Licenced, Robert Midgley. Jan. 11. 1691.   

POEMS On several OCCASIONS, AND TRANSLATIONS WHEREIN The First and Second Books of Virgil's Aeneis are attempted, In English.  
By Tho. Fletcher, B.A. Fellow of New-College in Oxon.  
LONDON, Printed for Charles Harper at the Flower-de-luce over against S. Dunstan's Church, Fleetstreet. 1692.   

TO THE Reverend William Harris D.D. Schoolmaster of the College near Winton.  
SIR,  
ALthough your Favours to me have been so many and so undeserved, that I ought to take all Opportunities of acknowledging them; yet the very nature of this little Work seemed to design You for its Patron, and almost prevented my Choice. For to whom could I with so much Confidence address it, as to You, who are accustomed to encourage the Endeavours, and pardon the Imperfections of Youth? Many of these Verses were written while I was under your Care, and being the Product of Hours which I stole from the ordinary Bus●ness of your School, and employed otherwise than You directed; I am obliged to seize this only Opportunity, which is left me, of making You restitution. I am too sensible, how mean and unworthy a Present I now offer You: o●ly I hope it may not seem so improper to You, who are daily conversing with the ancient Poets, and making new Ones; as perhaps it might to any of my other Friends, who are generally engaged, in more severe and serious (though none in more Useful and Honourable) Studies.  
Sir, I do not find that I have any great Talon in Compliment; and if I had, I should at present think it useless: For I must beg your leave not to be so impertinent, as to open to the World what an honourable Sense I justly entertain of your Worth; since You are placed in a Station so eminent that your Learning and Prudence, your Industry and Fidelity, your Courtesy and Generosity, and especially the Sweetness of your Temper and Conversation, together with all your other Virtues, must be much better and much farther known, than I can hope this little Book ever will. I shall fully obtain all that I aim at by this Address, if it may be accepted as a Testimony, with what Respect I am,  
Honoured Sir, Your most Obliged humble Servant T. FLETCHER. Fairfield, Nou. 6. 1691.   

THE PREFACE.  
I Am afraid the Reader need not be informed that these are youthful Poems. I have now spent very little more than a third part of my threescore years and ten, and I was much younger when many o●●●ese Poems were written. Indeed they were generally the Performances of a Schoolboy or a Freshman; which I hope may in some measure excuse the lightness of some of them, and the meanness of all. The Translation of that part of Virgil, which I here publish, was indeed a work of time, and crept upon me at broken Hours: when, tired with Philosophical Studies, I chose to let down my Soul, and prepare myself for Conversation, by entertaining my thoughts with the Elegancies of that unimitable Poet. Being pleased with his Thoughts in Latin, it was natural to try how they would look in English, and that Trial produced a Verse, and another, another; till at length I found myself far gone in a bold Work, before I knew what I was doing. Such as it is I now present it to public view. And, tho' I acknowledge it every way unworthy of the Original; yet methinks there is nothing which I can so hardly forgive myself, as that I took such pains to make it worse than I needed. I mean, by confining myself to Rhyme, when blank Verse, as it would have been more easy, so I am persuaded it would have been more natural. Methinks blank Verse carries in it somewhat of the Majesty of Virgil; when Rhimes, even the most happy of them (after tedious pumping for them, and having good Expressions balked for want of them) do but emasculate Heroic Verse, and give it an unnatural Softness. In Songs, Pastorals, and the softer sorts of Poetry, Rhimes may perhaps be not unelegantly retained; but an Hero dressed up in them looks like Hercules with a Distaff. I have therefore annexed a few Specimens of Virgil Translated in blank Verse; and because I would be impartial, I took the beginnings of the three next Books. I hope my Failings will not be an Argument against my Opinion; for tho' I am unable to perform so great a Task, yet I persuade myself that, if a Dryden (a Master of our Language and Poetry) would undertake to Translate Virgil in blank Verse, we might hope to read him with as great pleasure in our Language, as his own. Whether I have carried this Humour too far in writing a Blank Pindaric Ode, let others judge: only this I have to say, that the licentiousness of Rhyming, which is usual in that sort of Poetry among us, will make the want of it less discerned; at least it will clear me from the imputation of choosing Blank Verse out of Laziness.   

THE CONTENTS.  

I. THE Second Epode of Horace Translated. Page 1  
II. A Translation from the First Book of Boethius de Consol. Phil. p. 5  
III. A Song to his Majesty at Winton. 1686. p. 7  
IU. Song. p. 10  
V. Song. p. 11  
VI To Thomas Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells, staying at Winton, after his Promotion to that See. 1685. p. 12  
VII. On the Recovery of the Spanish Wrack, by Captain Phips. 1686. p. 16  
VIII. On the Feast of Cecilia. 1686. An Ode. p. 20  
IX. On a Lady's Birth Day. p. 25  
X. On a Lady's Picture. p. 27  
XI. Friendship. p. 28  
XII. The Impatient. p. 30  
XIII. The Resolution. p. 32  
XIV. The Departure. p. 34  
XV. Content. A Pastoral Dialogue. p. 36  
XVI. To the King. p. 43  
XVII. Eternity. A Pindaric Ode. p. 53  
XVIII. The First Book of Virgil's Aeneis Translated. p. 65  
XIX. Part of the Second Book. p. 120  
XX. Part of the Third Book. p. 124  
XXI. Part of the Fourth Book. p. 129  
XXII. CHRIST Born. p. 133    

POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS.  

The Second Epode of Horace Translated.  

HAppy the Man, who free from Debts and Care  
(Such the first Mortals were)  
Enjoys his sma●l hereditary Field,  
By his own Oxen tilled.  
No harsh Alarms of War disturb his E●s●,  
Nor dreads he th' angry Seas;  
He flies the Bar, nor does he meanly wait  
At his Lordship's surly gate.  
But either to his stripling Poplars joins  
The marriageable Vines:  
And pruning useless branches from his Trees,  
Grafts happier in their place:  
Or in a winding Vale is pleased to see  
His lowing Cattle stray:  
Or his Bees labour in clean Vessels stows:  
Or shears his tender Ewes:  
Or, if grave Autumn o'er the Fields erect  
His Head with Apples decked.  
How pleased the use of well-placed Art he reaps,  
●●esh Pears, and purple Grapes!  
Of these an Of●●ring to the Gods he yields,  
The Guardians of his Fields.  
Now on some Oak's large foot he rests his Head,  
Now on the s●ow'ry Mead.  
Where through high Banks a neighbouring Current plays:  
Birds murmur through the Trees:  
And chiding Rills, which o'er the Pebbles creep,  
Invite to tender sleep.  
But, when cold Rains and Snow at Jove's Command  
Th' inverted Year attend;  
With full-mouthed Hounds into the crafty Snare  
He thrusts the foaming Boar:  
Or his thin Nets extended on the Bush  
Betray the greedy Thrush:  
The timorous Hare, and foreign Crane requite  
With Profit his delight.  
Who cannot hence all anxious Cares remove,  
And chiefly those of Love?  
But if a modest frugal Matron share  
His Household, and his Care:  
(Such as the brisk Apulian's Sunburnt Bride,  
Or the chaste Sabine Maid)  
Who makes the Hearth with aged fuel burn,  
Against her Swain's return:  
Whose humble Hand thinks it no shame to pen,  
And milk her wanton Kine:  
And in neat Vessels to her Lord does bear  
New Wine, and unbought Fare;  
Not all too bounteous Nature's Luxury,  
The spoils of Land and Sea,  
A gust so grateful, as picked Olives, yield,  
Or Salads from the Field;  
Or Lamb, or Kid slain at a solemn Feast,  
With which choice Dainties blest,  
What pleasure 'tis to see the fat Flocks come  
From Pasture bleating home!  
To see the weary Oxen faintly tow  
Home the inverted Blow!  
And with large swarms of useful Servants stored  
To see the wealthy Board!  
Thus wisely talked th' Old Banker, weary grown  
Of Business and the Town,  
Summoned in all his Principals, and then—  
He put 'em out again.    

A Translation from the first Book of Boethius de Consol. Phil.  

I Who in sprightly Verse once sung my Joy,  
Must now sad thoughts and mournsul numbers try  
The sullen Muses only Grief inspire,  
And Ills unfeigned sad Elegies require.  
The Muses faithful to my sufferings stay,  
Nor dread th' Insection of Misery.  
These, who did once my happier Youth engage,  
Are now the comforts of my wretched Age.  
For I am Old; Age hastened on with Cares  
And Sorrow claims the remnant of my Years.  
Untimely Snow deforms my careful Head,  
And shrivelled Skin o'er my crazed bodies spread.  
Death to Mankind a mighty Blessing were  
Would it our Youth and happy Minutes spare,  
And only rescue us from Age and Care.  
But ah! the wretched's Cry it never hears,  
Nor shuts those Eyes which are kept open by tears.  
While faithless Chance her empty Goods supplied,  
Fate seemed in haste, and I had almost died.  
But now forsaken, and resigned to Grief,  
Death scorns me too, and I am cursed with Life.  
Why, Friends, so oft have ye pronounced me blest,  
Secure, above the reach of Fortune placed?  
By sad Experience I've your Error found,  
He, that could f●ll, stood but on slippery ground.    

A Song to his Majesty at Winton. 1684.  

