Bold Poets and rash Painters may aspire  
With pen and pencil to describe my Fair,  
Alas; their arts in the performance fail,  
And reach not that divine Original,  
Some Shadd'wy glimpse they may present to view,  
And this is all poor humane art Can do▪   
M. Ʋander ●ucht. Seul: Philabius.   

THE Young Lovers Guide, OR, The Unsuccessful Amours of Philabius, a Country Lover; set forth in several kind Epistles, writ by him to his Beautious-unkind Mistress.  
Teaching Lovers how to comport themselves with Resignation in their Love-Disasters.  
WITH The Answer of Helena to Paris, by a Country Shepherdess.  
AS ALSO, The Sixth Aeneid and Fourth Eclogue of Virgil, both newly Translated  
By J. B. Gent.  
Si nec blanda satis, nec crit tibi comis amica,  
Perfer & obdura, postmodo mitis crit.  
If your fair Mistress be not mild and kind,  
Bear and persever, Time may change her Mind.  Ovid. de Art. Am. l. 1. 
LONDON: Printed and are to be Sold by the Booksellers of London. 1699.   

The PREFACE:  
Writ by Philabius to Venus, his Planetary Ascendant.  
Dear Mother Venus!  

I must style you so.  
From you descended, tho' unhappy Beau.  
You are my Astral Mother; at my birth  
Your powerful Influence bore the sway on Earth  
From my Ascendent: being sprung from you,  
I hoped Success wherever I should woe.  
Your Power in Heaven and Earth prevails, shall I,  
A Son of yours, by you forsaken die?  
Twenty long Months now I have loved a Fair,  
And all my Courtship's ending in Despair.  
All Earthly Beauties, scattered here and there,  
From you, their Source, derive the Charms they bear.  
The Fair I court partakes in highest degree  
Of your transcending Heavenly Quality.  
Her I admire, as most resembling You;  
O take from her what is your Right and Due,  
Or so incline her Favour for your Son,  
That by hard Usage he be not undone.  
'Tis said those Persons at whose birth you reign,  
Prove gracious to your Sex, and Favour gain.  
Must I be th' only Man whom you deny  
This Privilege? O great Severity!  
But 'gainst heavens Actions what can Mortals say?  
It deals with us, as Potters do with Clay.  
Even as it lists, for better or for worse;  
Thrice happy those not fated for a Curse.  
Tho' while our Age's Course is running on,  
We little know what Heaven intends t'have done.  
What seems Affliction oft proves for our Good,  
If, with Submission, we embrace the Rod.  
Life we are promised, but first we are drowned  
In Death, and then with Life immortal crowned.  
God's Works are all by Means contrary done,  
And cross to Man's Imagination run,  
Till the just time is come that they're fulfilled,  
And then, tho' late, to Providence we yield.  
Perhaps my Fair's unkindness and delay  
Are more t'endear what once I shall enjoy:  
Those Goods are prized for which we dearly pay.  
Or if she's fated for some other Man,  
Perhaps for me kind Heaven has ordered one  
More kind and Fair (if Fairer there may be)  
Or, if being turned my Year of Jubilee,  
Fate has ordained me a Quietus here,  
And now my Course for Heaven I must steer.  
O Venus! draw me, by your Charms divine  
From Objects here, my dreggy Thoughts refine  
From Earthly Things; that being raised to you,  
As I your Heavenly Kingdom have in view,  
Fixed on Ideal Beauty 'mong the Blessed,  
I may enjoy an everlasting Rest,   
Philabius. E R▪   

The Reader is desired to Correct the following Mistakes of the Press.  
PAge 10. line 6. read maturer, p. 12. l. 9 seldom does, r. often fails, p. 26. l. 17. mightily r. nightly, p. 34. l. 6. breath r. leave, ib. l. 14. r. there's, p. 42. l. 4. r. Ideal, p. 44. l. 5. our r. ber, p. 48. l. 18. r. learned, p. 53. l. 2. Faith's dele's, ib. l. 3. with r. wish, ib. l. 17. r. suppress, p. 56. l. 4. calm r. but, p. 64. l. 6. now r. new, p. 65. l. 14. but r. cut, p. 97. l. 11. r. in Heaven, ib. l. 16. might r. night, p. 86. l. 20. ward's deal ' s.   

New Poems.  

Three Addresses writ by Philabius to his beauteous Mistress.  

The First Address.  
My only DEAR,  

WIth Thoughts as kind, as Lover ever knew,  
Your Lover writes this Love-Address to you.  
Did you but feel that Passion moves my Heart,  
While I to you my Fondness here impart,  
'Twould move your Pity, Love, Compassion, all  
That tender Lovers grateful Kindness call.  
But here, alas! my great Misfortune lies;  
Words can't present before your gracious Eyes,  
My inward Feeling: All that Words can do,  
I'll say in short, my Dear, as God is true,  
There's nought on this side Heaven I love as You.  
Yet let not Words alone my Witness be;  
They're Actions I desire should testify.  
Command me what you please, I beg command;  
When once your Pleasure's known, if I withstand  
Your Will in aught, my Life, my Fortunes, all  
I have from God afford, then let me fall  
For ever in Disfavour of my Dear;  
The greatest Curse that Man on Earth can bear.  
I'll not attempt, as common Lovers use,  
To write my Mistress Praise; the Fair I choose  
Surpasses me, surpasses Praise of Man;  
She's Praise itself, she's all Perfection.  
Thrice happy's he, whose blessed Stars incline  
Her gracious Favour; heavens grant they are mine.  
Beside those Stars which influence our Birth,  
Three I must beg propitious here on Earth;  
Your Father, and your Mother dear, and You:  
Of whom I have already courted two.  
And tho' some Men this Practice may disown,  
Who pass by Friends, and Daughter court alone:  
Yet since I know your Parents mighty fond  
Of their dear Child, I let them understand  
My Thoughts for you, and hope 'twill not displease  
My Dearest, since their study is your ease.  
'Gainst my Address they one thing did object,  
It was my Age; indeed, in that respect,  
There's disproportion; yet such have I known,  
When happy Life has followed thereupon.  
All kind Indulgence to my Dear I'd show,  
Your Will should be my Law; to come and go,  
And do whate'er you pleased, you should be free.  
And I'll presume to say, I think, with me  
You may enjoy as happy Scene of Life,  
As where you else may choose to be a Wife.  
I know in Age but two things give offence,  
The Man's Moroseness, or his Impotence:  
And heavens mies Witness, I think I'm as free  
From these, as one pretends to court should be.  
And by my Years, I this advantage gain;  
They've taught me Knowledge, which may entertain  
My Dear sometimes with what may please her Mind:  
Sometimes in London Pastimes we would find,  
Where all that's Curious to my Dear I'd show;  
Being more, perhaps, than other Men may do.  
In Summer-heats the Country we would see;  
The small Retirement there belongs to me  
Is pretty pleasant, may be made much more  
With little Cost: Some Things I have in store  
Are also curious, and of Value; these,  
And all I have are yours, whenever you please.  
Indeed, but poor are such Allurements, where  
So high Desert abounds, as in my Dear.  
Far greater Offers, doubtless, you have met;  
Youth, Beauty, Riches; all that's gay and great,  
From Men your sweet-prevailing Charms have won,  
As who can stand before the glorious Sun?  
If I to these a Sacrifice must fall;  
I've this, at last my Dear! to say, for all.  
A Judge of Men most values Gifts of Mind;  
For these I dare contend, tho' still resigned:  
If by your Judgement cast, hard Fate, I'll cry!  
And humbly kiss that Hand, by which I die.   
My only Dear, Yours for ever, Philabius.   

The Second Address.  
My only DEAR,  

SInce to my last no Answer you have given,  
Impatient Love commands me write again.  
Silence sometimes (they say) implies consent;  
If yours be such, I have my Heart's content.  
But if your Silence (as I fear it may)  
Concludes your Lover's doom another way;  
Sad is my Fate, which (tho' with trembling Hand)  
I ne'ertheless desire to understand.  
Tumultuous Passions now torment my Soul;  
Hope gives me Comforts, Fear does all control.  
All sick in Mind, where shall my Refuge be?  
There's none but you can ease my Misery.  
Once you were ill, I then prescribed a Cure,  
Fond was my Soul your sacred Health t'ensure.  
And now I languish, to you I must fly;  
'Tis at your pleasure, that I live or die;  
And even to Death more easily I'm resigned,  
Than to continue in this state of Mind.  
Your gentle Nature can't be so severe,  
To let him perish calls you's Only Dear.  
And calls all Heaven to witness, it is true;  
O! pity one, devoted thus to you.  
I know some Lovers only Passions feign,  
And if they Court, for nothing 'tis but Gain.  
Fine Words they have, if Ladies will believe;  
Sweet goes the Pipe while Fowler's Birds deceive.  
Such Fraud my Dearest can't suspect in me;  
Her Person only's my great Treasury.  
There lies in store the whole that I pursue;  
For this alone herself, and Friends I woo:  
'Tis all on Earth I beg of Heaven too.  
I'm not ambitious, know the World too well;  
Content with Greatness does not always dwell.  
Great should I be, so I could sit at ease;  
Admire my Dear, with fond Caresses please.  
No Soul so clear, no Aspect so divine;  
Sweet Mildness with Sublimeness there combine▪  
No cloud of Passion intercepts those Rays  
Of charming Graces, which she thence displays:  
All's there surprising Mortals can descry;  
Symmetrious Features, wondrous Harmony.  
There should I gaze for ever, still should find  
My Sense transported with transported Mind.  
O Nature's Goddess! to you I must pay  
All Adoration zealous Votive may.  
What state of Bliss does Heaven to him decree, derive,  
Where it allotteth your blessed Society?  
wherever that God, whence you these Charms  
Designs the Station wherein you shall live,  
To me's unknown; of this, at least, I'm sure,  
Your absence long I can't with Life endure.  
As Flowers fade in th' absence of the Sun,  
My Life without your Influence is gone.  
What may I do your Favour, Dear! to gain?  
Can Life? can Love? can nothing it obtain?  
With Muse sublime, above the Stars I'll raise  
Your Name, your Fame, with my immortal Lays.  
A Poem next I'll write of Love divine;  
In which my Fair heavens Angels shall outshine.  
In Praise of her, let all the World that dares  
Contend; they'll find Philabius void of Fears,  
And would's his Suit had Issue by such Wars.  
I want a Friend Death robbed me of this Year,  
To plead my Cause, with Kindness, to my Dear.  
Had he survived, I had not stood alone;  
To deal with many hard it is for one.  
And florid Youth now rivals my Desire,  
And most are apt the rising Sun t'admire;  
Tho' Judges know the perfect state of Man,  
Is when his Sun's in the Meridian.  
The Air is foul with Fogs, as Sun does rise,  
And as it further climbs the lofty Skies,  
Till come t'its height; nor is Man's Reason clear,  
Till he has reached his Jubilean Year.  
And this, with Favour, let me farther say;  
Unsteadfast Youth, tho' specious, brisk, and gay,  
Is prone to change; contingent Beauty too,  
Mature Years more likely may prove true,  
And let not this, unminded pass, by you.  
Fain would my Pen much farther here enlarge,  
Whole Floods of Passion, thus I could discharge:  
But fearing this already tires my Dear,  
I check my Pen, and stop in full career;  
This only Boon imploring at your Hand,  
That you'll vouchsafe to let me understand,  
In Verse, or Prose, or by some private Friend,  
How all my Hopes, and Love-Address must end.   
O Beauty! O Love! O Pity!— Philabius.   

The Third Address.  
My only DEAR,  

ONce more I write, for who can Love withstand?  
Which Heart inflames, and presses on the Hand.  
Help Muse again! this once my Fate to try;  
And gently guide my Pen before I die.  
Help me to soft Expressions which my Dear  
May move, and force from her kind Eyes a Tear  
Of Pity for me. heavens! what is't I say?  
Do I wish Sorrow to my only Joy?  
Through Love distracted all in Mind I rave,  
And wish for what I'd rather die than have.  
Help me t'Expressions may affect her Mind  
With Thoughts as cheerful, as they make them kind.  
No Pity let them, but gay Love inspire;  
Cold's hopeless Pity, Love's a sacred Fire.  
If e'er on Earth, true Love in Man has been,  
It reigns in me, and Love I hope 'twill win.  
By Love of Heaven, we Love from Heaven obtain,  
My Fair is heavenly, Love her Love must gain.  
On this I stand, on this my Soul relies;  
If I'm deceived my Fall is with the Wise.  
Tho' twice I've writ, no Answer from my Fair  
Have yet received, must I for this despair?  
Once or twice ask seldom does with Men;  
Ought I not ask heavens Darling once again?  
Perhaps this Silence of my Dear's to try  
Her Lover's Patience, Zeal and Constancy.  
If so, with constant Patience I must bear;  
Although, if long, such Trials prove severe.  
My Temper's not the same with other Men;  
Strong are my Passions, where they take a run:  
A Check inflames them, raging they boil over,  
As Waves, when broken on a craggy Shoar,  
And strongly checked, with Terror rage and roar.  
Such Measures with dull Lovers may do well;  
They serve to stir and kindle sluggish Zeal.  
But where you find Love apt to take on Flame,  
I think the way of deal's not the same;  
Good Sportsmen seek not to destroy their Game.  
As roughness fits a rough, ungenerous Mind,  
The tenderhearted Tenderness should find;  
To them the Usage should be mild and kind.  
O! sick am I, my Dear! by your delay;  
What one Man cures, another may destroy.  
I always take it as a double Boon,  
If what I sue for may be granted soon.  
And as the Favour's greater, still the more  
The Grantor I prise, honour, love, adore.  
With what surprising Joy think you then, Dear!  
Quick News, and kind, from you'd ravish my Ear?  
I beg, at least, let gentle Hopes maintain  
My Flame, and let my Heart some respite gain:  
And cast me not severely in Despair;  
Despair, as dark, as Heaven has made you Fair.  
Doubt not how constant to you I will prove,  
I'll cease to live, before I cease to love.  
Consider, Dearest! what to you is said  
In Three Addresses, now by me are made:  
Proceeding all from Heart and Soul sincere,  
As ever in devoted Lover were.  
If more I thought my Dearest would desire,  
More would I write; my Pen should never tyre.  
And loathe it is to part with Paper now;  
Tho' I no farther Scope shall it allow,  
Till I my Dearest's Pleasure know, and then,  
All crowned with Joys, I hope to write again.   
Philabius.    

