On the much Lamented Death Of that Incomparable Lady The Honourable the Lady OXENDEN.  
A Pindarique Ode.  By Mrs. Randolph. 

I.  
AH! 'tis too much, relentless Fate!  
No more impartial may we style thee now,  
So nicely thou dost choose thy Victims out of late,  
Still the most perfect soonest feel thy Blow.  
His larger circled yet the Sun  
Has hardly twice completely run,  
Since thou didst on that great Example seize,  
Of Queens the wisest and the best  
That ever any Age, or any Nation, blessed.  
Could not that Glorious Royal prise  
Thy greedy Cruelty suffice!  
But must thou still go on, and with a spiteful Hand,  
Snatch every Ornament of our unhappy Land?  
And few they were( alas) she left behind,  
In whom her virtues singly shined;  
Here they did so conspicuously unite,  
And each of them so eminently bright,  
Their Lustre did too soon direct thee right.   

II.  
In vain, exceedingly in vain,  
From thee, my Muse, I think to find Relief,  
Thou canst not help me to complain,  
Broken and useless now is thy neglected Lyre;  
Too little Art thou hast, and too much Grief,  
This Theme a more exalted Strain,  
A better Genius does require:  
Yet ha! Should all their utmost Skill conspire,  
The sweetest, liveliest stroke of Poetry  
When drawn for her, how flat and dead they be!  
Whoever would her Character indite,  
Must first have learnt, like her, to think and writ.   

III.  
All Excellencies, Moral and Divine,  
With Intellectual, did in her combine;  
So solid was her judgement, so acute her Wit,  
So well she did employ and govern it:  
To every useful kind of Knowledge she aspired  
scorned by those narrow Bounds to be confined,  
Which to her Sex are enviously assigned,  
And 'twas as easily by her acquired,  
As speedily, almost, as 'twas desired:  
Nature( who doubtless did foresee,  
How short her Time was here to be)  
So accurately did her mind contrive,  
And did such quick perception to it give,  
That she Perfection might attain,  
And all the Ends of Life might gain,  
Before most others do begin to live.   

IV.  
Her great Endowments, which to all were known,  
seemed hidden from her self alone;  
Her Wit was clothed in mildest Innocence,  
Such as could neither give, nor take Offence;  
Goodness her whole Composure seemed to be,  
From the least visible Defect 'twas free,  
Excessive only in Humility:  
That so attractively she did express,  
With such engaging Sweetness in her whole Address,  
As was peculiar to her Mein,  
In others 'tis so seldom seen,  
'tis hard to fit it with a Name  
In her it always charmed, and always was the same.   

V.  
No Storms of Passion ever could molest  
The happy Calmness of her Breast,  
A proper Temple for that sacred Dove,  
That does a peaceful Habitation love,  
Religion over all her virtues reigned,  
Their Lustre and Security maintained,  
Not to her Closet or the Church confined,  
( Tho' there with constant Fervour still it shined)  
Nor yet unprofitably spent,  
In Theory alone, and Argument,  
( Tho' that exactly too she understood)  
But in the nobler Task of doing good.  
In her the ancient Christian Charity  
We did, but now( alas) no more shall see,  
It is too antiquated grown,  
For Ladies in these Days to own:  
But she was formed by heaven, to show  
What Nature when improved by Grace could do;  
This stupid slothful Age to teach,  
To what a Height Humanity might reach.   

VI.  
A Soul so made for those bright Seats above,  
From its Celestial Mansion could not stay,  
Nor longer be confined to Mortal day;  
It grew impatient to remove:  
Tho' never did Nature better yet  
An outward Frame to such a Spirit fit;  
As 'twill hereafter shine in Robes of Light:  
'twas here adorned with almost matchless white.  
So sweet an Air, such perfect Symmetry,  
And that exact Proportion did agree,  
With such a Soul composed of Harmony,  
Could virtue dressed in human Shape appear,  
Just such a lovely Form she'd choose to wear.  
Thou sooner, Muse, her Beauty shoud'st have  told  
But that, tho' in its self 'twas great,  
And many others it outshin'd,  
'twas darkened by the Lustre of her Mind:  
As in a beauteous Picture richly set,  
With most Attention we behold the Face,  
And hardly mind at all the Case,  
Tho' edged with spark'ling Stones, enriched with purest Gold:  
So whilst in her bright Soul we see,  
So fair an Impress of the deity,  
We scarce had Leisure to observe the Shrine,  
The Saint that dwelled there cast a splendour more divine.   

VII.  
The blessed, who now Triumphant reign,  
A strict Communion don't disdain  
With us poor Militants below;  
And certainly it was that Truth to show,  
That on that solemn Day, 
All-Saints Day( 96)   
Which to their Memory we yearly pay,  
Her Guardian Angel summoned her away.  
A Pledge of that Communion she was given,  
( As fit a one as Earth could yield to Heaven)  
And we should ill that Sympathy maintain,  
If now whilst they rejoice we should complain.  
To thee( bright Saint) were but our Sorrows known,  
The guilty Tribute( sure) thou wouldst disown;  
We must not mourn, since thou art blessed,  
However hard, extremely hard it be,  
Our stubborn Grief must be suppressed,  
Since 'tis injurious to thy Memory:  
How muchthy virtues we admire,  
By Imitation will the best be shown,  
And that's a Task will all our Lives require.   
FINIS.   

ON THE Much Lamented Death Of that Incomparable Lady The HONOURABLE The Lady OXENDEN.