FRom the troubles of State, and the Noise of the Town,  
From being as busy as great,  
From the tedious Pomp that attends on a Throne,  
To Quiet and Us you retreat.   

Here you spend those soft hours in Princely delight,  
Which alone do the recompense bring  
For the business and cares which wait on the Great,  
For being so wise, so gracious a King.   

Thus while the World was innocent and new,  
Gods, kind and bountiful, like you,  
Tired with the long Fatigue of Majesty,  
Oft forsook their Thrones on high.  
And to some humble Cell vouchsafed to go,  
And by their sweet Retreat below,  
Blessed both themselves and Mortals too.   

Cho. Welcome, Great Sir, with all the joy  
That's to your Sacred Presence due;  
With all the Mirth which we enjoy,  
That Mirth which we derive from you.   

●er. Blessed by your Presence every thing  
Does with new Vigour now appear.  
Another fresh and blooming Spring  
Seems to recall the aged Year.  
The happy Hours, which hasten hither,  
Creep hence unwillingly and slow.  
Time doubting stands, and knows not whether  
Nature to obey or You.  
Y●t, might it your acceptance s●●d,  
Each Minute should for ever stay:  
But see! the Crowds, which press behind,  
Force the foremost Hours away.   

Ceres for you would have reserved her store,  
But for such greatness thought the sight too poor:  
And not unjustly feared she might become,  
By being too officious, troublesome.  
And the God of our Art bid us come to salute you '  
And begs you would kindly accept of our Duty:  
But refused to assist us with his Divine Fires,  
How should they want a God whom your Presence inspires.   

Cho. Therefore we freely come to praise  
You, the Author of our Joys;  
To own our happiness, and grow  
Much more happy by doing so.  
For Angels themselves, who are perfect in Joys,  
No more happiness know than this,  
To see, and adore, to love and to praise  
The Fountain of their Bliss.    

Song.  

While you with Music and with Beauty charm,  
And every Sense alarm;  
All Hearts their strange united Power confess,  
Yet dare not wish it less.  
Love finds to every Heart an easy Way  
Or through the Ear or Eye.  
So fair your Face,  
So sweet your Voice;  
You seem at once to be  
Both Orpheus and Eurydice.   

II.  
See how the Amorous, the happy Air,  
More happy far than I,  
Proud to be moulded into Sounds by her,  
About her Lips does play!  
Till kissed into a Note it skips away,  
And prattles loud its Joy.  
Ah! Cruel Fair,  
Your Scorn forbear  
Nor give that Liberty  
To Air, which is denied to me.    

Song.  

O Ecstasy Divine! I cannot hold!  
Farewell dull Earth! see! where my ravished Soul  
Stands shivering on the edge of its slow Clay!  
With the next rising Note 'twill fly away.  
I faint! I faint! the powerful Charm forbear!  
Nay; but sing on; sure that will keep it here.  
Whither fond Soul! Ah! whither wouldst thou fly?  
To Heaven? can there be sweeter Harmony?  
'Tis strange the Charms of Harmony, which give  
To all things Life should make me cease to live.  
Yet is this Death? If it be thus to die,  
Death cannot be a Curse: or if it be,  
Ye angry Powers may't ever light on me.    

To Thomas Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells staying at Winton, after his promotion to that See. 1685.  

AS when of old on Ida's verdant Plain  
Paris the young, the gay, the charming Swain,  
Long with success had reigned the Shepherd's Lord,  
And their pride; praised by all, by all adored,  
At length acknowledge mighty Priam's Son,  
And warned to leave his Cottage for a Throne,  
Forced to be great, and ravished to a Crown,  
Long doubtful through the pensive Shades he roves,  
Loath to forsake his dear familiar Groves,  
And all his tender flocks, and all his tender loves.  
Oft to the Nymphs and Swains he bids adieu;  
Oft tells his Case, and how he's forced to go.  
The Nymphs and Swains as much concerned as he,  
Weep, doubting whether 'tis for Grief or Joy.  
To lose their darling Lord unwilling they,  
Yet dare not bid him from a Kingdom stay.  
While different Passions thus distort their mind,  
In their racked breast a doleful Joy they find,  
And blame the Fates for being too severely kind.  
So you, Great Sir, our Joy, our Pride, our—  
(For your exalted State fain would I frame  
Some more expressive, more endearing N●me;  
But ah! you were so much our All before,  
That now you are not, nor can e'er be more)  
To your Success what Tribute do we owe!  
We would be grateful, but we know not how.  
To show our Joy were but to bid you go;  
Such farewells are to parting Tyrants due,  
To base, dull men, and all who are unlike to you.  
Yet can we grieve, and wish you always here?  
Mere Envy that, and no less Madness were,  
Than to wish our Friends, who with th'Immortal reign  
Themselves Immortal, here on Earth again.  
Yet you vouchsafe to bless us with your stay,  
And slowly hence even to Glory ●ly:  
But smiling through these peaceful Shades you glide,  
Like some calm Ghost where all his Treasure's hid.  
You, who had largely cleared your Debts before,  
Now out of Charity t'o'repay the score.  
Thrice happy Bath to you with joy does bow,  
Much to Great Charles she owes, and much to you,  
Nor does she more to her own Bladed owe.  
She now shall feel those strong Meridian Rays  
Of that bright Sun which in our East did rise.  
But though he shine with greater lustre there,  
Yet were his beams more close and tender here.  
For still the Sun most vital warmth bestows  
On that blessed Earth, from which himself arose.  
Nor shall this Age alone your Glory know,  
But even Posterity shall boast of you.  
When future times shall Wickham's of spring count,  
Who did by steps the Seat of Honour mount,  
Then, then shall you, and only you, be found,  
Who reached a Mitre from so low a ground.  
When others often pitched an● stopped for ease,  
At one bold flight you gained the mighty Space.  
Thus all even the Uninteress'd admire  
The glorious height you've reached, and with you high.  
Full Tides of Joy all shores and Channels fill,  
And on each Brow sits a contented smile.  
Only we feel a dull, imperfect Joy,  
Feared absence present Comforts does allay.  
Yet why should we by discontented moan  
Idly disturb your pleasures, and our own?  
For thus Rome lost (if that a loss could be)  
Her Founder to be made a Deity.    

On the Recovery of the Spanish Wrack, by Captain Phips. 1686.  

LOng uncontrolled had the proud Ocean  
Usurped a lawless Tyranny o'er Man.  
Wherever it rolled, the Arbitrary Tide  
Plundered, and Nature's useless Laws defy'd.  
〈…〉 ●●●●re to Mariner's was I n●w●,  
●or were th●ir Goods, n●r were themselves 〈…〉.  
O●t●au●ht in S●●●●s by wanton W●i●● 〈…〉,  
They and ●h●ir Ho●●● together sunk ●nd died.  
In vain did they the pity in● Heaven implore,  
Heaven th●● should pity them, was s●arce s●●●r●.  
So great the R●ge and Av'rice of the S●●,  
Not all its Floo●s coul● wash its Gild away.  
Tho on each Wave th●re road a B●caui●r,  
T●o Tunis, Sall●▪ Trip●ly were there,  
N● greater Pirate than it s●lf it 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉, first of a●l the H●r 〈…〉,  
Durst ma●e Reprisal on the 〈…〉.  
He N●p●●ne first with ●q●●l pow●● 〈◊〉,  
A●d fi●st by him the Sea it s●l● 〈…〉.  
Beneath v●st Depths where Wa●● retire 〈◊〉.  
N●r Moons nor Win●s the sl●●p●●● 〈…〉;  
A Mass of harmless Virgin-wealth there lay,  
Unstained by Avarice or Luxury;  
Which had not Justice yet, nor Peace opposed,  
Nor Pardons bought for Sins itself had caused.  
It there, while thousand Tides their Circuits run,  
Lay unregarded, and despaired the Sun:  
Till Phips at last the wondering Metal drew  
From deeper Mines, than where at first it grew.  
Through harmless Waves the wanton Divers play,  
And with dissembled drowning, mock the Sea.  
The wondering Fish on their new Brethren gaze,  
And greet the strange Appendix to their Race.  
Secure of danger played the wat'ry kind,  
Nor feared the Net for nobler prey designed:  
Soon had they filled the labouring Ship with Coin,  
Almost enough to sink it back again.  
Thence with swelled hearts and sails they homeward fly,  
And trembling Waves bring their own wealth away.  
And first, Great Monarch, at your feet they lay  
This humble Tribute of your Subject Sea.  
'Tis true, the British Monarches long in vain  
Have boasted sovereign Lordship o'er the Main;  
But never was their Power confessed till now,  
By Fate that Blessing was reserved for you.  
Long did the sloating World your Courage dread,  
Your Fame as far, as Seas themselves, is spread.  
When other Foes have all your Power confessed,  
You triumph o'er the Sea itself at last.  
Next to Great Monk the largest Prize accrued,  
Monk, who was born of a recovering Blood.  
When Western Islands were designed his care.  
These the kind Omens of his Fortune were.  
'tis thought, when Neptune his preferment heard,  
He sent this Present to his future Lord.    

On the Feast of Cecilia. 1686. An ODE.  

