,
The lust of lucre, and the dread of death.

In vain to deserts thy retreat is made;
The muse attends thee to thy silent shade:
'Tis her's the brave man's latest steps to trace,
Rejudge his acts, and dignify disgrace.
When int'rest calls off all her sneaking train,
And all th' obliged desert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,
When the last lingering friend has bid farewell.
Ev'n now, she shades thy evening walk with bays,
(No hireling she, no prostitute of praise)
Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm sun-set of thy various day;
Thro' fortune's cloud ONE truly great can see,
Nor fears to tell that MORTIMER is he!

_Pope's Works_, vol. ii., p. 320-3. Bowles's edit.

The following was the reply of the Earl of Oxford to Mr.
Pope.

SIR,

I received your packet, which could not but give me great
pleasure to see you preserve an old friend in your memory;
for it must needs be very agreeable to be remembered by
those we highly value. But then, how much shame did it cause
me when I read your very fine verses inclosed! My mind
reproached me how far short I came of what your great
friendship and delicate pen would partially describe me. You
ask my consent to publish it: to what straits doth this
reduce me! I look back, indeed, to those evenings I have