An Address to a famous Poetess, going by the Name of Philomela, wherein Philabius (having received no Answer to his three foregoing Epistles) begs her Aid for moving his Mistress' Favour.  
MADAM,  

IF any of your Sex; fallen in Distress,  
Desired my Aid (such is my Tenderness)  
I should afford it freely; would to me  
They would vouchsafe an equal Charity.  
Madam, 'thas been my direful Chance to fall  
In Love, of late, with what we Beauty call:  
Beauty, that Let divine, your Sex attends,  
Working on Men, too often, fatal Ends.  
Thrice to my Fair Addresses I have sent,  
(Writ as I could) how she does them resent,  
I can't divine, nor will my Fair disclose;  
She drowns her Thoughts in Silence, me in Woes.  
Self-musing often, with revolving Mind,  
This cause of Silence in my Dear to find;  
I may suspect my unpathetick Style  
Moves neither Frowns, nor an obliging Smile,  
But leaves my Fair as unconcerned, as tho'  
She nothing of Love-Verses yet did know.  
This puts me to a stand, and what to do  
'Tis hard to think, and how my Suit pursue.  
I've done my best, and more to write were vain,  
Unless I could pretend some happy'r Strain.  
Your Genius, Madam, 's known by what you've writ,  
Great is your Fancy, Judgement, Art and Wit.  
Sweet Philomela's Aid I'd fain implore,  
Her powerful Charms dumb Spirits may conjure.  
Her sweet-tuned Voice through all the Forest rings,  
And all are moved when Philomela sings;  
Shout with Applause, and echo forth her Praise,  
Surprised and charmed with her melodious Lays.  
Her wondrous Notes in Rapture all admire,  
As hither brought from the Celestial Quire.  
Would Heaven, my zealous Wishes could obtain  
Her Aid, the Favour of my Dear to gain.  
The depth of Hearts your Love-dipt Pen may reach,  
And where mine fails, may force an easy breach.  
Those genuine Arts your Muse may soon descry,  
Which charm your Sex, to me a Mystery.  
And tho' some Beau, perhaps, has not been true,  
In zealous Passions he has vowed for you;  
Which may discourage your Assistance, when  
Desired, for gaining Kindnesses to Men:  
Heaven knows my Soul's sincere, and Love to feign,  
Is what my Heart will ever much disdain.  
I bear a Mind too free, to fawn on them,  
Or fond write, but where I've found Esteem▪  
And had I judged my Verses to my Dear  
Worth Philomela's view, I'd sent 'em here.  
It may be thought a very heavy Doom,  
That all hard Censure should incur for some.  
I wish Success may crown all your Desires,  
And pray your Aid now, where my Heart aspires.  
Your Aid's the last Expedient I can try;  
There all the hopes I have of Life do lie.  
Great are the Pains, through Love I undergo,  
Which, tho' unfelt by you, you truly know,  
And as you judge them, please your Favour show.   
MADAM, Your great Admirer, and humbly-devoted Servant, Philabius.   

Philomela having not vouchsafed her Aid, Philabius writ his Farewell to his beauteous Mistress, as follows.  
My only DEAR,  

IT grieves my Soul to write my last Adieu,  
To one I so entirely love, as you.  
All Happiness yourself and Friends I wish,  
Tho' no way kind to me, in my Address.  
I know Affection is not always free;  
Tho' one be fond, another may not be.  
Heaven grants it, as a Favour, now and then,  
That where we love, we are beloved again.  
I find your Favour, Dear! I can't obtain;  
And cease my Suit, which I could wish to gain:  
But cease, as doubting, all my Suit's in vain,  
Or 'stead of Favour, may incur Disdain.  
What I have writ already, pray resent  
With Kindness, as by me 'twas kindly meant;  
Which, tho' not worth your Thanks or Notice; still  
A gentle Heart despises not good Will.  
As far as I among the World converse,  
Unseigned Friends, I find, are very scarce;  
And wish I had one Friend on Earth, as true,  
As, if accepted, I had been to you.  
The heavens, 'tis like, far greater Things design  
T' attend your Fate, than Kindnesses of mine.  
Heaven grant my Life a quick and gentle end,  
And let all Joy my Dearest still attend.  
My joyful Hopes to Sorrows now must turn,  
My Muse in Silence, shall for ever mourn,  
Till Death gives ease and quiet in my Urn.   
Philabius.   

A gentle Reviver, writ by Philabius to his beauteous Mistress.  
My only DEAR,  

I'Ve tried, and tried, but find 'tis never the near,  
T'unlove that Person, once I called my Dear;  
My only Dear; and find she must be so,  
In spite of all abused Love can do.  
When Love's abused, in some it turns to Hate:  
It can't in me; may its so far from that,  
I rather love you more, if more may be,  
When Love's exalted to its highest degree.  
To Love, and find great Slights, and almost Scorn,  
May seem severe, and hardly to be born.  
Yet this from you and yours I undergo,  
And love you still entirely, and you know  
Such Trials height of Love will truly show.  
Some, in Addresses, no resistance find;  
Their Love-suit's easy, and their Mistress kind.  
Kind Fortune with such Lovers sports and plays;  
These freely may enjoy Love's holidays.  
Others in Love-suits Hardships undergo;  
They can't prevail upon their Mistress so,  
But meet with Lets and Rubs, and yet, at last,  
Run smoothly on, and win the doubtful Cast.  
Some others more unfortunate than these,  
Reap but Disdain for all their Kindnesses.  
And such am I; who yet, with cheerful Mind,  
Bear even this; to you, my Dear! resigned.  
Tho' Heaven on us is often pleased to frown,  
We must not be displeased, but still love on.  
Some Lover's Beauty, merely for the sake  
Of Beauty love; and seek not to partake  
Of more Enjoyments; yet Disdain to them  
Would seem severe, and check their fond Esteem.  
I therefore even these, in Love surpass,  
And nothing stirs me, where my Love I place.  
That Apathy the Stoics teach, to me  
Seems but a frigid-dull Philosophy:  
With Patience armed just Passions let's pursue;  
It keeps our Thoughts in action, ever new.  
Let us agree than Dearest! to go on,  
I with my Love; and you with your Disdain.  
Time and Experience to us both will show,  
Which in our Pursuits weary first may grow.  
I'm apt to think th'advantage on my side,  
Disdain, Love's kind Assaults, can scarce abide.  
Love sweetly charms the Mind, where it does reign,  
That Soul's uneasy, where there is Disdain.  
How then shall this hold out with that? but tyre  
And yield to Love, as Nature does require,  
And this is that to which my Hopes aspire.   
Philabius.   

Another Epistle writ by Philabius to his beauteous Mistress.  
My only DEAR,  

IF Men distracted chance to give Offence,  
Good Natures turn it all to Innocence.  
I hope in you such Goodness I shall find;  
O'er-dozed with Love, I'm discomposed in Mind.  
I write, and write, and know not what I do;  
O! pardon this fond Trouble given to you.  
With Thought o'er-set my Soul no rest can have,  
But in your Kindness, or my fatal Grave.  
Oft do my Friends dissuade me from my Suit,  
Such is my Love, no Friend on Earth can do't,  
Whate'er Severeness you to me shall show;  
If Love be true, 'twill creep where't cannot go.  
Who shall presume t'a Lover Laws prescribe?  
The Law within him is his only Guide.  
'Tshall not be said I vowed Love to my Dear,  
And fell from what my Protestations were.  
Love now so long I've fostered in my Breast,  
In wilful Bondage I must lie oppressed.  
My Will is not my own to wish me free,  
Or eased of my endeared Misery.  
When Love's inflamed, it's vain to seek an end,  
On it will go, as boundless as the Wind.  
Oft by your House, I sad and musing pass,  
Feign would I enter; then I cry, Alas!  
All is Unkindness there I ever found;  
Despairing Thoughts my willing Mind confound.  
My Soul, at least, is ever with my Dear,  
Her Charms admiring, whispering in her Ear.  
Soft is that Whisper; which when you perceive  
In silent Thoughts, you roughly bid it, Leave.  
My Soul then silent for a while does stand,  
Humbly obedient to your dread Command.  
Watches a time its Courtship to renew,  
Believe me, so ' will ever ever do.  
Alas, my Dear! take some small Care of me,  
My Zeal for you a Person blind may see.  
Long since it is I writ you an Adieu,  
Can't yet resign to leave my Home and You.  
Still am in Fear that dreadful Day will come,  
Which I may truly call my Day of Doom.  
If you enforce it, what can I then say?  
What Heaven denies us, we cannot enjoy.  
A wanderer in the World I then become,  
No Friend I have on Earth, no House, nor Home;  
And if I had them, what are these to me,  
When I'm debarred your dear Society?  
If I must leave my Country, Friends, and Dear,  
And, as a Vagrant, wander here and there,  
My Spirit mightily will return to you;  
Be not affrighted when you it shall view.  
'Twill be as gentle, as my Heart is kind,  
Begging and Praying Kindness I may find.  
As you'd have Kindness from the Powers above,  
Tho' not your Person, let me have your Love.  
I'm but your Echo, Kindness thence you pray,  
Kindness from you my Soul again does cry.  
Heaven grant that both our Prayers may be heard,  
Your Kindness mine, heavens Kindness your Reward.   
Philabius.   

The last intended Farewell writ by Philabius to his beauteous Mistress, on his hearing she was married to his Rival.  
My only DEAR,  

THis Month is called, the merry Month of May;  
I wish to me 'twere as the People say.  
So 'twas in you to make it, had you pleased,  
My sad and discomposed Mind t'have eased.  
In Fields delightful lately I have gone,  
T'enjoy the pleasure of the glorious Sun;  
Revive my Senses all the various ways,  
Our Sense, by Nature's Bounty, now enjoys.  
Our Eyes are feasted with the curious dye,  
Flowers display in great variety:  
Their fragrant Odours strangely please the Smell,  
Soft to the Foot the tender Meadows feel.  
Young Fruits delight the Taste; the spacious Sky  
Resounding with the charming Melody  
Of chanting Birds, completes our Senses Joy.  
Thrice happy those, whose undisturbed Mind  
Calm Ease enjoys, when Nature is so kind.  
Unhappy Man! my Fate is most severe;  
I languish through th' unkindness of my Dear.  
Cares, and despairing Thoughts my Soul oppress,  
Without my Fair there is no Happiness.  
Thus all complaining to myself I talked,  
With Sorrows tired, while in the Fields I walked.  
At length, betwixt a Lily and a Rose,  
I laid me down to take a small Repose.  
I could not sleep, but slumbered for a while,  
Th'uneasy time thus striving to beguile.  
Long could not slumber, but awaked again,  
When, all surprised, I saw the curious Scene  
Of Nature changed, and wondered what did mean.  
The Sun was clouded, and the Air was cold,  
The Meadows all unpleasing to behold.  
Their Verdure faded, all their Beauty gone,  
The Lily black, the blushing Rose turned wan.  
While thus amazed, Queen Mab I chanced to spy,  
With numerous Train of Fairies standing by.  
O Queen, I cried! what means this sudden change,  
Is Nature nigh its end? 'tis wondrous strange.  
The Queen enjoined me Patience, than replied,  
You know we often visit your Bedside.  
You are no Stranger to our ways; you've seen,  
How we're concerned in all Designs of Men.  
You Mortals oft propose yourselves a Bliss,  
In your Pursuits; now that, and sometimes this.  
We watch your Motions, know all you intent;  
Abet, or Counter, as Heaven has designed.  
Think not that Men can gain all they pursue;  
Heaven guides them by its providential Clew.  
Whate'er they purpose, Heaven will dispose;  
Their fondest Longings often they must lose.  
Strive not against great Providence's course,  
Which leads the willing, others draws by force.  
We are its Servants, in an Order, far  
Surpassing yours, your Guidance is our Care.  
With this Advice let me possess your Mind;  
If you'll live happy, live with Ease resigned.  
Those fond Enjoyments Men would fain obtain,  
Prove often fatal, if they chance to gain.  
Man headlong runs presuming on his Wit,  
When Heaven alone knows what for him is fit.  
This change of Nature, you so much admire,  
Is wrought by us, as we with Fate conspire.  
That Beauty in the Fields, when you lay down,  
All on a sudden, to your Dear is gone.  
You know of Beauty she had ever store,  
And those have much, you find will still have more.  
This we have lent her, for her Wedding-dress,  
To make her Person charming in Excess.  
Your Patience now, for I must tell you too,  
She's even now wedded, tho' unknown to you.  
Inquire not of me who the Man may be,  
We long since told you what's your Destiny:  
Which future Times to you will make appear,  
With what concerns your Rival, and your Dear.  
This said, the Queen was in a moment gone  
With her Attendants, leaving me alone.  
I deeply sighed, enforced by Nature, tho'  
Grief, in such Cases, us no Good can do.  
And Fairest now its time to take my leave;  
My long Farewell I therefore to you give.  
Whate'er Unkindness I from you have found,  
It's all forgot, and in my Fondness drowned.  
Kind Wishes you shall ever have from me;  
Now humbly yielding to the Fate's Decree.  
If by oft Writing I have you displeased,  
I beg, at parting, I may be released.  
My Pen's fond Trouble now is wholly over,  
Nor ever shall disturb my Dearest more.   
Philabius.   