1.  
I O! With triumphant Noise,  
With music's loudest Voice,  
This day a solemn Feast proclaim.  
A solemn Feast to Great Cecilia's Name.  
No cloudy Thought, no sullen Tear,  
No tumultuous Care or Fear  
Approach the limits of this sacred Day,  
Sacred to Music and Cecilia;  
But all be sweet, serene and gay;  
Sweet as the Saint to whom these Rites we pay;  
Sweet as the Not●s she did below, or now above does play.   

2  
Music! thou only perfect Joy,  
Which neither present Fears all●y,  
Nor aft●r pangs destroy!  
The dear remembrance of the Pleasure past  
Shall no Repentance cost,  
Bring with it no Regret,  
But be, like its own Echo sweet.  
Music! thou mighty Soul o'th' Universe!  
Which dost, like (thine own G●d) the S●●.  
Through all thine active power disp●rs●,  
And all the stupid Mass with life and beauty cr●w●:  
Methinks I now behold sweet Orpheus sit  
On S●●●●●'s Bank, and tune his Lyre  
T● Sounds w●ich life and vigorous joys inspire:  
●●●●d him the listening B●●sts their food forg●t,  
Forget to play,  
And without motion round the Char●●r st●y.  
But nimbler Trees, when they the Music hear,  
(Music which gives them ear)  
Leap forth, and wanton round the place;  
Trees skip, like Beasts; Beasts stand unmoved, like Trees.  
Pines, Elins, and Cedars in long rows advance,  
An aged Oak leads up the Dance:  
Two hundred years it stood the Wood's chief pride,  
S● long Jove's Bolts and struggling Winds defy'd;  
Now from its bed of Earth away it tears,  
And round its spreading roots a weighty Mountain bears.   

3.  
Hark! Hark! th' harmonious accents move,  
Through the brisk Air th' enlivened Numbers rove;  
About they dance, about they play,  
And call the ravished Soul away:  
The Soul th' harmonious Summons does obey;  
The Soul, which is itself all Harmony.  
With all it's sprightly train of Faculties,  
Out at the Ear it flies.  
Hence 'tis, that oft with height of Ecstasy  
We faint and die away.  
The Soul, in haste to be at large,  
And heedless of its Charge,  
Leaves almost uninformed the stupid Clay.  
Now o'er the trembling strings it bounds,  
Now through the Air pursues the flitting Sounds;  
Then lured back again,  
By some more gentle strain,  
Calm and languishing it lies,  
Grasping the newborn Accents as they rise;  
Greets all th' harmonious Brethren as they pass;  
Does each soft Note embrace:  
And fain would hear acquainted grow  
With that, that only Joy,  
W●●ch, ●f all those we s●●m to ha●●●elow,  
Shall wi●h it s●l● share Immortality.   

4.  
To 〈…〉 G●●●●an Saint, to thou  
T●●s 〈…〉 Ti●e and Art we pay.  
〈…〉 Thought and sweetest Lays  
〈…〉 Maker's praise;  
W● (●ho ' 〈…〉 Verse, in ●●r●er strain).  
Pres●m● 〈…〉 thi●●.  
M●●● 〈…〉 ●l●ss and Care,  
A●ove thou 〈…〉 ●●●●●t'st it h●re,  
So that 〈◊〉 h●●●●o s●y,  
T●● a blessett Music 〈…〉 Music th●●.   

C●●●us.  
T●● s●●n●r ●●t the ro●●ing Y●●r forget,  
Amo●● 〈…〉 T●●in,  
To 〈…〉 ●●ppy Day 〈◊〉,  
Than we 〈◊〉 y●●●● 〈◊〉 to cel●br●●●:  
And let each sweet Intelligence above,  
Which to harmonious Sounds does move  
His Golden Sphere,  
When he beholds this glittering Day  
Return, and in the Dance of Time app●●r,  
Strike the Chords full, and m●ke an universal symphony.    

On a Lady's Birthday.  

As wh●n an Envoy from some pow'r●● King  
To needy States does peaceful 〈◊〉 bring,  
Tobogganist Servants, who attend his T●ai●,  
Th●ir part of Honour and Respect ●l●●in:  
So when s●me signal Blessing ●rom ●●●●e  
〈…〉 H●ppin s●, and H●av●'s Love;  
〈…〉 Hou●●, 〈…〉 ●●●y Goo●,  
 
Hence, Madam, 'tis we now prepare to pay  
Our grateful Honours to th' ensuing Day.  
And sure thus much to this kind Time is due,  
This Time, that all, for which to Heaven we sue,  
Our Hopes and Wishes brought, that brought us You.  
By one day's Duty thus we cheaply pay  
For Blessings which we all the Year enjoy.  
See! how the eager Moment's justle forth,  
Proud to be seen, and conscious of their worth!  
Some witness, by sad Looks and sullen Frowns,  
They saw your Mother's pangs and heard her groans:  
But ever gazing backward seem to show  
The hours behind should recompense her Woe.  
And lo! the joyful hour at length appears,  
Which eased your Mother's pangs and Father's fears!  
How beautiful, how cheerful does it pass!  
As if 't had learned from You the Art to please.  
And hear me, Courteous Moment, e'er thou go,  
Thou hast my Thanks, receive my Wishes too,  
May'st thou each year (if possible) add more  
Fresh Charms and Blessings to her former store!  
And (since our Wishes can no higher rise)  
Make her, Oh! only make her what she is!  
May'st thou her Years, and our Joys oft renew!  
Thus may'st thou oft return, but very slow;  
For such alas! so frail a thing is Man;  
Even that kind Moment, which his Life began,  
By frequent Visits takes it back again.    

On a Lady's Picture.  

BElieve, Posterity, believe it true,  
This from no fancied Form the Pencil drew;  
No Angel sat, with lucid Visions sent,  
To bless the Eyes of some departing Saint.  
N●● all the Charms which on this ●icture dwell  
(And ah what pity ' 'tis!) are mortal all.  
T●●●●uch 'tis sit to let the Picture speak,  
L●st this for some bri●●t Being they mistake  
O● 〈…〉; and to Mankind be lost  
〈…〉 Honour it could ever boast.    

Friendship.  

HE ●ho (●f any such) shall condescend  
With worthless me to share the name of Friend,  
〈…〉 of Love, Oh! may he be  
〈…〉 Vice, and sour ill Nature free:  
No 〈◊〉 w●●m Passion in his B●som reign,  
N●●●●r●●e, nor ●●vy ●i● good Nature slain,  
M●● 〈◊〉 w●●t himself, and easily pardo● min●.  
Or rather some small Failings let him have,  
He'll learn, by being forgiven, to forgive.  
Staunch to our mutual Secrets let him be;  
One I may trust, and one who dares trust me:  
Not sullen, nor impertinently kind,  
Whom Choice to me, not Chance or Int'●al▪ joined:  
Who rose from an Acquaintant to a Friend:  
Not too unequal in Estate or Blood,  
Lest Distance sneaking seem, or Freedom ru●e;  
A friend to Thought and Books, and might I choose  
Not wholly unacquainted with a Muse.  
One who (which Heaven forbi●) can cease ●o be  
A Friend, yet not become an Enemy.  
From ill Reports, who ●ares his utmost do,  
To clear me when they're 〈…〉 m● w●en they're true.  
My Praise, when just, let him 〈…〉,  
But Flattery let him scorn to 〈◊〉, or 〈◊〉.  
Who can with me chat a spare Hour away.  
Yet censure not what others do or say:  
Bold to reprove, when Virtue I offend,  
Only to me, not to my Faults, a Friend.  
Thus may we long hold Friendship, and adore  
Only our Honour, and our Conscience more.    

The Impatient.  

ENough, enough of this world's fruitless Care,  
And even its Pleasures I have suffered here.  
I'm weary of Life's gross Hypocrisy,  
With Plenty starved, cloyed with Variety.  
O happy, happy State, when I shall be  
From fancied Good, and real Evil free!  
When one short well spent Sigh shall me remove  
From all the Cheats mistaken Mortals love●  
When, undeceived by fancied shadows, I  
Shall very Beauty in its Fountain see!  
O happy, happy State! Why do I stay?  
Move faster, Time, how slowly dost thou fly,  
As if the weight of Years had crippled thee?  
Thou, Death's Procurer, quickly bring me safe  
Into the cold Embraces of the Grave;  
There shall I blest, at least shall quiet lie,  
Till the Angelic Summons from on High  
Call me to Bliss and real Life away.  
Then shall devouring Flame, with fury hurled,  
Revenge my quarrel on th' injurious World.  
Then thou shalt cease, and Death himself shall die;  
And both together lost and buried lie,  
He in eternal Life, and thou in vast Eternity.    

The Resolution.  

