Now let us sing a loftier strain,
  Now let us earth and earthly things disdain,
  Now let our souls to Heaven repair,
  Direct their most aspiring flight,
  To fields of uncreated light,
  And dare to draw empyreal air. 
  ’Tis done, O place divinely bright! 
  O Sons of God divinely fair! 
  O sight! unutterable sight! 
  O unconceivable delight! 
  O joy which only Gods can bear! 
  Heark how their blissful notes they raise,
  And sing the Great Creator’s praise! 
  How in extatic song they cry,
  Lo we the glorious sons of light,
  So great, so beautiful, so bright,
  Lo we the brightest of created things,
  Who are all flame, all force, all spirit, and all eye,
  Are yet but vile, and nothing in thy sight! 
  Before thy feet O mighty King of kings,
  O Maker of this bounteous all! 
  Thus lowly reverent we fall.

After a life exposed to vicissitudes, habituated to many disappointments, and embroiled in unsuccessful quarrels, Mr. Dennis died on the 6th of January 1733, in the 77th year of his age.  We have observed that he outlived the reversion of his place, after which he fell into great distress, and as he had all his life been making enemies, by the ungovernable fury of his temper, he found few persons disposed to relieve him.  When he was near the close of his days, a play was acted for his benefit.  This favour was procured him by the joint interest of Mr. Thomson, Mr. Martin, Mr. Mallet, and Mr. Pope.  The play was given by the company then acting at the little Theatre in the Hay-market, under the direction of Mr. Mills sen. and Mr. Cibber jun. the latter of whom spoke a prologue on the occasion, written by Mr. Pope.

Mr. Dennis was less happy in his temper, than his genius; he possessed no inconsiderable erudition, which was joined to such natural parts, as if accompanied with prudence, or politeness, might have raised him, not only above want, but even to eminence.  He was happy too in having very powerful patrons, but what could be done for a man, who declared war against all the world?  Dennis has given evidence against himself in the article of politeness; for in one of his letters he says, he would not retire to a certain place in the country, lest he should be disturbed in his studies by the ladies in the house:  for, says he, I am not over-fond of the conversation of women.  But with all his foibles, we cannot but consider him as a good critic, and a man of genius.

His perpetual misfortune was, that he aimed at the empire of wit, for which nature had not sufficiently endowed him; and as his ambition prompted him to obtain the crown by a furious opposition to all other competitors, so, like Caesar of old, his ambition overwhelmed him.

[Footnote A:  Jacob’s Lives of the Poets.]

[Footnote B:  Which friendship he ill repaid.  Sir Richard once became bail for Dennis, who hearing that Sir Richard was arrested on his account, cried out; “’Sdeath!  Why did not he keep out of the way, as I did?”]