A second Reviver writ by Philabius to his beauteous Mistress, upon his being informed that the Report of her being married was false.  
My only DEAR,  

QUeen Mab, you see, late put me in a Fright,  
To sport with Mortals Fairies take delight.  
It's not the first time she has served me so;  
Would now with Joy she'd recompense my Woe.  
When she said you were wedded, 'twas to try,  
How meekly with heavens Orders I'd comply.  
And found 'twas with all Resignation done,  
Tho' hard, as if I'd sacrificed a Son.  
O! could I be rewarded, as the Man,  
In whom such pure Obedience first begun!  
The Queen now says, I may in Love proceed,  
Tho' still without assurance to succeed.  
Some gentle Hopes she grants I entertain,  
And leave the rest to Providence again.  
No India Merchant ever would give more,  
Effects, in his Adventure, to ensure.  
With Hopes revived, by leave, I then go on,  
My heavenly Dear saluting once again:  
And shall salute her Monthly, while on Earth,  
Kind Heaven vouchsafes my Fairest here to breathe.  
And she continues in unmarried State,  
And Men are free to try contingent Fate.  
Twice, since I heard you wedded, I'd a Mind  
To see a Beauty, might, perhaps, been kind.  
Twice, intervening Chances put me by  
Of that Design, as 'twere by Destiny.  
This makes me think (since you are single still)  
There something lies concealed in heavens Will,  
Which You and I may fatally fulfil.  
I hear my Rival's lately at a stand,  
As no Man Fortune can, at Will, command.  
I wish him well, and ever shall; as he  
Must have his Lot, so I my Destiny.  
If, with your Favour, Dearest! now I may  
Be free to utter what I have to say,  
I think I've Reason greatly to complain  
Of your hard dealing with such Love as mine.  
I need not tell you, what your conscious Mind  
Foretells you, that you have been most unkind.  
I am persuaded both your Friends, and You  
Must be convinced my Love is great and true.  
And that whatever here I have on Earth  
Is yours, at Will: I nothing for it crave  
But Kindness. If you cannot condescend  
To make me Husband; let me be your Friend.  
Your Friendship only, should engage me still  
To serve my Dearest with my utmost Zeal.  
Let me persuade you, Dear! no Friend to slight;  
When found, endear him, as your Eye does light.  
I mean a Friend, will firmly stand his Ground;  
Pretending Friends are common to be found.  
By Men of Learning Love has been defined,  
A fond desire we have of being kind  
To those we love, for Beauty's sake. To you  
Soon would I prove this Definition true,  
Would you give way; and poss'bly might do more  
For you, than all the Friends you have in store.  
As you are now at Bath, there would I be,  
If any hopes of Welcome I could see.  
Whenever Love and Service hitherto  
I've tendered, still they found Contempt with you.  
As I strive to oblige, you take offence;  
For tender Kindness, 'tis hard recompense.  
Tho' offered Service oft has such Success,  
In you, I hoped t'have found it otherwise.  
I thought in you a mild-sweet Temper reigned,  
That tendered Kindness would not be disdained.  
O! please to show by some kind Word or Deed,  
Your Lover, in so judging not deceived.  
To none for Friendship did I ever sue,  
Or court for Kindness, as your Friends and You.  
No Self-advantage therein I propose;  
Both Life and Fortunes for you I would lose.  
Use, or abuse me, as you please; you see  
How great's the Force of steadfast Constancy.  
Many to me, in Kindness now excel,  
Only presuming, that I wish them well.  
From none such Usage, as from you, I've found,  
For whom my Love did ever most abound.  
Surely, there's something, tho' unknown to me,  
Moves your Averseness in so high degree.  
O! let me know, why you are so severe,  
Freedom allow, to try myself to clear.  
If I have Failures, so have other Men,  
We can but promise, that we'll mend again.  
Nature I'd force to mend all Faults I have,  
And 'stead of Servant, I would be your Slave.  
My most endeared Princess you shall be,  
Rule me with Mildness, or with Tyranny.  
These Protestations, Dearest! please receive,  
And let your Lover, in your Favour, live.  
It's all on Earth, 'tis all he begs of you,  
So, with all Fondness, bids his Dear adieu.   
Philabius.   

The last Address writ by Philabius to his beauteous Mistress.  
My only DEAR,  

Heard Case it seems, Heaven should present to Men  
Objects that please beyond their Strength; and then  
Find Fault they love too much, and oft withstands  
Th'enjoyment of them, by its countermands.  
I own the Charms abounding in my Dear,  
O'erpow'r my Soul, that love I can't forbear:  
And tho' Heaven seems t'oppose me hitherto,  
I can't desist, my Suit I must pursue.  
All ways I try my charming Dear to move;  
I beg, I pray, I tender Life and Love,  
My Fortunes, Service, all that Man can do;  
And this my All is still despised by you.  
Would, at the time, when first I kissed your Hand,  
I had been banished in some Foreign Land;  
There to remain for ever, never t'have seen  
This wretched State your Lover now is in.  
If you're resolved I perish; pray be quick;  
I'd rather die, than long continue sick:  
Say plainly, Dear! that mine you'll never be;  
So seal my Death, conclude my Misery.  
Your Silence keeps me in continual Dread;  
As tottering Stones when hanging o'er the Head,  
With Frights torment us, never giving rest:  
Even thus am I now cruelly oppressed.  
All my Invention now is at an end;  
When Stocks are out, we have no more to spend.  
Words I here heaped on Words with all my Zeal,  
Hoping thereby t'incline your gracious Will.  
No Word of Comfort can get from my Fair;  
O! keep me now, if ever, from Despair:   
Philabius.   

A Copy of Verses, writ by a Platonic to his Valentine.  
Most beauteous Princess,  

WHEN joyful Birds have chose at Spring  
Their pretty Mates, they quaintly sing  
Their little Notes, and strive to please  
Those whom they love; I, taught by these,  
Salute my Dearest with this Air:  
As you surpass their fairest Fair;  
So should my Song their Chant excel;  
And 'twill, if you but say, 'tis well.  
See how their Quills with curious dyes,  
Are decked, to please their Lovers Eyes.  
The innocent White, the constant Blue,  
The hopeful Green, and stately how  
Of Purple, joyful Yellow's there,  
Gay Red, and Black, Badge of Despair.  
There is no Passion of the Mind,  
But there expressed the Eye does find.  
Thus dressed, they fly with Wings of Love  
Together to some pleasant Grove,  
Where nothing can disturb their Joys;  
All's calm, and still, and free from Noise.  
Some gentle Stream steals softly by,  
‛ Afraid to offend Love's Mystery.  
Sweet Flowers from the Fields beneath,  
With Smells perfume the Air they breath:  
Fresh Blossoms from the budding Trees,  
Afford them rare varieties  
Of Food: Thus blest in all Desires,  
They pass their Days in amorous Fires.  
Blessed Birds; but blest with sensual Joys,  
A Bliss for Birds: Alas! what Toys  
To Bliss of Man, the Bliss of Mind,  
To sensual Objects unconfined.  
With us, while, in this Frame of Clay  
We live, those Objects still convey  
Into our Minds the specious Rays  
Of Beauty, which incite, and raise  
Us, to contemplate that Divine  
Idol Beauty, seen to shine  
In Beauty's Source, whence Fairest, you  
And all Things here, their Beauty drew.  
There, Princess! your Idea lies,  
Fair, Spotless, charming in our Eyes.  
The Charms of Beauty here you bear,  
Still raise us to contemplate there;  
Where I with all Men evermore,  
Must love, admire you, and adore.   
J. B.   

The Answer of Helena to Paris: Translated by a Country Shepherdess.  

The PREFACE.  

THo' Lords and Knights, and others of the Town,  
Inspired Poets all, of great Renown,  
Have taught acquaint Ovid speak our Mother Tongue,  
In Language fit for Phoebus to have sung:  
Yet since men's Fancies change as women's Dress,  
I thought myself, tho' Country Shepherdess,  
Might please as well, by offering somewhat new,  
Tho' coming short of what before they knew.  
And as more ways than one lead to a Mill,  
Why may not many climb Parnassus Hill?  
Even Women (for some of us rise betimes)  
And fall into Enthusiastic Rhimes,  
In Love-Concerns, at least, for as we draw  
Our Passions deep, when once our Hearts do thaw  
We melt in Love: It's Helen's Case we find,  
That beauteous Wonder of us Womenkind,  
Who to our Paris thus expressed her Mind.    

The ANSWER.  