TH●●ks 〈…〉 scorn, I now at ●●n●th am ●●●e:  
I 〈…〉 Fools c●ll Cru●●ty:  
For th● would 〈…〉, for this r●pine?  
I'm sure he● Kindness had more cruel 〈◊〉.  
No● 〈…〉 World, that weight o● s●●●n, wh●●h she  
Thr●w ●n ●y head, I thus return on th●●.  
I now thy 〈◊〉 and thy Ma●●● slig●●  
And will be happy, even out of spig●●.  
I● 〈◊〉 no more ●y Vows and Tears ●●all los●,  
No more in fruitless Sighs my breath abuse;  
Sin ●h●ll have all my Sighs and Tears; and Ver●u● all my V●w●.  
〈…〉, be th● 〈◊〉 Heaven my 〈◊〉  
〈…〉 my Thought● a●● 〈◊〉 are,  
〈…〉, ●o 〈…〉 ●●●re.  
Pardon, dear Heaven, my hours in Folly spent,  
The Crime itself was its own Punishment!  
But now unpeged from Earth I upward move,  
To thee, Essential Fair, Eternal Love:  
The Sphere of Earth's Activity I've passed,  
Here it's Magnetic Influence is lost.  
I come, great Love; my panting Soul does fly,  
With all its Weight still pressing up to thee.  
And now do thou thy needful Succour lend,  
From Vice, and from myself, myself defend.  
So shall I Death and Life itself defy;  
That smiling, but more dangerous Enemy:  
And my last breath in sullen Sighs I'll vent,  
Only for Grief that 'twas no sooner spent.    

The Departure.  

1.  
DIssuade me not; I cannot stay;  
Hence with cruel Piety!  
If ye from Death would set me free,  
Quickly, Oh! quickly let me die!  
Hark! I am summoned hence; I must depart;  
The joyful Halleluja's now begun  
To him that sits on the Eternal Throne,  
In which I'm called to bear a Part.   

2.  
Oh! what a Scene of Glory opens there!  
See! where the Martyrs valiant Hosts appear!  
With Crimson Garlands Crowned, and white attire;  
With Hymns of Joy their Lord they greet,  
His and their Sufferings repeat,  
And now in Flames of Love almost expire.   

3.  
There spotless Infants sit and smile,  
Whom Gild or Care did ne'er defile!  
See, what bright Rays of Glory they dispense,  
Clad in white Robes, and whiter Innocence!  
There Angels, heavens bright Ministers, I see  
Gaze, and admire the Mystery.  
Aloud their thankful Hymns are heard,  
Pleased to se● their younger Brethren to themselves preferred.   

4.  
And is there here a place for me  
To sit awhile, and see  
(For sure it were too much t' enjoy)  
The glorious Solemnity?  
Oh! in this happy place let me but serve!  
I scarce can wish for more, and I much less deserve.    

CONTENT. A Pastoral Dialogue.  Thyrsis. 
BY your Pipe's leave, good Damon, say  
(If thou canst aught but sing and play)  
Why, when all the Swains complain,  
These of Drought, and those of Rain;  
Some that Ewes unnatural prove;  
Some pine for Envy, some for Love;  
Only thou, of all the Swains,  
With Songs and Smiles divert'st the Plains?  
Say, my gentle Shepherd, say,  
Why art thou so blithe and gay?  Damon. 
Rather, Shepherd, tell me, why,  
If Swains will be Fools, must I  
Play the Fool for Company?  
Swains unwisely do complain,  
Some of Drought, and some of Rain;  
They may thank themselves for what's amiss:  
They make their own Unhappiness.  
Some wish, and see their Flocks increase;  
They gain Wealth, but lose their Peace:  
Folds enlarged enlarge their Care;  
Who have much, for much must fear:  
Others see their Flocks decay;  
With their Flocks they pine away.  
The Shepherd, who would happy be,  
Must not seek Causes for his Joy;  
Must not for Pretences tarry:  
But be unreasonably merry.  Thyr. 
But, Damon, if thy Folds decrease;  
If Frost thy falling Lambkins seize;  
Does not thy Breast with Sorrow swell?  Dam. 
No; yet I love my Lambkins well!  
Whatsoever by Pan is sent,  
Still I think a Blessing meant:  
If he will retrench my store,  
He takes but what he gave before.  
Life's an Art, and Happiness  
A Knack, which Swains may learn with ease.  Thyr. 
Ah! gentle Shepherd! only show,  
How I may blessed and happy grow.  
This Sheep-Crook, which I long have kept,  
See! 'tis rich Wood, and finely shaped:  
'Twas good Menalcas' Legacy,  
When he left the World and me;  
(Damon, that falling Tear forgive,  
Menalcas did deserve my Grief):  
He the pretty Sheep-crook gave,  
Which oft did my Lycoris crave:  
Oft she craved, but ne'er could gain:  
Yet show me this, and it is thine.  Dam. 
I too can boast t' have shared a part,  
When time was, in Menalcas Heart.  
And, Thyrsis, for his sake I'll show,  
How thou may'st blest and happy grow;  
Yet thou shalt keep thy Sheep-crook too.  
Not that I pretend to be  
From Troubles or from Passion free;  
But still my Thoughts I fasten there,  
Where I find least ground for Care.  
Heaven wisely tempers Humane Life;  
Wisely mingles Joy and Grief.  
And I still choose to mind the best;  
Let who will think upon the rest.  
If Frost my falling Lambs destroy,  
Yet my Ewes I still enjoy:  
But if they should perish too,  
Yet I, Methinks, were blest enough.  
Still my Pipe and Verse remain;  
The Poem, Alcon bragged, was mine.  
Sometimes my other Songs I've showed,  
And Shepherds seem to think they're good.  
Yes! and they call me Poet too;  
But I'm too wise to think it true.  
Vdemia, sweetest, fairest M●id!  
For her these two white Kids I feed.  
The Gift is hearty, tho' but small;  
In Gifts the Giver's Mind is all.  
For her I wish my Flock's increase;  
Yet she shall never break my Peace.  
I'm blessed enough, if kind she prove;  
If not: she don't deserve my Love.  Thyr. 
Hold a while, good Damon, hold!  
Yonder Ram has broke the Fold.  
'Tis a cross, unlucky thing:  
Go there, Lightfoot, fetch him in!  
Shepherd, now resume thy Lays,  
And I'll crown thy head with Bays.  Dam. 
If tuneful Birds salute the Spring.  
From the Birds I learn to sing;  
If the Heavens laugh a while,  
From the heavens I learn to smile:  
But if Mists obscure the Day.  
And black Clouds fright the Sun away;  
I never dread the angry Sky;  
Why should I think it frown● on me?  
I to my peaceful Cell retreat;  
Yonder see the homely Seat●  
'Tis what Nature did provide▪  
(Nature I ever make my Gui●e)  
There I sit, and there I play,  
Cheat my Cares and Hours away:  
Reflect on honest Pleasures passed,  
Or which I shall hereafter taste:  
Think on the Time, when I shall be  
From Clouds and Storms for ever free;  
Placed in Elysium; where, they say,  
Blessed Ghosts enjoy Eternal Day,  
Eternal Spring; where, all the year,  
The Fields their freshest Honours wear.  
So I heard old Sophron say;  
I heard, and almost wished to die.  
In vain the sullen Heavens scowl,  
Storms and Tempests round me howl;  
I make fair Wether in my Soul:  
All Occasions I embrace,  
Which may give me Joy and Peace:  
And drive bad Objects from my Thought;  
What can't be cured, is best forgot.  
Now say, my honest Thyrsis, say,  
Why should not I be blithe and gay?  Thyr. 
Be ever blithe, be ever gay;  
Pan reward thy Courtesy:  
Blessings on thy Pipe, and thee!  
Health to thy Flock, Peace to thy Mind;  
And be thy loved Vdemia kind.   

To the King.  

1  
NO Rest, no Leisure to the breathless Muse,  
No Respite, Mighty Monarch, you allow:  
As if your Conquests might be sung by us  
With as much Ease as they are gained by you.   

2.  
But where? Ah! where's that sinewy Son of Wit,  
Who can sufficient Strength for Verse supply?  
If each bold Foe fresh Triumphs must beget,  
And you subdue as fast as they can fly.   

3.  
If to each vanquished Realm a Verse be due,  
(And sure a vanquished Realm deserves no less)  
The Nine must yield themselves o'er powered too,  
And but by Silence publish your Success.   

4.  
Methinks with Ease and Pleasure we could pay  
To your great Name a yearly Tax of Wit;  
But ah! who knows what Years to come may be?  
Alas▪ there's a whole World unconquered yet.   

5.  
When disintangled from Domestic War,  
The full Strength of your Arm shall there be shown,  
Where our Third Edward, and Fifth Henry, where  
You th' greater Hero have such wonders done.   

6.  
Then Monthly, daily Conquests must engage  
Our Pens, till all the Fund of Wit be spent;  
Till we sit dumb, and like impoverished Age,  
In vain our past Extravagance repent.   

7.  
Yet shall the future rob the present? shall  
We be unjust for Fear of being poor?  
Let's pay this Debt: 'twill be excusable  
Ingratitude when we can give no more.   

8.  
Accept then, happy Prince, our grateful Praise,  
For mighty Deeds which you alone could do;  
Accept the only Trophies we can raise,  
For Dangers you alone could undergo.   

9  
Witness that dreadful, yet that lucky Day;  
When random Death's unfeared about you flew,  
When one bold Ruffian-shot, as through the Sky  
It took its Flight, durst aim itself at you.   

10.  
But the winged Fate your Guardian Angel saw,  
And with officious Hast he put it by;  
Yet by a gentle Stroke did th' Danger show,  
Lest the kind Office should unheeded die.   

11.  
Soon as the dismal Chance was whispered round,  
The Legions trembling stood and scarce drew Breath!  
As if the Army had received a Wound,  
And from your Bruise each man had feared his Death.   

