I lov’d him, as I told you, I
Advis’d him—here a ſtander-by
Twitch’d Damon gently by the cloke,
And thus unwilling ſilence broke:
Damon, ’tis time we ſhould retire,
The man you talk with is Matt. Prior.
Patron, thro’ life, and from thy birth my friend,
Dorſet, to thee this fable let me ſend:
With Damon’s lightneſs weigh thy ſolid worth;
The foil is known to ſet the diamond forth:
Let the feign’d tale this real moral give,
How many Damons, how few Dorſets live!
Mr. Prior, after the fatigue of a length of years paſt in various ſervices of action, was deſirous of ſpending the remainder of his days in rural tranquility, which the greateſt men of all ages have been fond of enjoying: he was ſo happy as to ſucceed in his wiſh, living a very retired, and contemplative life, at Downhall in Eſſex, and found, as he expreſſed himſelf, a more ſolid, and innocent ſatisfaction among woods, and meadows, than he had enjoyed in the hurry, and tumults of the world, the courts of Princes, or the conducting foreign negotiations; and where as he melodiouſly ſings,
The remnant of his days he ſafely paſt,
Nor found they lagg’d too ſlow, nor flew too faſt;
He made his wiſh with his eſtate comply,
Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.
This great man died on the 18th of September, 1721, at Wimple in Cambridgſhire, the ſeat of the earl of Oxford, with whoſe friendſhip he had been honoured for ſome years. The death of ſo diſtinguiſhed a perſon was juſtly eſteemed