MY guilty Eyes your Letter having read,  
Small Glory now to leave't unanswered.  
You then a Guest, 'gainst sacred Laws of Friends,  
Dare tempt a Wife to break her Wedlock Bonds.  
'Tis like, for this, when stormy Seas had tossed  
You here, you found your Safety on our Coast!  
And when you came a Stranger to our Port,  
You were not barred the freedom of our Court!  
These are the Thanks you to our Bounty owe!  
Is this done like a Guest, or like a Foe?  
I make no doubt, tho' my Complaint be just,  
You'll call't uncourtly; be it, if it must.  
Let me be courtless, so an honest Wife,  
And that none find a blemish in my Life.  
Although my Countenance speaks me not severe,  
Tho' I use not a grave-affected Air,  
Yet am I spotless, and have lived my time,  
Even unsuspected from the least of Crime.  
The more's my Wonder what your Fancy fed,  
And gave you hopes you should enjoy my Bed.  
Cause Theseus once, by force, constrained me go  
With him; perhaps, you think to do so too.  
Had I been drawn by's fawning Words, in me  
The Fault had been; but being forced, am free.  
Nor by his Fact, did he his Will obtain;  
Unless by Fear, I, unhurt returned again.  
The saucy Gallant only got a Kiss  
Sometimes by striving, and was glad he'd this.  
It seems you, naughty Man, would more pursue,  
But Heaven be praised, he was not like to you.  
Modest in this, which made his Crime the less,  
He left m'unwronged, and did his Fault confess.  
Sure he repented what he'd done, that you  
Might all enjoy, d'ye think he'll say so too?  
Yet I'm not angry, who can be with Love?  
Unless 'tis all but feigned that you do move,  
And this I doubt, not that I you distrust,  
Or know not well my Face is not the worst.  
But cause an easy Faith does oft abuse  
Us, and they say Men Truth do seldom use.  
Tho' others sin, and few good Women known,  
Of those so few, why may not I be one?  
And tho' to you my Mother seems to be  
A fit Example in this thing for me:  
You know my Mother, by a false Disguise  
Of Feathers cheated, suffered a Surprise.  
If I should sin, I cannot say the same:  
Nor have I any Cloak to hide my Shame.  
She well might sin, the Author could dispense  
With her, what Jove will take off my Offence?  
Your Race, and ancient Blood, and Kingly Fame  
You boast; our House is not to seek a Name.  
To pass by Jove, as Great-Sire to Atraeus  
And all the Stock of Pelops, Tyndarus,  
Jove turned a Swan, deceiving Laeda'll own  
Me for his Child, whom she embraced unknown.  
Go now and boast your rise, if you think good,  
From Priam's, and your Laomedon's Blood,  
Whom I suspect; but he on whom you build  
Your Fame, is fifth from you, when I'm his Child.  
And grant, your Crown of Troy I great should own,  
I cannot but as much esteem our own.  
Tho' you've more Riches, and your Subjects far  
In number greater, yours Barbarians are.  
Your rich Epistle talks of so much Gold,  
'Gainst it a Goddess-heart might hardly hold:  
But if'gainst modest Laws I'd yield to sin,  
'Tis you yourself would sooner draw me in,  
Or with my spotless Flame I'll live and die,  
Or after you, not after Gifts, will fly.  
Tho' I contemn them not; for well I know,  
They're grateful when the Giver makes them so.  
But more your Love does move me and your Pain,  
And that for me you ventured o'er the Main.  
I also mark, tho' still conceal, as fit,  
Your Actions, when at Table you do sit.  
Sometimes on me you cast such piercing Eyes,  
That mine, to bear their Glances scarce suffice.  
Sometimes you sigh, sometimes my Cup you draw,  
And drink just at the place where me you saw.  
How oft your Fingers, and your speaking Brows,  
Have I seen making secret Signs and Vows:  
And often feared my Husband would perceive;  
And blushed to see the open Marks you gave.  
I often softly to myself did say,  
This Man is shameless, and I think I may.  
I often found upon the Table writ  
My Name in Wine, I Love set under it.  
Some Mark I gave, I did not think it true:  
But since, alas! I've learn to say so too.  
To these Allurements, if inclined to sin,  
I should submit, 'tis this my Heart would win.  
Tho' I confess your Features I admire,  
And your Embraces Ladies may desire.  
But let some happy'r Person, loved by you,  
Without a Crime enjoy, what I can't do.  
Pray learn by me a Beauty to forbear;  
A Virtue 'tis, those things we love to spare.  
How many, think you, wish for what you sue?  
Have none discerning Eyes d'ye think, but you?  
You see not more, but rasher, more you dare,  
You've not more Passion, but more shameless are.  
Then should you've come, as swift as Winter's Flood,  
When, being a Virgin, me a thousand wooed.  
If then but seen, from all you'd had my Voice,  
My Husband's self must pardon me my choice.  
You're now too late, the thing you seek's possessed,  
And what you hope for's in another's Breast.  
To be your Wife yet should I still consent,  
If Menelaus would be so content.  
Pray cease with Words my tender Heart to move,  
Don't go t'abuse her whom you say you love;  
But leave me to my Lot, by Fortune gi'en,  
Nor basely seek my Honour's Spoils to win.  
Venus you say on Ida gave you this,  
Where you did judge three naked Goddesses:  
And when th'one promised Crowns, a Name divine  
In war the other, she said Helen's thine.  
I scarce believe those Heavenly Queen's content,  
To leave their shape to your arbitrement:  
And grant this true, sure th'other part is feigned,  
That I should be your Gift, if Venus gained.  
I can't presume my Beauty such, that she  
Should say't the great'st Gift in her Treasury.  
I'm well content so Men my Shape approve;  
A treacherous Praiser is the Queen of Love.  
Yet I'll not gainsay't, tho' I it admire;  
For why should I gainsay what I desire?  
Nor be you angry that my Faith is slow;  
Great things require no hasty Faith you know.  
First then, t'have liked Venus its a Pleasure;  
Next, that you take me as your greatest Treasure:  
And slighting th'Honours Juno did propose,  
And Pallas, you from Venus Helen chose.  
Then I'm to you both Virtue, and a Throne;  
An Iron-heart such Love were bound to own.  
Nor am I Iron (credit me;) but may  
I love him, whom I cannot hope t'enjoy?  
To what end should I plough the barren Sands,  
And follow hopes the very place withstands?  
Untrained to Venus-Thefts, my Husband's Trust  
I ne'er, as yet, abused, as heavens just.  
And now my Pen does correspond with you,  
This thing to me is altogether new.  
They're happy who'd inur'd, my innocent Mind  
Does think the way to Vice is hard to find.  
I'm full of Fears and in Confusion, I  
Suspect that all on me do cast their Eye.  
Nor is it causeless, Aethra says, of late  
The World talks of me at an evil rate.  
Be therefore close, unless you'll quite give over;  
Tho' why desist? your Actions you may cover.  
Act, but be wary, tho' we're somewhat free,  
By Menelaus' absence, Spies can see.  
He's gone, 'tis true, a Voyage far away,  
For just and weighty Reasons could not stay.  
At least to me it seemed, for when he slack  
And doubting stood, I said, pray make haste back.  
With th' Omen pleased he kissed me'nd did commend  
To me the care of's House, and's Trojan Friend.  
I scarce held Laughter, striving at it, all  
I could return in Answer, was, I shall.  
So he to Crete with happy Wind is gone;  
But do not think for this the World's your own.  
Tho' he be absent, yet his Guard is strong  
On me, you know Kings Hands are very long.  
Beside, my Fame and Shape you so much praised,  
In him the more his Jealousy has raised.  
In this Conjuncture better 'twere I'd none,  
And that you'd let my Beauty's Praise alone.  
Nor wonder I'm left by myself, he knows  
What Confidence he in me may repose.  
My Face he feared my Virtue trusted, there  
My Faith's secured, where Beauty made him fear.  
You with me not to let th' occasion die,  
But that we use the Man's simplicity.  
I would and fear, nor can I yet command  
My wavering Will, my Heart is at a stand.  
My Husband's absent, you've no Wife, in lieu,  
Your Shape embraces me, and mine does you.  
The Nights are long, and we converse alone,  
Your Charms, alas! are great, our House is one:  
And let me die, all things to sin conspire,  
There's nought but Fear can check our fond Desire.  
What weakly you persuade, would you could force,  
To stir my Dulness, 'tis the likeliest course.  
Sometimes th'abuse good for the Bearer's held;  
And surely I were happy, if compelled.  
But rather, let's surpass our young Desires;  
A little Water quells new-kindled Fires.  
A Stranger's Love's unfixt, with him it flies,  
Or when we think it most secure, it dies.  
Hypsiphile and Ariadne stand  
Sad Proofs against wedding Men of Foreign Land.  
And you, unfaithful Man! are also said  
These many Years t'have left Oenone's Bed:  
You can't deny't, I boldly say't, and know  
More of your Actions than you think I do.  
And say, you constant would in Love remain,  
You can't, the Phrygians would fetch you again.  
And while you talk, and for that hoped Night  
Provide, d'ye know the Wind will then stand right?  
When half Seas over, and glutted with your Prey,  
The blustering Winds will blow your Love away.  
Shall I then go to Troy your Court to see?  
Shall I great Laomedon's Grandchild be?  
I slight not so the noise of flying Fame,  
To spot my Country with eternal Shame.  
Pray what will Sparte? what will Achaia say?  
What Asia's Nations? what your very Troy?  
What will judge Priam of me? what his Queen?  
What all your Matrons, and your Trojan Kin?  
And could yourself e'er think that I'd be true,  
If I should once do such a thing with you?  
When any Stranger (tho' by chance) you hear  
Comes to your Port, he'll give you cause to fear.  
How often, angry, you'll Adultress cry?  
Forgetting you are guilty, more than I.  
You'll be both Author, and condemn the Crime;  
O let me die, e'er live to see the time.  
But I shall all your Trojan Wealth enjoy,  
And you your Gifts will greater make than say.  
You'll give me Purple for my Princely Dress,  
And heaps of Gold you talk I shall possess.  
Your Pardon, if I say't, my Country's Love  
Does draw me back, more than your Offers move.  
Whom shall I call, if wronged, upon your Shoar?  
What Brothers, or what Fathers help implore?  
Fair Promises false Jason to his Spouse  
Medea made, whom he expelled his House.  
No Aetes, nor Ipsaea then was by,  
No Friend, to whom, in her Distress to fly.  
Such Dealing I suspect not, nor did she;  
The fairest hopes are sometimes foiled you see.  
Those Ships we hear so often cast away,  
At setting Sail, had calm and gentle Sea.  
The Torch does also fright, which before  
Your Birth, your frighted Mother dreamt she bore.  
And I do dread, what Prophets do forewarn,  
That Grecian Flames your Town of Troy shall burn,  
As Venus is your Friend, 'cause she obtained  
Her Suit by you, and double Trophy gained:  
So those I fear, whom (if your Boast be true)  
In their appeal, your Sentence overthrew.  
And certain 'tis, War follows, if I fly,  
And clashing Swords our Love will soon untie.  
Did not Hippodameia Athrax stir,  
Against the Centaurus, to a bloody War?  
Can Menelaus, think you, tamely hush  
Th' Affront? my Brothers, and King Tyndarus?  
And tho' you boast your Valour, at your Sword,  
Your Face, methink, does contradict your Word.  
You seem more fit for Venus, than for Mars;  
Let Paris love, and others follow Wars.  
Let Hector, whom you praise, his War pursue;  
There is another Warfare fit for you.  
In that your Skill I've half a Mind to try;  
A wifer Lady would, and why not I?  
Or else, perhaps, 'twere better quit the Field,  
And even to you my conquered Hand to yield.  
Whereas you pray we may of these Things treat  
In private; I know what you would be at.  
But you're too quick, you'd reap before you've sown;  
Perhaps your stay makes for you, tho' unknown▪  
These Secrets of my guilty Mind I send  
To you; and thus my weary Pen does end.  
We by Clymene may the rest confer,  
Or Aethra, both my Friends and Council are.      

A New Translation OF VIRGIL's Sixth Aeneid, AND Fourth Eclogue.   

THE PREFACE.  
HAving a Book, in a forwardness for the Press, relating to the Symbolical Theology of the Gentiles; and Virgil being known to have been critically learned in that kind; and the most learned parts of his Works thereunto relating being his six Aeneid and Fourth Eclogue, it entered into my Thoughts lately to peruse them: And on the perusal, conceiving I should more clearly possess myself of his Sense, by a Translation, than by a cursary Reading, I applied myself to it; and such as it is, have now permitted it to the Press: And conceive, as to the main, it may appear to an indifferent Reader, more easy, and more clearly comprehending Virgil's Sense, than Mr. Ogylby's; whose Notes with others, for Illustration, the Reader may make use of, if he pleases, it being beside my present Business to make Comments; and Virgil, taking him either in the Original, or in any Translation, being unintelligible in many Places without good Assistance in that kind, he presupposing much Learning in a Reader. As for Mr. Dryden's Translation of Virgil, I must own, I heard it was extant before I set upon mine;  
but I could not get sight of it in the Country where I than was. As I have look on some parts of it since, I cannot pretend to have given Virgil that Lustre, in what I have translated of him, which Mr. Dryden, by his more copious way of Expression, has done, I having generally endeavonred to hold way with Virgil Verse for Verse. However, in regard I look on Virgil as an Author, which may be set in several Lights by Translators, for making him more clearly intelligible, I have not withheld the small part I have translated from the Public.  
J. B.   

The Sixth Book of Virgil's Aeneids.  

THus weeping speaks, and sets his Fleet to Sea,  
And came the Aeuboean Cuma ' n Italy.  
Their Prows they Sea-wards turn, with Anchors moor,  
Their Ships; whose Bow-built Sterns front all the Shoar.  
The crowding Youth with eager Spirit lands,  
Some striking Fire with Flints, the wild Beasts dens  
Some storm for Wood, fresh Rivers some descry;  
Mean while Aeneas, famed for Piety,  
Apollo's Temple minds, his Thoughts are on  
The sibyl's Cave, and dread recess, by none  
Approached, but with an awful Terror; where  
Apollo future Truths makes known to her,  
Inspiring an excess of Mind: And so,  
To Trivia's Groves, and Phoebus' Tower they go.  
Daed'lus, t'escape from Minos (as they say)  
Daring with Wings in th' Air to make his way,  
By course, before unheard of, Northward passed,  
And gently pitched on Chalcis Tower, at last.  
Assoon's arrived, Phoebus! his Wings to you  
And Art he sacred made, and Temple now.  
In front of which Androgeus Death was carved;  
And, as to Athens 'twas a Pain reserved  
To pay seven pairs of Children yearly; there  
Stands Pot, and Lot's drawn for them, every year.  
On th' opp'site part Crete stands above the Sea,  
Where's seen the cursed Love of Pasiphae,  
And how, by slight, the Bull she underlay.  
Here's the mixed Race, and biform Minotaur,  
All Monuments of nefarious Lust: And here  
The labyrinth whence none ever could get clear.  
Tho Daed'lus finding Ariadne involved  
In desperate Love, through Pity once resolved  
The Craft-contrived Windings of the Maze,  
By guidance of a Thread through all its ways.  
And Ic'rus, you, had Grief gi'en way, good part  
In this great Work had had: Your chance by Art,  
Your Father twice essayed t'engrave in Gold;  
Twice his Hand failed him, and his Heart grew cold.  
Soon had they viewed all; but Achates sent  
Before, returned with her for whom he went  
Deiphobe, Glaucus' Daughter, Priestess, both  
To Trivia and Phoebus: Who t' Aeneas saith,  
This is no time such Sights to view: But now  
'Tis fit you slay seven Stieres, untrayned to Blow,  
As many Sheep, chosen as our Laws allow.   

This said t' Aenaeas, done without delay,  
The Trojans, called to Temple, all obey;  
A mighty Cave, but in the Mountain's side,  
To which an hundred ways, and Gates do guide.  
Whence hundred Voices, Sibyll's Answers pass.  
They came to th'entrance; when the Virgin says,  
Time calls t'enquire of Fate, Lo! God appears,  
And saying thus, straightway before the Doors,  
Her Countenance and her Colour changed; her Hair  
Dechevelled flew; her Breast, as wanting Air,  
And filled with Sacred Rage, does pant, and swell:  
And now she seems self-greater, and to tell  
Things more than human: Being more nearly inspired  
She cries, Aeneas! done't you, as required,  
Your Vows and Prayers offer? For, till then,  
In this Stupendious House, no or'cle's give.  
This said, she stopped: The Trojans quake with fear;  
Aeneas then, poured forth this hearty Prayer.   