12.  
Fate in all other Shapes they could despise,  
(To kill and die their Pleasure and their Trade)  
But now their Souls unusual Horrors seize,  
Death, their great Master in this form they dread.   

13.  
But when next Morn you led them forth to fight,  
Fearless and cheerful marched th' imbatteld host;  
Resolved that slaughtered Enemies ere Night,  
Should pay large Interest for the Blood you lost.   

14.  
Bu● 〈◊〉 bold Muse shall sing that glorious Day,  
When led by Fame through Boyn's Rebellious Flood;  
Tho' Foes and Nature did obstruct your Way,  
Even Foes and Nature you at once subdued?   

15.  
There em'lous Nations from your Royal Breath,  
Dreading Repulse, did Wounds and Dangers crave;  
From you each begged the foremost place in Death,  
And almost envied Foes the Wounds they gave.   

16.  
In vain they begged; you chose yourself; a●● 〈◊〉  
Th' impotent Troops where thickest ●●●ager lay;  
The doubtful Enemy half fought, half fled,  
Ashamed to live, and yet afraid to die.   

17.  
O! what a Scene of Blood did th●n appear!  
Death too that day a mighty Conquest gained;  
Thick Widowed Souls fled trembling through the air,  
As if they feared another Death behind.   

18.  
Malicious Spirits thronged the upper Air,  
Their Nostrils with fat Steams of Blood to feast;  
The King of Terrors reigned unquestioned there,  
Mere Carcases his settled Power confessed.   

19  
But here did ●●re its work unfinished show,  
Imperfect Life lay struggling through the Wound;  
〈◊〉 grumbling Soul cursed the too gentlesse,  
〈◊〉 Body 〈◊〉 a●● champed th● purple ground.   

20.  
Let others sing how you with angry Hast  
Pursued your Conquest o'er the bloody Plain;  
Pursued, as long as Rage and Day did last,  
As long as Foes were found who dared be slain.   

21.  
Stay thou my Muse, and drop a pious Tear;  
Where by bold hands the aged Gen'ral lies,  
There let fresh Garlands flourish all the year,  
And o'er his Urn Eternal Laurels rise.   

22.  
The aged Gen'ral, who, nursed up in War,  
Grown old in Fights▪ yet none successless knew▪  
And now his Fall undecent would appear,  
But in the Field, and when victorious too.   

23.  
And now proceed! the Conquering King attend:  
But lo! he's gone; like Lightning cuts his way;  
See! Fame herself lies panting far behind,  
And only Conquest bears him Company.   

24.  
Whither Great Prince, ah! whither will you press?  
Stake not that Life against a worthless Foe,  
For which all Kingdoms were too mean a Price;  
England has all she asks while she has you.   

25.  
Yet you for us uncertain Chances prove,  
To Fame through Toil and Danger force your way;  
Tho' here soft Ease, and a fond People's Love,  
And a yet fonder Princess court your st●y.   

26.  
A Princess, worthy Partner of your Throne,  
No ornamental Burden, useless Pride;  
A Princess You, even warlike You, may own,  
Who can your Cares, as well as Joys, divide.   

27.  
You here in soft ignoble Ease might sit,  
And dictate Battles from a lazy Throne;  
You by vicarious Courage might grow great,  
And crown your Front with Laurels not your own   

28.  
But Greatness you through arduous Paths pursue,  
You share in Danger, as in Fame, require;  
And scarce your Health its needful Care allow;  
Your People's Fase is all that you desire.   

29.  
So the kind Sun with never ceasing Toil,  
Large Journeys takes its Blessings to dispense:  
But the dull Earth sits idle all the while,  
And undisturbed enjoys its Influence.    

ETERNITY. A Pindaric ODE.  

1.  
COme, Goddess, come, said I,  
Thou who to thy Golden Lyre  
Singest mighty Men and mighty Things;  
Come, and with uncommon Strains  
Inspire my ravished Soul.  
Teach me new flights of Thought and Verse.  
Verse wondrous sweet, Thoughts wondrous high.  
Which may deserve my Theme.  
〈…〉 unfettered from the Clog of Rhyme  
B●ar me aloft;  
〈◊〉 perhaps, from any height,  
May a full Prospect have  
O● 〈◊〉 wi●● 〈◊〉 o● Eternity.  
T●● Mu●● ob●●●●nt came, and I  
●●on ●id 〈◊〉 to things b●low.  
And 〈◊〉 ●n the Poe●● Misty Horse;  
(W●●● 〈…〉, fancy's Emblem true,)  
T●● 〈…〉 upward, till,  
Thro that 〈◊〉 Curtain, which  
●●●ps th●●● 〈…〉 hid from Mortal Sight,  
I came or ●t ●●●h,  
A●●e the s●●●ry Fornix of the Sky;  
〈◊〉 Ideal World, where Angels breathe  
A●ther refined;  
Wh●re they mysterious Truths  
Discover at one Glance intuitive;  
Where things unmade and made in their first Patterns lie.   

2  
I stood, and fixed my Eye in ●●  
Upon Eternity:  
And fain would learn what that great Name contained:  
What Nature, and in any Bounds it had;  
Whether it were an endless Round of Years,  
Where Suns in vain their annual Courses run;  
Still the same Point returns,  
And Labours finished only bring them back▪  
Fresh Labours to begin:  
Or whether one fixed undivided Point,  
In which past, present, and to come,  
Daughters of variation have no place:  
If it were Twin to the Almighty Power;  
Or only He himself.  
I gazed, but ah! the Object was too bright,  
And mortal Sight too weak.  
Sometimes, methought, I saw it plain,  
And 'twas a glorious Sight:  
But soon in broken Mists away it danced,  
And left misshapen Figures in mine Eye.  
Yet not despairing, a brisk Thought I chose,  
Long winged and made for hasty Flight;  
Which I had oft successfully employed  
To search the Regions Intellectual.  
Her I sent off, to see,  
If any where flat Shore, or butting Cape  
Appeared to terminate the wild Abyss:  
Or if perhaps at distance she might hear  
The breaking Billows rut upon the Beach.  
But after wand'ring long,  
And many fruitless Gires,  
Back to her Ark she panting came;  
And by short Breath and drooping Wings  
Confessed no Land was to be found,  
No where to rest her weary Foot;  
But all was one vast Globe and Ocean.   

3.  
For thee, great Name, what will not Mortals da●e?  
For thee alike the Good and Impious strive,  
Certain to raise to raise a durable,  
Regardless whether good or evil, Fame:  
For thee Erostratus, bold Villain, dared  
Destroy th' Ephesian Temple with its Goddess,  
Vain Idol (but not such to him)  
Tho' her fond Votaries feign  
She absent was that Night,  
Attending at the Birth  
Of the great Macedonian Conqueror.  
Beneath the lofty Roof he stood,  
And upward cast an Envious Look;  
And, shall these Walls, said he,  
Remain the Wonder of all Nations,  
And endless Ages yet to come,  
When I shall be forgotten in the Grave?  
Nay; but Ill try by this great Action, which  
Perhaps fond Men will not call Good,  
To make myself Immortal, as the Goddess.  
Perhaps all future Times will curse my Name;  
Let them; they must remember what they curse.  
He said: And in the kindled Ball he threw.  
Which soon through all the House  
It's sulphurous Infection spread.  
Up rose the Flames  
Crackling, and in their pitchy Arms  
To Cinders crushed the Wonder of the World,  
And Pride of Ephesus.  
So daring, so extravagant a Crime  
Could the thirst of Eternity persuade!   

4.  
But how much better th●y,  
Who climbing to the same Eternity,  
Yet trod the paths of Virtue and of Honour  
Heroes who bravely di●d,  
Their Countries Fall preventing by their own!  
This was the Purchase of their Sufferings;  
Even dying still they hoped,  
The loss of some few wretched Years  
Should be repaid with everlasting F●me:  
This from all Nations dr●w  
Young daring Champions to th' Olympian Plains:  
For this the Wrestler f●rove:  
This was the Racci'● Goal.  
Not slow'ry G●rlands, and one years' Applause  
They sought; but to be Registered  
In the Records of Fame, and to be known for ever.  
This they all sought; but ah! how few obtained▪  
Hier●, Theron, and some happy few  
Has Pindar saved  
From the Iron Teeth of Time;  
And l●ft their Names richly embalmed  
In Spicy Verse,  
To be the Envy of succeeding Heroes.  
And th●y shall live; but all the rest  
Long since unremembered lie,  
Lost in the Grave and mixed with nameless things.   

5.  
N●t so Thee, William, best of British Kings,  
The sole Defence of Neighbouring States,  
And Glory of your own,  
Ever shall ungrateful Years  
Resign to Night and dark Oblivion:  
But, after long Descents have handed down  
The Lamp of Life to late Posterity,  
Your Name and Praise shall still remain;  
Still shall Aged Fathers sit,  
And to their listening Children tell,  
How sweet you were in Peace, how rough in War:  
How fierce you led your Squadrons forth:  
With what an Artful Grace  
You broke the foaming Steed, but he  
Bounds prancing forward, and disdains the Ground  
How bright your dawn of Youth:  
How strong your Manhood shone:  
The honourable Wound you gained  
At Boyn's rebellious Stream:  
What Conquests there you won  
(Conquests, which I attempted in bold Verse,  
Pleased with my Theme,  
Tho' much inferior to so great a Task.)  
What an●ry Counsels now you meditate  
On the Batavian Plains;  
Resolv●d to rescue Captive Rhine,  
Where he runs sobbing on,  
By ruin'd Cities, heretofore it's Glory,  
Now Grief; and Desolations wide;  
plaudable Effects of gallic Cruelty.   

6.  
Yet think not, Mighty Prince!  
Think not Eternity the warrior's Meed:  
Think not that Fame can give  
That Immortality which you deserve.  
The World itself is Mortal, and must die:  
Materials for its Funeral Pile  
Already are prepared;  
Within the sooty Bowels of the Earth.  
Then Time shall cease, and thou, my Soul.  
Shalt then a Portion have  
In that which now thou canst not comprehend.  
Then, if innoffensive Life,  
If Faith and Piety have been thy Care:  
Mixed with Angelic Poets, thou  
Shalt Endless Hallelujahs sing  
To the Eternal Potentate,  
And who alone hath Immortality.   
The End.   


The First BOOK OF VIRGIL'S AENEIS TRANSLATED.  

I Sing of Wars, and that great Exile's Fame,  
Who first from Troy to destined Latium came:  
Long exercised with storms at Land and Sea,  
By stress of Fate and Juno's Cruelty:  
Much too by Chance of doubtful War distressed,  
Ere he or his tired Gods could fix their rest.  
Hence sprung the Glory of the Latin Name,  
Hence Alba's State and P●rne's proud Turrets came.  
But thou, my Muse, unfold the secret Cause,  
Whence Juno's so undecent Anger rose:  
Why she in such Variety of Ills,  
Laborious Dangers, and uncertain Toils,  
Engaged an Hero famed for Piety.  
And can the Powers of Heaven malicious be?  
Facing th' Italian Shore, and Tyber's Flood,  
An ancient Colony of Tyrians stood,  
Expe●t in Arts of War, mighty in Wealth,  
Carthage its Name.—  
This of all Lands was Juno's darling Seat,  
Not her own Samos more beloved than it:  
Here all the Symbols of her Deity,  
Her Chariot, lance, all her Regalia lay:  
This she (should Fate prove to her Purpose kind)  
Even then for Empress of the World designed.  
But she had heard of some, who, sprung from Troy,  
Should her Design and Carthage Walls destroy:  
A People hence in Strength and Empire great  
Should Libya waste: such was the will of Fate.  
This Fear perplexed the anxious Juno's Thought;  
Nor was the Quarrel of her Greeks forgot;  
Nor were th' original Causes of her Hate,  
Her first Indignities forgiven yet:  
Deep at her Heart young Paris' rash Decree,  
And the Affront of her scorned Beauty, lay.  
Too well she knew whence sprung the Trojan Race,  
And Ganymede's hated Honours, her Disgrace.  
Fired with these Thoughts, the broken force of Troy  
(Slender Remains of Grecian Cruelty)  
She far from Latium kept, long wand'ring o'er the Sea.  
O'er all the Main, long were they driven by Fate:  
So much it cost to raise the Roman State.  
Scarce out of Sight of fruitful Sicily  
Their Sails they spread, and ploughed the frothy Sea;  
When Juno—  
Eternal Malice glowing in her Breast,  
Thus with herself: A and must I yield at last?  
And must the Trojan King in spite of me  
In Latium reign? Forsooth, 'tis Fate's Decree.  
Could Pallas then for Ajax Sin alone  
The Grecian Navy burn, the Grecians drown?  
She from the Clouds Jove's rapid Thunder cast,  
With Fire the Fleet, the Sea with Winds oppressed;  
And the poor Criminal, with Thunder struck,  
Snatched through a Storm, and staked him on a Rock.  
But I, the Sister and the Wife of Jove,  
The Queen of Gods, thus long in vain have striven  
With this one Race: and who henceforth will sue  
To Juno's Name? who at her Altars bow?  
Thundered, and certain of Revenge, with speed  
The ●●llen Goddess to Aeolia fled,  
The Land where Tempests dwell▪ where Whirlwinds breed.  
Here mighty Aeolus the struggling Winds  
And noisy Tempests in strong Caverns binds:  
They in hoarse Murmurs round the Mountains howl;  
But their great King from his high Throne does rule  
Their mad Desires, and all their Rage control.  
Were't not for him, soon fr●m the Roots they'd tear  
Heaven, Earth, and Seas; and sweep them thro' the Air  
But the Almighty Father, fea●ing this,  
To gloomy Caves consigned the boisterous Race:  
And with strong Rocks and ponderous Mountains barred  
The Avenues; and placed a sovereign Lord,  
Who should by standing Laws know to assuage,  
Or, when commanded, to allow their Rage.   

And thus to him did Juno humbly pray:  
Great Aeolus, Controller of the Sea,  
Whom, next to Jove, the Winds and Waves obey,  
A R●ce I hate o'er Tuscan Waters steer,  
And their once vanquished Gods to Latium bear,  
Purposed to raise another Ilium there.  
S●nd forth thy Winds; sink that rebellious Train;  
O●●●atr●●d let th●m never meet again:  
Twice s●v'n bri●ht Nymphs now in my Palace shine,  
Of wh●●●, if th●e comply with my Design,  
The fairest sciascia shall be thine:  
That in thy Arms she m●y long Ages lead,  
And with a beauteous, Offspring crown thy Bed.  
To her th● King 〈◊〉 Winds made this Reply:  
Immortal Queen, you can't more ready be  
To speak ●●●r Will, than I am to Obey.  
This my Dominion is your Gift, to you  
I this my S●epter and Jov●● Favou● owe.  
You first preferred me to the heavenly Board,  
And of the●e Storms and Tempests made me Lord.  
Thus having said, with an impetuous Stroke  
Of his inverted Spear he stooped the Rock:  
Through the wide Breach the Winds their sally make,  
And Land and Sea with dismal Tempests shake:  
East, South, and rainy West together roar,  
And roll vast Billows to th' affrighted Shore.  
Then cracking Cables, and hoarse Seamens Cries  
Mix woeful Sounds, Despair is in the Noise.  
The scowling heavens in dusky Clouds are hid,  
Thick Fogs the sight of Day and Heaven forbid;  
Darkness and Winds which on the Waters lay,  
Increase the native Terror of the Sea.  
Strong Thunder rocks the Poles, and through the Air  
Brisk Lightning plays, and Death is every where.   

Aeneas trembles at this strange Surprise,  
And lifting both his Hands to th' unseen Skies,  
He thus complains: Oh! more than happy they,  
Who, underneath the lofty Walls of Troy,  
In their Friend's Sight had the good Luck to die.  
O Valiant Diomedes, thy Nation's pride!  
Oh! that at Troy I by thy Hands had died!  
Why then w●s Death to hapless me denied?  
Where Hector by Achilles fell, where brave  
Sarpedon found an honourable Grave;  
Where bloody Simois down to the Main  
Swept Arms and Carcases of Heroes slain.  
Thu● speaking, from the North an adverse Gust  
Struck thwart his Sails, and Waves to Heaven tossed:  
The Oars all broke, the shattered Bark gives way,  
And drives at Mercy of the foaming Sea.  
Some hang supported on a swelling Wave,  
To some the gaping Waters show their Grave;  
Three Ships driven by the South on blind Rocks fall;  
(R●cks Half S●● o'er which Latines Arae call)  
Three, by an Eastern blast (Oh dismal Sight!)  
Forced to the Shore, on shelves and quicksands light:  
One, which the Lycians and Orontes bore  
Before his Eyes, a mighty Sea breaks o'er  
Her Poop, the waves from Helm the Master sweep  
Headlong o'er Board, and thrice the reeling Ship  
Whirls circling round, then sinks into the Deep:  
Thin, sloating on the surface of the Sea  
Arms, Men, and Planks, and Trojan Tre●sures lay.  
And now the Ships, which other L●aders bore,  
Resist the Fury of the Waves no more:  
Their gaping Planks to Ruin open stood,  
And treacherous Leaks invite th' invading Flood.   

Now Neptune heard the labouring Waves complain,  
And felt the strong Convulsions of the Main:  
Misgiving whence such Tumults should proceed,  
Above the Deep he ra●s'd his welcome Head.  
Oppressed he sees the Trojan Navy lie  
With Storms, and all the ruin of the Sky:  
Hi● Sisters Fraud and Malice soon he spied,  
And summoning the Winds thus checked their pride:  
Whence your Presumption? from your noble Race?  
Base Fog-b●rn Slaves! to vex Heaven, Earth, and Seas,  
And thus unbid disturb my Kingdom's Peace?  
I'll— But the troubled Waters call me hence;  
Expect worse Usage for your next Offence.  
G●, g●t you hence, and tell your King, from me,  
' Twa● n●● h●● Lot, but mine to rule the Sea:  
Let him 〈◊〉 R●●ks and Caves his Power confine,  
There l●●●●m 〈◊〉, and in your Prisons reign.  
Sc●rc● h●● 〈…〉; all calm the Waters lay,  
The Clouds b●●w off, ●he Sun renews the Day;  
●●nd Nymphs and Tritons their Assistance give,  
From pointed Rocks the sound'ring Barks relieve.  
Nor does the God his needful Aid deny,  
Through unlocked Sands he sets their Vessels free:  
Calms all, and gently sport's it o'er the quiet Sea.  
As in large Towns, when popular rage runs high,  
And all the Mob are up they know not why;  
When Club, and Fire the neighbouring streets alarms,  
And hasty Wrath turns every thing to Arms:  
If then perchance a Patriot they spy,  
Revered for Worth, and Deeds of Piety;  
Strait all is hushed, with pricked up E●rs they stand,  
Yield to fair Words, and all in Peace disband.  
So when great Neptune o'er the Waters road,  
The Waves their Rage forgot, and owned their God.   