O Phoebus! always pitying Hardships sent  
On Trojans! who did guide the Dart was bend  
By Paris at Aechilles: By your Hand  
Being guided, Seas surrounding Tracts of Land  
Of vast extent I've entered; past the Moors  
Remotest bounds, and all their sandy Shores.  
And now, tho' baulked long, we're hither come,  
So far pursued still by our Trojan doom.  
And now the Trojans you of right should spare,  
All Gods and Goddesses, who ever were  
Displeased with Troy, and Trojan Glory: ' and you  
Most holy Priestess! knowing things t'ensue,  
(Since I ask nothing to my Fates undue;  
Tell us the Trojans, and tossed Gods of Troy,  
And wandering Deities, Latium shall enjoy;  
To Trivia ' and Phoebus' Temples then I'll raise  
Of Marble, and in's Name set Holy Days:  
And in my Kingdoms Sacred Structures I  
Will build to keep your Books of destiny,  
And secret Fates foretold my Nation; and  
Choice Men appoint, as Sacred, for that end.  
Only I would, you write them not, lest they  
To rapid Winds become a sport and prey,  
But speak them: Ending thus what he should say,   

Now she impatient Phoebus yet to bear  
Within the Cave does rage, and strives to clear  
Her loaded Breast of him; still he the more  
Her raging Heart and Mouth does over power  
And toils her, and so works to tempt meet.  
And now the Temples hundred Gates, which yet  
Were closed, fly open of their accord; and through  
Them fly the sibyl's Answers, thus. O you!  
Who now have past all dangers on the main,  
Were fated for you; know there still remain  
On Land far greater: Trojans shall possess  
Lavinia's Kingdom (doubt you not of this)  
But they'll wish not t'have come, Wars horrid Wars,  
I see, and Tiber foaming with much Blood.  
Simois and Xanthus here you'll find made good;  
And Dorique Tents: And an Achilles now  
In Latium's born; and of a Goddess too.  
Nor will the Trojans (go they where they please)  
Be without Juno: When, in your distress;  
You were suppliant to what Countries here  
And Towns did you not sue for aid? Be sure  
A foreign Wife, and extern Match will be  
The cause again of so much Misery.  
But boldly stem Misfortunes, yield to none,  
What scarce you'd think, your entrance to this Crown  
Will first be shown you from a Grecian Town.   

The Sibyl utters, with such Words as these,  
From th'oracle, dread ambiguous Prophecies,  
Resounding in the Cave; Apollo so  
The raging Virgin stimulates to do.  
Assoon's her Fury ceased, and Rage was o'er▪  
Aeneas thus begins. O Virgin pure!  
No unexpected face of toils, or new,  
Can rise to me; my Mind has all in view.  
I beg this one thing (since they say the Gate  
Of Hell is here, and that Infernal Lake  
Of Acheron) vouchsafe that I go see,  
And speak with my dear Father: You, I pray,  
Be guide, and open those Sacred Gates; for I  
Have snatched him from the midst of th'Enemy;  
And, on these Shoulders, born him through the Fire  
And thousand Darts pursuing in the rear.  
And he again, in Voyages with me,  
Being weak, has born all Hardships of the Sea,  
Indeed, beyond his Strength, and aged decay.  
〈◊〉, and, with great Entreaty, he did press,  
●●y humble waiting on you, and Address.  
●●ay pity then the Father, and the Son,  
O Virgin! all's in you; 'tis not in vain  
Hecate placed you o'er Avernus' Grove  
If Orpheus, playing on his Harp, could move  
His Wives return from Hell: If from the Earth  
Pollux, his Brother by alternate Death,  
Redeemed, what shall I of Alcides say,  
And Theseus? I'm from Jove, as well as they.  
Thus th' Hero prayed, and th'Altar held; to whom  
The Sibyl thus began. O you that come  
Of heavenly Race! It's easy going to Hell:  
Black Dis' Gates, we know, are open still:  
But to return, and rise to the bright Sun,  
Here lies the toilsome Work: Few this have done  
Whom Jove has loved, or ardent Virtues raise  
Us to the Skies, or God-born Men: The ways  
That lie betwixt, with Woods are all beset,  
And dread Cocytus close surrounds the Pit;  
But if your Mind be such, so great your Zeal,  
To visit twice the Stygian Lakes, and Hell,  
And this mad Labour needs you'll undergo,  
Then learn of me what first you have to do.  
Within a dark thick-shaded Tree lies hid  
A Bow with Golden Leaves, and pliant Twig  
T'Infernal Juno Sacred; this the whole  
Grove covers, and dark Valley Shades withal:  
But none the coverings of the Earth can pass,  
Till he this Golden Bow shall first possess,  
This present to herself Proserpina claims,  
If one be gathered, straight another comes,  
Which Branches with such Leaves as th'other did.  
Then seekt with care, and finding where 'tis hid,  
Take't with your Hand; for if you're called by Fate,  
'Twill come with ease; if not you ne'er can have't  
With all your Strength; even Iron than's in vain.  
Beside, while here you stand, your Suit to gain  
A friend of yours, ah! done't you know't? lies dead;  
Whose Corpse pollutes your Fleet: First carried  
T'its proper place, let it be buried;  
Take black Beasts with you; let them expiate  
Before you do't; then guided by your Fate  
The Stygian Groves, and Kingdoms you shall view,  
Unpassed by Men, this said, she silent grew.   

Aeneas sad, with downcast look, goes on,  
Leaving the Cave, and much self-musing on  
Those blind Events: With whom his faithful Friend,  
Achates goes, with no less plodding Mind.  
Much 'twixt themselves they talked, what Friend was dead,  
Whose Corpse the Sibyl would have buried.  
And on the dry Shoar, as they came, they see  
Misenus slain, by unmeet Destiny.  
Misenus, sprung of Ae'lus, famed for  
His Trumpet, bravely stirring Men to War;  
At Troy, Companion to great Hector, where  
He bravely served, with Trumpet, and with Spear▪  
When Hector by Achilles' Sword was slain,  
This Hero with Aeneas joined again,  
Making his Post as great as it was then.  
But sounding's Trumpet on the Shoar for skill,  
Rashly presuming Gods to Contest call,  
A Rival Triton (if like Truth it sounds)  
This Man, 'mong Rocks, in foaming Waters drowns.  
All therefore, round him, much lament and cry,  
Most good Aeneas, and without delay,  
The sibyl's Will perform; contend to raise  
His Funeral Pile, with Trees, up to the Skies.  
An ancient Wood they enter, horrid Den  
Of wild Beasts, down the pitch Trees fall amain.  
The Holm, with Axes struck, within the Grove  
Resounds; the Oak and Ash abroad are clove  
With Wedges; from the Mountain's rolling fall  
Wild-Ashes of a mighty Bulk: In all  
This Work Aeneas foremost, cheers his Men,  
And, by's Example, moves them to go on.  
And sadly musing on these Things, as he  
The Wood beheld, he thus began to pray.  
Would now, in this great Wood, that Golden Bow  
Would show itself; since all Things said of you,  
Misenus! by the Sybyll, prove too true.   

Scarce had he said this, when before his Eyes,  
Two Doves, as chanced, came flying from the Skies  
And on the green Soil pitched; the Hero than  
Knew's Mother's Birds; and joyous, prayed again.  
O! if there's any way, be you my Guide,  
Direct my Course, as through the Air you glide  
Into those Groves; whose fertile Soil, the Bow  
So famed does shade: And you, fair Parent! now  
Forsake me not in this Distress: This said,  
He walked observing all the Signs they made;  
Whither they seeding tended; they in Flight  
Went on, as not to lose the Followers sight.  
And, as they came t' Avernus' stinking side,  
In moment raised, they through the Aether glide,  
And take their wished Seat on the biform Tree,  
Whence Gold its various Colours did display.  
As Misletoe in Wintertime is known  
With Leaves to flourish, from Seed, not its own,  
And twine its yellow Branches round the Limbs;  
In this thick-shaded Holm the Gold such seems,  
Such rustling noise its Leaves make by the Winds,  
Aeneas grasps it straight, with greedy Hand,  
And gathered, goes the Sibyl to attend.  
Mean while, the Trojans on the Shoar, bewail  
Misenus; nothing in last Duties sail.  
First, of cleft Oak, and pitchy Woods they build  
A mighty Pile; whose Sides are stuck and filled  
With mourning Bows, the Front with Cyprus dressed  
On top, t'adorn it, shining Arms are placed.  
Some in Brass-vessels Water heat, and wash  
The dead Corpse, and anoint it; then they pass  
A mourning Outcry; then lay't on a Bed,  
And with rich Purple-cloaths it's covered.  
Some the sad Office undergo, the Hearse  
To bear; and, as of old, with Face averse  
Their Totch apply; much Frankincense withal  
They burn, delicious Meats, and Pots with Oil.  
After the Ashes fell, and Flame had ceased,  
The Relics they with Wine, and th'Embers washed.  
And Choryneus put, in Urn of Brass,  
The remnant Bones; and his Associates.  
Thrice sprinkled round, and purged, with Water pure  
And peaceful Olive-branch; so all was over.  
But good Aeneas, as the Custom was,  
Raised him a mighty Tomb: For Arms did place  
An Oar and Trumpet, near a Mountain high,  
Misenuus called from him; and e'er will be.  
This done, the sibyl's Orders he forthwith  
Accomplishes; there was a vast deep Cave  
With dreadful Mouth, strewed with rough little Stones,  
Woods and a black Lake guard it, as its bounds;  
O'er which no Birds, without much danger fly,  
Such Breath from its dark Mouth mounts to the Sky.  
From whence the Greeks, Avernus named this Lake.  
Here first he placed four Stieres' of Colour black,  
And Wine the Priest powered on their Foreheads, than  
Took the stiff Hairs which 'twixt their Horns were grown  
And as first Offerings, on the sacred Fire,  
Lays them, loud call Hecate, whose Power  
Is great Heaven and Hell. Some with their Knife  
The Victim slay, and the warm Blood receive  
In Bowls. Aeneas slays with's Sword a Lamb  
Black-coloured to the Fury's Mother, and  
Her Sister great. A barren Cow to you  
Proserpina. Then might Altars dressed anew  
To Pluto: Th'Oxen's Flesh then on the Flames  
He lays, and pours on Oil as it consumes.  
And now, behold! about Sunrising th'Earth  
Under their Feet began to groan, therewith  
The Woods to move; and through the Shades they see  
The howl Dogs, the Goddess drawing nigh.  
The Sibyl cries, far now, O far be gone  
From this whole Grove, you Men that are profane.  
And you, with Sword in Hand, come on your way,  
Aeneas now your Courage you must try.  
This said, with sacred Rage into the Cave  
She rushed, whom he attends, as fearless brave.  
You Gods who Souls command, you silent Shades,  
Chaos, and Phleg'ton, Places where resides  
Perpetual Night: Let me, impow'red by you,  
Speak things I've heard, in darkness drowned till now.  
They went benighted through dark shaded ways,  
And This his Kingdom, where no Body was.  
As is the passage through a Wood by Night,  
When neither Moon nor Stars give any Light,  
And darkness takes all Colours from the Sight.  
Before the entrance, and first Mouth of Hell,  
Grief and revenging Thoughts have placed their Cell.  
There pale Diseases, sad old Age, and Fear,  
Base Want, and ill-advising Hunger were  
All dreadful Forms to see: And Death and Toil,  
And Death's near Kinsman, drowsy Sleep, and all  
Mind's sinful Joys: And on the opp'site side  
Stands deadly War; the Fury's Iron-bed,  
And senseless Discord; who Serpentine Hair,  
With bloody Hair-lace interwove, does wear.  
In midst, a vast thick-shaded Elm displays  
Its ancient Branches, where (as Rumour says)  
Vain Dreams reside; and stick to all the Leaves.  
Monsters beside, of many kinds, with these  
Stand at the doors; the biform Scylla's there,  
The Centaurs, and the strong Briareus were.  
There th' Hydra, the Chimaera, Gorgon's, and  
The Harpies, with Tree-bodied Geryon stand.  
Aeneas here, with sudden Fright, being scared,  
Presents his Sword, and stands upon his Guard.  
And if the Sibyl had not told him, they  
Were airy Souls, which such like Shapes display,  
he'd vainly striven with's Sword, the Ghost to slay.  
Hence leads the way to Ach'rons' Waters, here  
A vast-foul-muddy Whirl-pool-gulfe boils over,  
Into Cocytus' spewing all its Sands.  
The nasty Boatman Charon here attends  
These Streams, and horrid Water he commands:  
Appearing with great hoary-careless Beard  
And flaming Eyes; his clothes with Dirt besmeared  
Hang down from's Shoulders, by a Knot secured:  
With Oar and Sails his Vessel still he plies,  
And Bodies in's dark-coloured Boat conveys  
Grown old; but as a God, in Strength seems young,  
Here, on the Banks, the crowding Shadows throng.  
Women and Men, the Ghosts of Heroes, Boys,  
Girls, Children dead before their Parents Eyes:  
As thick as Leaves, in Autumn, fall in Woods,  
Or, from the Main, to land come Flocks of Birds,  
When Winter drives them from beyond the Seas,  
And sends them where they may enjoy warm Ease.  
The first come, begging to be Ferried over,  
With Hands stretched out, desiring th' other Shoar.  
But the rough Boat-man sometimes into's Boat  
Takes these, or those, and leaves some others out.  
Aeneas, wondering at the crowding Ghosts,  
Says, Virgin! what's this Concourse on these Coasts?  
What seek these Souls? Why do some leave the Shoar,  
And others, on these Waters, ply their Oar?  
To whom the Sibyl briefly thus replies;  
Anchises Son, true Offspring of the Skies.  
You see Cocytus, and the Stygian Lake,  
By which, being sworn, their Oath Gods dare not break.  
This Crowd, you see, is of unburied Men,  
The Boat-man's Charon, those on Water seen,  
Are buried; nor can any Ghosts before  
Pass from these horrid Banks to th'other Shoar.  
They rove an hundred Years about this place;  
At length admitted, come with Joy, to pass.  
Aeneas stood, then walked with plodding Mind,  
Pitying th'hard Fate such Persons did attend.  
He saw there sad, and wanting Burial right  
Leucaspis, and Orontes by his side,  
The Lycian Captain: In their Course from Troy  
Both with their Ship, by Southwind, cast away.  
And, Lo! the Steersman Palinurus there;  
Who, as, by Stars, from Lybia he did Steer,  
Fell headlong from his Stern, when half Seas over.  
Assoon's Aeneas knew him 'mongst the Shades,  
He thus bespeaks him first. Who of the Gods,  
O Palinurus! took you from us, and  
Drowned in the Sea? Let me this understand,  
Apollo in no Answer failed, but this,  
Who told me you were safe upon the Seas,,  
And should arrive in Italy. Is't thus  
He keeps his word? Then Palinurus said,  
Apollo's Or'cle has not you deceived.  
For as the Stern I held, our Course to steer  
Broke off, by chance, through my much toiling there,  
I drew it with me, as I headlong fell:  
And by tempestuous Seas I swear withal.  
Less fear then seized me for myself, than lest  
Your Ship its Stern, and Master having lost,  
Should founder, with those turgid Waves being tossed.  
Three bitter Nights a violent South wind blue,  
And drove me o'er vast Seas: With much ado,  
The fourth of It'ly I got sight, as on  
High Waves I lay; then made to Land, and soon  
Arrived secure: But cruel People there,  
As I came clogged with Garments wet to Shoar,  
And held a Rock, fell on me, Arms in hand  
As thinking some rich booty they had gained.  
Now on the Shoar, by Winds I'm tossed about,  
And therefore beg by heavens sweet Air and Light,  
Your Father, and Jule's rising hope, you'll free  
Me from these Ills; and that you bury me,  
(For you may do't) and search all Velia's Port;  
Or if some other way Heaven shows you sored,  
(For I believe, without heavens Aid, you ne'er  
Came to this Stygian Lake, and Rivers here)  
Vouchsafe a Wretch your help, and now convey  
Me o'er these Waters with you; that I may  
A quiet Seat, in Death, at least enjoy.  
Thus having spoke, the Sibyl said, I admire  
Whence Palinurus! comes this cursed Desire.  
Would you, unburied, pass the Stygian Lake,  
And Fury's Streams, these Banks unbid forsake?  
Hope not by Suit to change the God's decree,  
But take this comfort of your Chance from me.  
The Bord'rers, far and near, by Judgements, forced  
From Heaven, shall expiate your Bones on their Coast,  
Erect a Tomb, pay Funeral Rites, and e'er  
Famed Palinurus name the place shall bear  
By these her Words his troublous Thoughts being eased,  
He with the Surname, given the place was pleased.  
They then go on, and near the River came,  
Whom Charon, who from's Stygian Lake had seen  
A far off passing in the silent Wood,  
Their Course directing to the place he stood,  
Thus first assails with Words, and freely chides,  
Who e'er you are come armed t'our River sides,  
Say why you come, and make a stand there right;  
This is the Place of Ghosts, sleep, drowsy night.  
I may not pass live Bodies in my Boat,  
Nor was I pleased Alcides came into't.  
Nor Theseus and Pirithous, tho' sprung  
All from the Gods; and Men would yield to none.  
He sought, with's Strength, Hell's keeper to subdue,  
And from K. Pluto's Throne him trembling drew;  
And these his Queen from's Chamber would have too.  
The Sibyl briefly thus to him replied;  
Here's no such Treason; Anger lay aside.  
Our Arms are mere Defence; Hell's keeper's free,  
Barking, to awe the Ghosts eternally.  
Let chaste Proserpina keep her Uncle's Room;  
Aeneas, who for Zeal and Arms is known,  
Sprung of Troy's Royal Blood, is hither come.  
To see his Father, in the Shades below;  
If no respect such Piety you show;  
You know this Bow ' (so opes her Garment where  
'Twas hid) and seen, his Passion straight was over.  
No more being said: The fatal Gift h'admires,  
Not seen before for many many Years.  
And sets his tawny Boat close to the Shoar,  
Thence driving all the Ghosts stood there before.  
And clearing's Seats, in's wicker Vessel took  
The stout Aeneas; whereupon it shook,  
And cracked, and let much Water in: Tho' still  
On th'other Shoar he landed them, at Will,  
On Mudd, and Marshy Weeds, the Coast do fill.  
The monstrous three-mouthed Cerb'rus in a Den  
There opp'site barking, makes the Country ring.  
To whom, being frightful to Spectators view,  
With Snakes about his Neck, the Sibyl threw  
A Bolus, made of Drugs to her well known,  
With Honey mixed; which straight he swallowed down.  
And on the Ground, with this, he reeling fell,  
Extending's mighty Body o'er the Cell.  
Hell's Ward's asleep, Aeneas th'Entrance seized,  
Leaving the Lake, which no Man e'er repast.  
Just entering, Voices and great Cries they hear  
Of Children: Infants Souls stand wailing there,  
Who sweet Life scarce enjoyed, but from the Breast  
Were forced by Fate; and sent to their long Rest.  
Next these are Men unjustly judged to die,  
Tho' not without their lotted Destiny.  
Th'inquisitor Minos bears the Lot-pot, he  
Ghost-Juries calls men's Lives and Crimes to try.  
The next are such, who, tho' no Crimes they had,  
Life hating through Despair, themselves destroyed,  
And threw their Souls away; what would they do,  
Life to regain? what Hardships undergo?  
But Fate withstands it, and the Lake them bounds,  
And Styx's Waters nine times them surrounds.  
Not far from hence; as far as th'Eye can reach,  
The mourning Fields lay round; they name them such;  
In secret Av'nues and a Myrtle Grove.  
Here Persons stand, brought to their ends by Love;  
Whose restless Cares even Death itself survive.  
Here he sees Phaedra, ' and Procris, and the sad  
Esiphyle, who shows the Wounds she had  
From her own Son. Evadne here he saw,  
Pasiphae, and Laodamia;  
And Caeneus, who at first a Girl had been  
And then a Man, a Woman then again.  
'Mongst whom Phoenician Dido, in the Wood  
Walked as the rest; her Wounds all fresh with Blood.  
Whom, when Aeneas, as he near her came,  
Got sight of through the dark Shades; as a Man  
Sees, or, imagines that he sees the Moon  
Just turned the new, through cloudy Skies; he weeps,  
And thus with tender Love his Mistress greets.  
Unhappy Dido! a true Message then,  
Was brought me; you are dead, with Dagger slain.  
Alas! I caused your Death; by Heaven I swear  
And Gods above; and if aught Faith be here,  
'twas was my Will, O Queen! I left your Shoar.  
By God's commands I did it; which compel  
Me now, to pass these darksome Shades of Hell  
Through loathsome rotten Ways: Nor could believe  
My parting from you would cause so much Grief.  
Pray stay, and go not from me, whom d'ye fly?  
This is the last Thing I to you can say.  
With such like Words he strove her angry Mien  
And fretted Soul t'appease, and wept again.  
She turned her Head, and on the Ground her Eyes  
She fixed, no more concerned at all he says,  
Than might a Flint, or th'hardest Stone that is.  
At length she starts, and to the shady Wood  
She swiftly passed, where her Sichaeus stood,  
Who Love for Love returned in high degree.  
And ne'ertheless Aeneas moved to see  
Her ill chance, follows weeping all the way.  
Thence he proceeds, with Zeal, the Fields to view,  
For famous Warriors ' lotted: There he knew  
Tydeus, the famed Parthenopeus; and  
Adrastus pale Ghost there he saw to stand.  
The noble Trojans, who in Battle sell,  
He viewing all in order, did bewail  
Glaucus, Medon, Thersilocus, with these  
Antenor's three Sons, and Polybetes.  
The Priest of Ceres; and Idaeus, who  
His Arms and Chariot holds in's Hand, even now.  
The crowding Souls on Right and Left surround,  
With one sight of him not content, they stand,  
And fain would know why he came to their Land.  
The Trojan Nobles, and great Army there  
Of Agamemnon, seeing him appear  
With Arms bright shining in the Shades, began  
To quake with Fear, and part of them to run,  
As living they ran to their Ships; some tried  
To raise their low-still Voice, and loud t'have cried,  
And stood, their Mouths all vainly gaping wide.  
And here he saw Deiph'bus mangled sore;  
His Face disfigured, and his Body tore,  
His Nose cut off, his Ears, his Hands; that he,  
Striving withal that none his Maims should see  
Through Shame, could scarce be known: But straight  
Aeneas, calling him by's Name, thus said.  
Valiant Deiphobus, sprung of Troy's great Blood;  
What cruel Man would use you in this sort?  
Or, whom would God permit to do't? I heard  
That you being wear'ed with the Slaughter great  
You made of Grecians, in Troy's fatal night,  
Died on the Heap, among the Crowd confused,  
Then I myself a Mon'ment for you raised  
On Rhaetia's Coast, and loudly thrice did call  
Your Ghost: The Place your Name and Arms has still.  
But Friend! I could not see you, and Inter  
In your own Country, as 'twas my desire.  
Deiph'bus then, on your part nothing's left,  
Dear Friend! you've done my Ghost all Funeral right.  
'Twas my Fate, and Lacaena's Cruelty  
Brought on me this; she left these Marks on me.  
For, as we passed that last night in false Joys.  
You know't; and can't but too well mind how 'twas  
When th'Horse by Fate passed o'er th'high Walls of Troy,  
And armed Men, in's Bowels, did convey.  
She, feigning Bacchus' Feast to celebrate,  
Led Trojan Women with her through the Street.  
And bore herself a mighty Torch, as chief,  
And from a Tower the Greeks a Signal gave.  
Then I, with Labours tired, requiring Rest,  
Lay in my Bed, with sound Sleep being oppressed.  
My excellent Wife, this while my Arms conveyed  
From th'House, and even the Sword lay at my Head:  
Brings Menelaus in; and opes my Door,  
Hoping, 'tis like, his Kindness thus t'ensure,  
And purge those Crimes she had incurred before.  
In short, in rushed the Greeks, and with them came  
Ulysses, much encouraging their Crime:  
Which heavens revenge; if I may wish the same.  
Now, in return, pray tell me what has brought  
You here alive? Have stormy Seas it wrought?  
Or God's Commands? or what Chance might it be  
Which moved you these dark mournful Shades to  
While thus they talked, Aurora's ruddy Steeds (see?  
Mid Heaven had passed; she in her Course proceeds.  
And haply now the time allowed being gone,  
The Sibyl gives this Admonition.  
Aeneas! Night comes on, we time protract,  
Here is the place, the way in two does part.  
The right, which goes hard by great Dis his Wall,  
Our way t' Elysium 'tis: The left, for Ill  
Has Punishments, and leads t'ungracious Hell.  
Deiph'bus then. Great Priestess! be not moved  
I'll go; the time required, keep to my Shade.  
Adieu, our Glory! happy'r Fate enjoy,  
This said, forthwith he turns himself away.  
Aeneas straight looks up: And near a Rock  
On's left hand saw, a mighty three-walled Fort;  
Which rapid Phleg'ton, with its scorching Flames  