The weary Trojans strait look out for Land,  
And for the nearest Shore of Africa stand:  
Behind an Island lies a quiet Bay,  
Whose sides protect it from the Wind and Sea:  
On either side of which vast Mountains rise,  
And threaten with their Tops the neighbouring Skies.  
Low at the foot of these the silent Floods  
Sleep undisturbed; their Heads are crowned with Woods:  
And in their side a Grott, some Naiad's Throne,  
In it fresh Springs, and seats of Native Stone.  
Here weary Vessels ride secure from Fear,  
Nor ask the Cable's, nor the Anchor's Care:  
Hither Aeneas, when the Storm expired,  
With only seven of all his Fleet retired:  
The Trojan Youth impatient leap to Land,  
And rest their wearied Bodies on the Strand.  
Here first Achates, with a mutual Stroke  
Of Flints, the sleeping Seeds of Fire awoke;  
And with dry Loaves, and tender Fuel nursed  
The Infant Spark, till to a Flame it burst.  
Their m●●●t Provisions next to Land they bear,  
And various Arts of Cookery prepare.  
Mean while Aeneas climbed the Mountain's Head.  
And the wide surface of the Deep surveyed;  
If thence perhaps his wishing Eye might meet  
Some wand'ring Remnant of his scattered Fleet:  
No Sail in view; but on the Strand appeared  
Three Royal Stags, Chiefs of a numerous Herd,  
Which after their proud Leaders brouzing strayed;  
And spreading Droves along the Valley fed.  
Here stepping back, with eager Hands he caught  
His Bow and Shafts, which good Achates brought.  
And first the Leaders, whose high Foreheads bore  
Large Groves of Horn, fell bleeding on the Shore:  
Then th' vulgar Herd, as through the Woods they fled,  
By random Arrows undistinguished died.  
Still he pursued the easy Victory,  
Till by his prudent Hand there slaughtered lay;  
seven mighty Beasts, to every Crew a Prey.  
Hence to the Port his welcome Game he bore,  
And pierced rich Wines, which on Sicilia's Shore  
Acestes, when he took his mournful Leave,  
As his last Present to the Hero gave.  
The Dainties to his hungry Mates he shared,  
And w●●: ●hese words their drooping spirits cheered:  
Ye de●●●●●mpanions of my harsher days,  
Expert 〈◊〉 aff'rings, practised in Distress,  
Ye oft have weathered greater storms than these;  
Ye've seen the end of many a threatening Woe,  
And these e'er long shall have their Period too.  
The Rocks of Scylla, and the Cyclops Caves,  
Dens of fierce Monsters these, those of fierce Waves,  
Ye ye ve past, that noble Spirit now resume,  
By which your former Ills were overcome.  
Perhaps ere long of these no more shall last,  
Than ●w●●t Remembrances of Dangers past.  
These Toils and Hazards all to Latium lead,  
There have the Fates our final Rest decreed;  
And there shall Troy resume its ancient State:  
Wisely reserve yourselves for better Fate.  
Thus did his words and looks false P●ssions show,  
Dissembled Hope sat smiling on his Brow,  
But at his Heart Despair and secret Woe.   

They to their Feast apply their only Care,  
Some nimbly chase, and some break up the Deer;  
Some spit th' yet panting Members; others raise  
The weighty Cauldrons: some the Fire increase.  
Then on the grassy Plain stretched at full length,  
Fat Venison and old Wine repair their lessened strength.  
Their Hunger eased, their Tables moved away,  
Absent Companions their next Care employ:  
Unknowing which to trust, their Hope or Fear;  
Uncertain, if they yet breathe upper Air,  
Or dead refuse the Cries of mourning Friends to hear.  
Chiefly Aeneas does their Loss bewail,  
Weeps o'er the Story of Orontes Fall;  
And Lycus sad Mischance with Sighs repeats;  
And Gyas and Cleanthus harder Fates.  
When Jove, as on heavens Battlements he stood,  
Th' inferior World at one large Prospect viewed:  
But with peculiar Care he fixed his Eye  
On Libyan Realms; while Schemes of Destiny  
And providential Plots employed his Head:  
Fair Venus, now by sorrow fairer made,  
Thus to the God complained, and weeping said:  
O thou, whose irresistible Decree  
Awed by thy Thunder, Heaven and Earth obey;  
What Crime so great could my Aeneas do?  
What mighty G●i●t does Troy's last Hopes pursue:  
Why, after numerous Deaths and long Distress,  
Are they thus punished for Unhappiness?  
Why, 'cause their promised Latium is denied,  
Must they be barred from all the World beside?  
For sure you promised, that Rome's powerful State  
(When Time had ripened the Designs of Fate)  
Should from my Trojans spring; from them should rise  
Warriors renowned, whose spreading Victories  
Should grasp the farthest Lands and widest Main.  
What, Father, what has altered your design?  
'Twas with this hope, that future good should pay  
For present Ill, I eased the Fall of Troy.  
In vain! alas. The same hard Fates attend  
Troy's Relics still. Ah! Sovereign Power, what End,  
What Respite, shall their growing Labours find?  
Secure th' Illyrian Gulf Antenor past,  
He deep into Liburnian Kingdoms pressed;  
And fierce Timavus to his Fountains traced;  
Where ro●ring fro● nine Heads he sweeps his way  
O'er deluged Fields, himself almost a Sea:  
Yet now the fair Patavia's Walls he rears,  
The Place his Name and quiet Standards bea●s;  
And he his peaceful Realms enjoys, nor future labour fears.  
We, who derived from Jove our Godhead boast,  
Enjoy the Privilege of being crossed;  
Of having Navies▪ having Kingdoms lost.  
To ease her Spite— is this the huge Reward  
Of Piety▪ thus are our Crowns restored?   

With that calm Brow which surly Storms allays,  
An●●o●ks the troubled heavens into Peace,  
T●e 〈◊〉 God thus eased his Daughter's Care:  
Cease, Cytherea, cease your causeless Fear;  
Unmoved remains your Trojans better Fate;  
Lavinium's promised Walls and rising State  
You soon shall see, and brave Aeneas ranged  
With equal Gods, nor is my Purpose changed.  
Yet, since so anxious, so importunate  
Your Fears, attend, while I the Will of Fate  
Abstruse, and dark Futurities relate.  
A long and bloody, but successful, War  
Waits his Arrival on th' Italian Shore.  
Till Victories his fatal Title show,  
And barbarous Nations to his Sceptre bow;  
Barbarous, till he within just Bounds restrain  
The savage Race, and break them into Men;  
Giving them Walls and Laws; and awful grown,  
Himself three years shall fill his settled Thro●e.  
But young Ascanius, called julus now,  
(Ilus his Name, till ruin'd Ilium grew  
A sad Remembrance, and a Name o● W●●.  
Ascanius shall the fatal Sceptre hold,  
Till thirty years have round their Axles rolled:  
But from Lavinium t' Alba shall transfer  
His Court, and six the seat of Empire there;  
There Monarches sprung from Troy's immortal Line,  
Shall full three hundred years unquestioned reign.  
Till Royal Ilia to the God of War  
Shall at one happy Birth twin Heroes bear.  
Thence Romulus, proud of that Skin which clad  
His Foster-wolf, shall to the Throne succeed:  
He shall new Walls and a large City rear,  
They Romans called their founder's Name shall bear,  
To them eternal Empire I allow,  
Nor Bounds, nor End shall their Dominion know,  
J●no herself, who now with causeless Rage  
D●●●● in her Quarrel Heaven and Earth engage,  
S●all then to better Resolutions come,  
A●d joined with me promote the Cause of Rome.  
So 'tis Resolved:—  
And Years to come shall see the Sons of Troy  
O'er Argian Realms their conquering Arms display.  
And to the Greeks their old Indignities repay:  
Hence Caesar sprung shall raise the Trojan Name,  
The Sea shall bond his Empire, Heaven his Fame.  
Him from julus, both in Name and Blood  
Descended, after th' Eastern Realms subdued,  
Glutted with Spoils, secure thou shalt receive;  
To him Divinity and Heaven I give;  
With Deity his Earthly Honour's crown,  
And frequent Votaries shall his Godhead own.  
Then through the World shall Wars and Discord c●a●●▪  
And milder Times shall learn the Arts of Peace,  
Then Reverend Truth and Piety shall reign,  
Nor Brother be by jealous Brother slain;  
Then pious Hands shall close the Gates of War;  
Within imprisoned Rage shall sit and roar,  
Bound down with brazen Cords, he there in vain  
Shall foam black Blood, ●nd champ upon his Chain.   