Surrounds, and roaring throws up massy Stones.  
There fronting stands a mighty Iron Gate  
With Pillars, all of massy Diamond made  
Which Men nor Angels can with Iron cut;  
An high raised Tower there is, where Night and Day  
In Bloody Robes still sits Tisiphone,  
Who sleepless keeps the Porch. Thence cries are heard,  
And Lashing most severe, and Noises made  
By moving Chains, and Irons causing dread  
Aeneas stood, and frighted heard the Noise,  
Then said, O Virgin! pray what Crimes are these?  
With what Pains punished? Whose are all these Cries?  
The Sibyl than says thus. Great Trojan King!  
No Entrance here to Pious Men is gi'en.  
But I being placed here o'er Avernus' Groves,  
These Pains, and all to me Hecate shows.  
Here Rhadamanthus rules, with Laws severe,  
Hears and Chastises Crimes, and forces here  
Men to confess whate'er on Earth they did,  
Which ought be purged, and vainly strove to hide.  
'Tis here Tisiph'ne, set Revenge to take,  
With Whip insulting makes the Guilty quake.  
And dreadful Serpents shakes with her left Hand,  
And summons her fierce Sisters to attend.  
And now, with horrid Noise, the dreadful Doors  
Fly open. You see what Keeper them secures.  
What Ghastly Form stands there: Within does sit.  
An Hyara much more terr'ble, gaping wide  
With fifty Black Mouths: Tart'rus self does show  
As deep and wide under the Shades to go,  
As twice from Earth to Heaven seems to our view.  
Here th'ancient Race of th'Earth, young Titan's dwell,  
Being Thunderstruck, in deepest part of Hell.  
Here I the Twins Aloidae saw, vast Men,  
Who strove from Heaven Jove with their Hands t'have thrown.  
And here I saw Salmoneus Torment great  
Endure, who strove Jove's Thunder t'imitate,  
And Lightning; carried with four Horses, and  
His Torches shaking, as, in Triumph Grand,  
He passed, 'mongst Greeks, in midst of Elis Town  
Requiring Godlike Honours should be shown.  
Mad Man, who, Clouds and Lightning none can feign,  
Acted on Brass, with trampling Horses train.  
But mighty Jove from boiling Clouds than threw  
A Thunderbolt: No smoky Torch for show:  
And so the bold presuming Rebel slew.  
And Tityon, here is seen, that Child of th'Earth,  
Whose Body in length nine Acres covereth,  
And that huge Vultur, which with's crooked Bill,  
On's Liver feeds, which as 'tis growing still.  
He feasting still devours; so Tityon's Pain  
For ever with his Liver will remain.  
What of the Lapithae, and Ixion here  
Remains to say? And of Pirithous, or  
Of those o'er whom a black Flint hangs, as tho'  
Still falling on them? or of others, who  
Have Golden Tables, all with Dainties set,  
In Princely manner, tempting them to eat;  
The greatest of the Fury's standing by,  
Forbidding them their Lands thereon to lay;  
And rising with her Torch, them to dismay?  
Here stand, expecting Punishment, all those  
Their Brethren hated, or strove to depose  
Their Parents living, Clients of their right  
Cheated; or making Gold their sole delight,  
No Friends relieved; as 'tis the use of most.  
And those who for adultery Life have lost.  
And who in Wars unjust engaged; and Men  
Who feared not break the Faith their Master's give.  
Ask not to know, what Pains all Men endure,  
Or for what Crimes, or by what Chance came here.  
Some roll a vast Stone, some hang on a Wheel,  
Unhappy Theseus sits, and ever will,  
Of Wretches chief, exhorts the Phlegians all,  
And through the Shades, with loud Voice, thus does call.  
Learn Justice, warned; and Gods not to contemn,  
Some sold their Country, Tyrants bringing in,  
Who Laws for Money made, and nulled again.  
Others polluted their own Daughter's Bed;  
All daring great Crimes, what they dared enjoyed.  
Had I an hundred Mouths and Tongues, withal  
An Iron Voice, I could not run o'er all  
The sorts of Crimes and Torments Men befall.  
When this the Sibyl had set forth, she says,  
Now, on your way, do what your Business is.  
Let's hasten, I the Walls behold, and in  
Yond Arch, the doors; both Cyclops work have been:  
Where we're required your Present to depose:  
This said, she with him in the Umbrage goes.  
The mid way kept, and soon the Porch drew near;  
Where straight Aeneas entered, sprinkling there  
His Body with fresh Water, and his Bow  
Sticks at the Door; so being enjoined to do.  
These things being done; the Goddess present made  
T'a joyous Place they came, and sweet green Shade  
Of th' happy Groves, where blessed Souls have their Seats,  
A large bright Aether all the Fields invests,  
With Sun and Stars peculiar to these Parts.  
Some on the Grass in Manly Sports contend  
For Exercise, some wrestle on the Sand.  
Some Sing and Dance; and long-robed Orpheus there  
With's seven Note-skill, a Counterpart does bear.  
And one while with his Fingers, then with's Quill,  
Plays the same discant, on his Harp, at Will:  
Troy's noble Stock is here, fair Progeny,  
Great Hero's, born in better times than we,  
Ilus, Assar'cus, Dard'nus, rise of Troy.  
At distance these the shadd'wy Arms admire,  
The Chariots, Spears, which they see fixed there.  
The Horses which in Fields lose feed and play.  
As in Arms, Chariots, curious Horses they  
Were pleased alive, the same they still enjoy.  
And lo! on Right and Left, she others sees,  
Sat on the Grass, who with Melodies Lays,  
Sing Hymns t' Apollo, 'mong the fragrant Bays.  
Whence large Erid'nus, passing through the Grove,  
With rolling Waves, mounts to the Earth above.  
Here valiant Men, who for their Country died,  
And Priests, who chastely lived, in Joys reside:  
And pious Prophets, Phoebus had inspired,  
And those invented Arts, by all admired,  
And such who others Kindnesses had shown,  
All these white Garlands wore about their Crown.  
To whom the Sibyl, as they rounding stood,  
And chiefly to Musaeus (for the Crowd  
Him in the midst upon their Shoulders had)  
Says thus: O happy Souls! and Prophet you  
Anchises Residence, please to let us know.  
Through his Occasion 'tis, that we come here;  
Hell's mighty River passing without fear.  
To her the Hero thus, in short, replies,  
We've no peculiar Seat; our Mansion is  
In shady Groves, and on the River's sides,  
And bordering Fields. But if your Fancy leads  
Ascend this Hill, I'll guide an easy Path.  
This said, he goes before, and from above  
Shows glorious Fields; whereon the top they leave.  
And old Anchises, in a Vale beset,  
With Hills, and wondrous Green; Souls thither brought  
Who were t'arrive at Bliss, with Care surveyed,  
Even one by one, and took a List of all,  
Perhaps, of him descended, or that shall.  
Their Fates inspecting, Fortunes, Manners, Power,  
And when he saw Aeneas coming there,  
Both's Hands presented, with a welcome Cheer  
And Tears let fall, and this dropped from his Mouth,  
What? come at last, my long expected Youth?  
Has Piety stood the Hardship of the Ways?  
And may I now discourse you Face to Face?  
Indeed I thought so, and that times would come,  
Nor has my Care deceived me, counting them.  
Through what vast Countries, and what mighty Seas  
Are you come? and through Dangers more than these.  
How feared I Lybia fatal might have proved?  
Then he, dear Father! your sad Ghost has moved,  
Appearing oft, my coming to this Land;  
My Ships stand on th' Italian Coast. Your Hand  
I beg; and let's embrace, and be not gone;  
This saying, Floods of Tears came trickling down.  
Then thrice about his Neck, he strove to cast  
His Arms; and thrice the Shadows hold he lost,  
As 'tis in Dreams, or with an airy Blast.  
Mean while Aeneas, in a Secret drove  
At distance, 'spies a private rustling Grove:  
And Lethe's River passing by the Seats  
Of Bliss, and Men surrounding these Retreats  
In mighty Crowds, who fill the Place with noise,  
As Bees, when thick in Fields on Summers' Days,  
Gathering from Flowers their delicious Preys.  
Aeneas straight, astonished this to see,  
Inquires the Causes; what this Stream might be,  
And what those Men who there stood crowding by.  
Then old Anchises. Souls decreed by Fate  
T'assume new Bodies, drinking here forget  
All Hardships e'er they underwent in Life.  
'Thas long been my desire, that you should have  
Here Knowledge of all those will spring from me,  
T'increase your Joy, when come to Italy.  
O Father! may we think ought Souls sublime  
Would pass from hence to th'Earth, there to resume  
Gross Bodies? direful such Desire would seem.  
I'll tell you Son, no longer keep in doubt,  
Achises then in order all sets out.  
First, th'Air, Earth, Waters, and bright-shining Moon  
And all the Stars, a Spirit acts within.  
With Mind infused through all the Mass' parts,  
Which the vast Bulk pervades and agitates.  
Thence Men, and Beasts of all kinds Life receive,  
And Fowls and Monsters which in Seas do live.  
A fiery Vigour, and Celestial Birth  
Their Seeds uphold, as far as their dull Earth,  
And Body's clog, and dying Limbs give way:  
Thence spring their Fear, Love-Passion, Grief and Joy;  
Nor blinded thus, can they Life's pureness see.  
Nay when, at last, their Life is at end,  
Some Vice, and Body's Plagues their Souls attend.  
For long contracted Habits strangely stick;  
To purge whose rooted Taint, they to the quick  
Are therefore touched with Pains; some hung in th' Air,  
Some in vast Gulfs are washed, some burnt in Fire.  
We've all our fated Pains; and then are sent  
To fair Elysium; few there ever went  
Till a complete revolving course of time  
Their Taint contracted purged, and pure from Sin  
Th'Aethereal Spirit left, as first 'thad been.  
When they in Bliss a thousand Years have passed,  
God calls them all of Lethe's Stream to taste,  
That so forgetful grown, they may review  
The Earth again, and Bodies take anew.  
This by Anchises said, he takes his Son,  
The Sibyl with him, 'mong the crowding Throng  
Gets on an Hillock in the midst; whence he  
Of all, in order, had an eager View.  
Then says, my Son! I now shall let you know  
Our Trojan Race; what Glory thence may grow.  
Who our Successors are in Italy,  
Th'Illustrious Souls, that of our Line shall be,  
And you your Fate withal. That Youth you see  
Leans on his Headless Spear, by Destiny,  
Comes next to Life: 'Tis he the first will rise  
From It'ly's mixed Blood to th' Aethereal Skies.  
Silvius, an Alban Name, your poth'mous Child,  
Whom your Lavinia, our long Race t'uphold,  
Shall bring at length from woods, as King to sway,  
Of Kings a Parent. whence our Progeny,  
Long Alba's Kingdom shall of right enjoy.  
The next him's Procas, Trojan's Glory, than  
Capys and Numitor, and who bears your Name  
Silvius Aeneas; who will also be  
For Arms as famous, as for Piety,  
If Alba's Kingdom ever he attains;  
Behold what Courage in their Faces shines.  
And how their Temples all are shadowed round  
With Oaken City Garlands. These shall found  
Nomentum, Gabii, Fidena, for you,  
Collatia, Towns on Mountains built anew  
Pomeria, Novum Castrum, Bola too,  
And Cora. Then these for their Names shall stand,  
They being at present nameless spots of Land.  
And martial Rom'lus to his Grandsire here  
Shall join: His Mother Ilia him shall bear.  
She springing from Asarc'us. See, he's known  
By's double topped Helmet, standing on his Crown,  
Now marked by's Father Mars for great Renown.  
Lo, Son! by him, that famous Rome controls  
For Empire th'Earth, Heaven equals for great Souls.  
seven Hills, with one Wall, she'll herself enclose,  
In great Men fertile, as Cybele shows,  
When crowned with Castles, through the Towns of Troy  
She's carried in Chariot, with Transports of Joy,  
For numerous God's sprungs of her; whom she greets  
At pleasure, all in Heaven blest with Seats.  
Now, both Eyes hither cast, this Lineage see,  
Your Romans; Caesar, all the Progeny  
Here of Julus stand, that e'er shall be.  
This here's the Man, Augustus Caesar, sprung  
From God, who to you has been promised long.  
And who again a Golden Age shall found  
In Latium, as when Saturn ruled the Land.  
Beyond all Lybia, and the Indies he  
His Empire shall extend. A Land does lie  
Out of the Sun's and Planet's Course, where Heaven,  
Nigh burning Stars on Atlas Shoulder's born:  
Which dreads even now his coming, moved thereto  
By Or'cles' Answers, telling what's t'ensue.  
Like Fear the Caspian and the Scythian Lands,  
And Egypt, with its sev'n-mouthed Nile attends.  
Nor had Alcides' Conquests such extent,  
Tho' he the lightfoot Deer in chase outwent.  
And Erymanthus Boar in pursuit slew,  
And Lerna's Hydra with's unerring Bow.  
Nor conquering Bacchus, who with's Vine-twig Reins,  
From Nysa's top drove Tigers to the Plains.  
And fear you now in Italy to land?  
And by Exploits, your Glory there t'extend?  
But, who is't stands far off, distinguished by  
His Olive-bows and sacred Laws? I spy  
His Hair and white Beard, like a Roman King  
Who founding Rome, Laws thither first did bring.  
Sent from small Cures, a poor Country-Town,  
T'an Empire great; where Tullus next will come.  
A Man whose Country's idle Peace will break,  
And force his sluggish Subjects Arms to take,  
And Triumphs, then disused, in Field to gain:  
Next him Thrasonick Anchus comes to Reign.  
Pleased, even now, too much, with men's applause,  
And will you see the Tarquin Kings with these?  
The great Soul of revenging Brutus, and  
The Rods, and Axe, in use brought to the Land?  
The Consul's Office he the first shall bear,  
And cruel Axe: his Sons for moving War,  
Unhaypy Man! to Punishment shall bring,  
Fair Liberty this pressing for the Sin,  
However future times may judge the Thing:  
His Country's Love will all things over bear,  
And's vast desire of Praise. But see from far  
The Decii, Drusi, and Torquatus dread  
With's Axe: Camillus with his Ensigns spread.  
But those two Souls so Friendly now you see,  
While 'mong the Shades, they shining equally  
With glorious Arms, if e'er they come to Life,  
Alas! what Wars they'll raise, and bloody Strife  
Betwixt them. One from th' Alps with's force will come,  
Th' other an opp'site Army'll bring from Rome.  
O Youths! use not your Minds to Wars as these,  
Nor 'gainst your Country's Bowels turn your force.  
You Caesar, first forbear; you Heav'n-sprung Man,  
Throw by your Arms, my Blood—  
That famous Man, at Corinth, Grecians slain  
Returning Victor, shall his Triumph gain.  
He Argos and Mycenae shall subvert,  
The last of them, great Agamemnon's Seat,  
And even Aeacides, of Achilles' Race,  
Revenging Trojan Wrongs, and that difgrace  
Profane, Minerva's Temple shown. Can I,  
Great Cato! you, or Costus you pass by  
In silence? or the Race of Gracchus, or  
The Scipio's both, called Thunderbolts of War  
Great Lybia's Ruin? Or Fabricius, you,  
Great Soul'd, though poor? or th'happy Man at Plough  
Serranus? Fabii! whither lead me now  
Being tired? Maximus you that Man we'll own.  
Who by delays, restored our falling Throne.  
Others in Brass, and Marble, to the Life  
Sweet Sculptures make, you'd think they were alive,  
Plead Causes better, and more nicely know  
The site of the Earth, heavens rising Signs to show.  
Mind you, O Roman! to rule over Men,  
(These shall be your Arts) how in Peace to reign,  
The Meek to favour, Haughty to keep down.  
Thus said Anchises: Adds, to their Surprise,  
See how Marcellus, with Spoils laden goes,  
A glorious Conq'rer, how he all out-shews:  
This Knight, the State all discomposed at home,  
Shall set to rights; the Lybians overcome,  
And rebel gaul's. And to Quirinus then,  
Spoils, took the third time from them, he shall hang.  
Aeneas here (for he saw with him pass,  
A Youth with shining Arms, of wondrous Grace  
But's Countenance clouded, with dejected Eyes)  
Who, Father is't, the Man accompanies?  
His Son, or some great Man's, from us will spring?  
What Shouts about him? how resembling him?  
But round his Head a sad-dark Cloud appears.  
Anchises then, all melting into Tears;  
Says, Son! wish not that depth of Grief to know,  
Yours may attend: The Fates will only show  
That Youth to th'Earth, nor let him longer live.  
O Gods! The Roman Race should he survive,  
Would seem to you too great: What mighty Groans  
The martial Field at Rome will fill? What Moans  
O Tyberinus will you see, when you  
Pass by his Tomb, with Tears all fresh and new?  
Nor will ought Youth of Trojan Stock e'er raise  
His Roman Grandsires hopes, so much as this;  
Nor shall Rome's Empire ever boast that she  
Had such a Son as this. O Piety,  
And honest upright Mind! Unconquered Hand!  
None e'er with Safety might your Arms withstand  
On Foot, or Horseback. Ah! much pitied Child!  
Could you your hard Fate shun, you should be called  
Marcellus. Lilies by whole handfuls strew  
Before him, I will Purple Flowers throw;  
On's Ghost, at least, heaped Presents let's bestow.  
Thus through Elysium they walked here and there,  
Observing all Things as their Pleasures were.  
When old Anchises this had shown his Son,  
And filled his Mind with Glories were to come.  
He tells him what Wars he must undertake:  
Of the Laurentines, and Latinus Seat.  
And how he Dangers must avoid or fly:  
And sometimes suffer in Adversity.  
Two Gates there are of Dreams; they say that one  
Is made of Horn, where true Dreams pass alone.  
Of Ivory th'others made; whence to the Sky,  
False Dreams and Phantasms Ghosts use to convey.  
When these things to his Son, and Sibyl both,  
Anchises had declared; he sent them forth  
At th' Ivory Gate. Aeneas took his way  
T'his Ships; and finding there his Men to stay,  
He to Cajeta, in straight Course did steer,  
Cast Anchor there, and turned his Sterns to shore.    

The Fourth Eclogue of Virgil.  

SIcilian Muses! Let us raise our Strain;  
Shrubs and some Tamarisks please not every Man:  
This pastoral Song deserves a Consul's Ear.  
The sibyl's last Age now has run'ts career.  
And th'Ages great Course must a new begin;  
The Virgin comes with Saturn's Reign again.  
A new Race now from Heaven is sent on Earth;  
O chaste Lucina! savour the Infant's Birth.  
By whom the Iron Age shall cease; and through  
The World a Golden Age shall rise a new,  
And your Apollo's Kingdom shall ensue.  
And while you're Consul Pollio, this our Bliss  
Commences, with the great Month's Happiness  
While you're in Power, if any Taints appear  
Of former Crimes, they're nulled with Mortals fear  
He'll live as God, and see his Godlike Men  
With Heroes mixed, and he'll be seen of them,  
And rule as his great Ancestors had done.  
But Child! to you, as first small Presents th'Earth  
Untilled, in plenty Ivies will bring forth,  
With Avens; and as grateful to your view  
Brankursine, with the Egyptian Bean, will show.  
The Goats to you full Dugs of Milk shall bring;  
〈◊〉 will the Herds fierce Lions fear, if seen.  
Your Cradle 'tself sweet Flowers shall display,  
The Snake and guileful poisonous Weed shall die;  
Th' Assyrian fragrant Shrub grow commonly.  
But when you come to read the Heroes Praise,  
Your Father's Facts, and know what Virtue is.  
The Cornfields yellow will begin to show,  
The Berries on wild Thorns will ruddy grow,  
And Heav'n-dropt Honey from hard Oaks will flow.  
Yet still some few Seeds of our ancient Guile  
Will spring; and make us take a second Toil  
At Sea: New Wall-towns build, and till the Ground,  
And there must be another Typhis found;  
Another Argo, Heroes to convey,  
And other Wars with Battles in Array,  
And great Achilles must again to Troy.  
When, after this, you're grown a perfect Man,  
The Sailor shall give o'er the Seas, nor then  
Shall Vessels Traffic carry to and fro,  
But all things freely every where shall grow.  
The Earth from Harrow free, the Vine from Hook,  
The Ploughman's Oxen shall discharge from Yoke.  
Wool shall no longer take a borrowed hue,  
But on the Ram a Purple Fleece shall grow,  
Sometimes a Yellow, and the native Die  
Of Sandix-cloath the Lambs are feeding by.  
The Destinies with the power of Fate agreed,  
Run on such Ages to their Spindless cried.  
Dear Offspring of the Gods, Jove's great increase!  
O! now's your time great Honours to possess.  
See how the World jogs with its Convex weight,  
The Earth, the Seas, high Heaven in its Flight.  
How all Things Joy express at th' Age to come.  
O! that my Thread of Life may hold so long,  
And Muse's Vigour, your Deeds to record;  
Orpheus in Verse then shall not me outword.  
Even with his Mother's Aid Calliope:  
Nor Linus, with his Father Phoebus by.  
If Pan, th' Arcadian God contends, he'll own,  
Tho' judge himself, himself by me outdone.  
Your Mother, Child! by Smile begin to know,  
Ten long Months Loathe she did undergo.  
Begin: Till Children smile on Parents, none  
Genius at board, nor Juno ' tBed will own.   
FINIS.   

Books sold at the corner of Popes-head Alley next Cornhill.  
CAmbrige Concordance.  
The History of the Life, Reign and Death of Edward II. King of England, Lord of Ireland, with the Rice and Fall of his great Favourites Gaveston and Spencers.  
Tabulae Faeneratoriae, or Tables for the Forbearance and Discompt of Money; whereby the Interest of all Sums from 10000 l. to one Shilling, from one Day to 365. is exactly calculated to the thousandth part of a Penny, with the Rebate of all Sums to 36 or 3 years, etc. The Third Edition.  
The New A-la-Mode Secretary: Or, Practical Penman. A New Copy-book. Wherein the Bastard Italians, commonly called the New A-la-Mode, Round Hands, Mixed Running Hands, and Mixed Secretary's, are so Modelled and Composed, as to dispatch Business with Facility and Neatness. Written with much Variety, and performed according to the Nature, Freedom, and Tendency of the PEN. by John Ayres, Master of the Writing School, at the Hand and Pen near St. Paul's School, in St. Paul's Churchyard, London.  
Youth's Introduction to Trade: An Exercise-Book, Chiefly designed for the Use of the Writing School, to employ Youth at Night and other vacant Times while they learn to Write; by which the Young Apprentice may be able to Apply his Writing and Arithmetic to Business; as, a Merchant, Shopkeeper, or other inferior Trades: First Methodised for the Benefit of the Author's Scholars; And Published for the Use of such as Teach Writing and Arithmetic. By John Ayres. The Second Edition, Corrected, and very much Enlarged.  
Arithmetic; A Treatise designed for the Use and Benefit of Tradesmen. Wherein the Nature and Use of Fractions, both Vulgar and Decimal, are Taught by a New and Easy Method. As also, The Mensuration of Solids and Superficies. The Third Edition, very much Corrected and Enlarged. By J. Ayres, at the Hand and Pen in St. Paul's Churchyard.  
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A Late Voyage to St. Kilda, the remotest of all the Hebrides, or Western Islands of Scotland; with a History of the Island, Natural, Moral, etc. by Mr. Martin, Gent.  
Beauty in Distress, a Tragedy; as it is Acted by His Majesty's Servants. Written by Mr. Motteux: With a Discourse of the Lawfulness and Unlawfulness of Plays. By the Learned Father Caffara, Divinity Professor at Paris; sent in a Letter to the Author, by a Divine of the Church of England. With a Copy of Verses by Mr. Dryden, in Defence of the Stage.  
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Dr. Colebatch's four Tracts; his Treatise of the Gout, and Doctrine of Acids' further asserted.  
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Books sold at the Ship in St. Paul's Churchyard.  
PHilip's New World of Words; or an Universal English Dictionary, containing the proper Significations, and Derivations of all Words from other Languages, etc. the Fifth Edition, with large Additions and Improvements from the best English and Foreign Authors.  
Systema Agriculturae, The Mystery of Husbandry discovered, treating of the several new and most advantageous ways of Tilling, Planting, Sowing, Manuring, Ordering and Improving all sorts of Gardens, Orchards, Meadows, Pastures, Corn-Lands, Woods, and Coppices; to which is added the Husbandman's Monthly Directions, and the Interpretations of Rustic Terms. The Fourth Edition, with large Additions throughout the whole.  
Archbishop usher's Life, and Letters, Published by Dr. Parr, his Grace's Chaplain.  
Archbishop usher's Sermons.  
Dr. Goad's Aphorisms of the Wether.  
The History of England. By Dr. Frankland.  
Love's whole Art of Surveying, and Measuring of Land, made easy: With plain and practical Rules, how to survey, protract, cast up, reduce or divide any Piece of Land whatsoever.  
Strode's New and Easy Method to the Art of dialing.  
— His Arithmetical Treatise of the Permutations, Combinations, Elections, and Compositions of Quantities.  
boil's Experimental History of Cold, with Cuts.  
Miracles performed by Mony. A Poem.  
School of Politics, or Humours of a Coffeehouse.  
Bishop Hopkins on the Lords Prayer and Commandments.  
Happy Union betwixt England and Holland.  
Lord Shannon's Letter to an Atheistical Acquaintance.  
Religio Militis.  
A Treatise of Taxes and Contributions.  
Archbishop Cranmers Judgement on the Holy Scriptures, published by Dr. Gee.  
Baxter's Church History and Episcopacy.  
History of Parismus and Parismenos.  
Mr. boil's free Enquiry into the vulgarly received Notion of Nature. In English and Latin.  
— His Disquisition of the Final Causes of Natural Things.  
— His Martyrdom of Theodora and Didymus.  
— The Christian Virtuoso.  
— Experimenta & Observationes Phisicae. With a Collection of strange Reports.  
— Seraphic Love, or Motives to the Love of God.  
— Tracts about the saltness of the Sea.  
— Medicina Hydrostatica.  
— Of Languid and Local Motion.  
— Experiments of the Icy Noctiluca.  
Abbadie of the Truth of the Christian Religion.  
Quintilians Declamations Englished.  
Dr. Newton's complete Arithmetician.  
Counsellor Manner's Legacy to his Son.  
Ray's Nomenclator Classicus, sive Dictionariolum Trilingue. A Classical Nomenclator, with the Gender and Declension of each Word, and the Quantities of the Syllables, etc. For the use of Schools.  
Robertson's Large and General Phrase-book.  
Dr. Owen's Meditations of the Glory of Christ.  
Yworth's whole Art of Practical Distillation.  
Bishop Hopkins Sermons and Discourses, in Four Volumes.  
Plutarch's Morals, Englished by several Hands. Five Volumes.