He said, and down from heavens unmeasured height,  
He bids the Son of M●●● t●ke his Flight;  
Down to the Court of Cart●ag●, to prepare  
The wandering Trojans kind Reception there:  
Lest Did● ignorant of Heavens' Decree,  
The freedom of her Infant State deny.  
He through the vast Expans● shot quickly down,  
Till Li●ya stopped hi●●light: his Message done  
As J●ve had willed: the Tyrians soon forget  
Th●ir native Roughness and inclement Heat:  
But s●●●e●● P●●sion● Did●'s tender Bre●st  
And For 〈…〉 ●atable possessed.  
But good Aeneas, all the sleepless N●ght  
Revolving various Cares, with the first Light  
Resolved to rise, and search what unknown Coasts,  
What Land he owed the Winds; if M●n or Beasts  
(For all around he sees untilled and bare)  
The Tenants of those Desert Regions were.  
Beneath an hanging Rock, whose thickest Wood●  
Dropped a brown Darkness ●n the silent flood●,  
His Fleet he sheltered, and his Fortune tried,  
Two javelins in his Hand, Ac●a●es by his side.  
As through the Woods they pass, he near him sees  
His Goddess mother shining through the Tr●●s;  
Like some brisk Spartan Maid in Garb and F●ce;  
Or fierce Harpalyce on the Hills of Thrace:  
When she upbraids in flight th' unequal Spe●d  
Of Coursers swift, and Heber's rapid T●d●  
Fixed cross her Shoulders hung a decent Bow,  
Her Robes close girt, but lose her Tresses slow,  
The sport of Winds. Hoa! gentle Youths, said she,  
Saw ye my Sister Huntresses this way?  
With Lynx's Skins and Quivers by their side,  
●ager in Chase? When thus her Son replied:  
N● Nymph, but you, has blessed mine Ear or Eye;  
None, but you, fair unknown!— What shall I say?  
Fai● unknown Goddess! for alas in vain  
Disguised a false Mortality you feign;  
You're all Divine, that charming Voice and Eye  
In spite of you confess your Deity:  
Diana or some Nymph! what ere you are,  
Only be ●ind and ease a Stranger's Care;  
By stormy Winds on this strange Country thrown,  
The Place and People equally unknown:  
What Clim●● what Land? instruct us, Heavenly Maid,  
Our grateful Vows shall own the pious Deed;  
And 〈◊〉 Victims on your Altars bleed.  
Alas! said she, in vain you thus abuse  
Great Names and Titles which I must refuse;  
This Quiver and these Buskins, which I wear,  
Speak me a Tyrian Virgin and no more:  
It is our Country Garb; our Country this;  
Here Tyrian Exiles a new Empire raise.  
But all around it Libyan Kingdoms are,  
Stern Nations and unsoilable in War.  
Dido a Tyrian Princess sways the State,  
Forced from her Native Home by unjust Hate,  
A cruel Brother's unjust Hate; too long  
And intricate the story of her Wrong.  
But thus in short: Sychoeus was her Lord,  
By her with great but hapless Love adored;  
Him did her Sire with her first Nuptials bless,  
Great was his Wealth, nor was her Passion less:  
But her base Brother ra●'d the Tyrian State,  
●●●malion in Gild, as Empire, great;  
Of all, whom Hell with blackest Villainies  
Inspired, supreme, and eminent in Vice.  
He, blind with Passion and the Thirst of Oar,  
Fearless Sychaeus in a secret hour  
Kneeling before the Altars of his God  
Surprised, and stained the sacred Floor with Blood:  
Nor could the Altars, nor could Nature move  
His Pity, nor his wretched Sisters Love.  
Long he with artful Lies concealed the Deed,  
And with vain Hopes th'impatient Lover fed:  
Till, in a Dream before her slumbering Eyes,  
She saw her murdered Husband's Image rise  
All ghastly pale; he showed his wounded Breast,  
And the black Deed, and the black Scene confessed.  
Then he persuades her instantly to fly  
The guilty Shore; and to assist her way,  
Shows where a Nest of hidden Treasures lay  
Convinced of all the Vision had declared,  
She Means and Partners of her Flight prepared.  
All Malcontents in her Design engage,  
All who had felt or feared the Tyrant's Rage;  
Some Ships, which ready in the Harbour lay,  
They seize, and thither all their Wealth convey:  
Away the Waves Pygmalion's Treasure bring;  
A Woman disappoints the greedy King.  
Hither where now new Walls and Towrs you'll see,  
Hither they came, here as much Land they buy,  
As they could compass with an Ox's Hide,  
And called it Byrsa from the crafty Deed.  
If this Relation has obliged your Ear,  
Requite it by declaring who you are,  
And from what Land you come, and for what Land you steer.   

Aeneas then sighed out this sad Reply  
To what she asked; Divinest Power, should I  
Begin the Story of our Woes, and you  
Would have the patience to hear it through;  
The Sun would not: the Day itself would fail,  
And half unfinished leave the mournful Tale.  
We from old Troy's unhappy Ruins came,  
(If your Ears are not Strangers to that Name)  
But now through all the spreading Ocean tossed,  
A Tempest threw us on the Libyan Coast:  
And I the good Aeneas am, a Name  
Perhaps not utterly unknown to Fame:  
'Twas I who rescued from th' insulting Foe  
My Household Goods, now Part'ners of my Woe;  
I, for the Shore of Italy design,  
And Jove I boast the Author of my Line:  
With twice ten Sail I stemmed the Phrygian Tide,  
F●●e and my Goddess mother were my Guide;  
Now all but seven by Storms are lost, and I  
Helpless, unknown, through Libyan Deserts stray,  
By 〈◊〉 from Asia torn, from Europe by the Sea.  
Venus, who could his Plaint no longer hear,  
Thus interrupts his Grief: Who e'er you are,  
I dare believe the Gods, whose Providence  
Directed you to Carthage, are your Friends:  
Thither proceed, and to assuage your Care,  
Prepare to meet your lost Companions there;  
There (if there's any Faith in Augury)  
Your Friends and Vessels both in Safety lie.  
See those twelve Swans! how careless now they rove  
Through open Air! whom erst the Bird of Jove.  
Stooping from his Ethereal Perch on high,  
Pursued, and drove them trembling through the Sky:  
But now secure and proud of their Escape,  
Some pitching ease their Wings: some idly sweep  
The Earth; then mount, and wanton through the Sky  
On whistling Wings, and loudly sing their Joy.  
Thus all your Vessels and the Trojan Youth  
Or bear full Sail into the Harbour's mouth;  
Or safe at Anchor ride: Do you proceed,  
And let the way before you be your Guide.   

At that she turned, and round her, as she goes,  
Strange Charms and unexpected Beauty's rose;  
Ambrosial Odours streaming from her Hair  
Divinely sweet enriched the ambient Air.  
Down fell her Robes into a graceful Train,  
And her Majestic Walk owned her Divine.  
He, when he thus his Mother's Form descried,  
●ith these Complaints pursued her as she fled:  
A●d ●re you too, and are you cruel grown?  
Why all these false Delusions to your Son?  
Why 〈◊〉 but Sha●es assumed, and Speeches no● your own?  
He said: but as they to the Town proceed,  
Round them a misty Veil the Goddess spread,  
Of Air condensed and thickest Vapours made:  
That they might pass secure, by mortal Eye  
Unseen, and unmolested in their way.  
Back flies the smiling Goddess through the Sky  
To Paphian Courts, where, to her Deity,  
Soft Youth their amorous sighs and Offerings pay:  
Sabaean Spice an hundred Altars glows,  
And slow'ry Wreaths perfume the sacred House.  
They with Direction of the Path marched on,  
And climbed the Hill, whose jetting Front looks down  
On the high Tur●●●s, 〈◊〉 ●o●s o'er the Town.  
Aeneas the vast P●ies with W●n●●r viewed,  
Rising where once a few poor L●●ges stood;  
Admiring the strong Ga●es 〈…〉 W●ys.  
And all the busi● 〈…〉  
The eager Tyrians various Works divide,  
Some with the Care of raising Walls employed;  
Some frame the Citadel; some trace the Blow,  
Where private Buildings are designed to grow.  
These sit Materials provide; and those,  
Laws, Magistrates and a grave Senate choose:  
Here a capacious Haven they prepare;  
And there they promise a large Theatre:  
Vast Pillars from Earth's rocky Entrails wrought,  
The Pride of future Scenes, are thither brought.  
With Toil like this, while yet the Summer's new,  
Industrious Bees their annual Tasks pursue:  
When youthful Swarms repair the falling Kind;  
Or when their liquid Sweets they firmer bind:  
Or in full Cells their yellow Nectar stow:  
Or forth to meet their weary Brethren go:  
Or when, in firm Battalion ranged, they drive  
The lazy Drones and Robbers from their Hive:  
And loud they Hum, and hot the Bustle grows,  
And all around a fragrant Odour flows.  
O happy Men whose Walls already rise!  
While he the City's growing Height surveys,  
Said the brave Prince; and in dark Mantle hid,  
Through swarming Crowds he goes, by none descried.   

Within the City stood a shady Grove,  
Where first, when storms to land the Tyrians drove;  
Digging, the fatal Horse's Head they met,  
Which Juno had foreshewn, a Sign the State  
Should prove renowned in War, in Plenty great.  
Here did the Queen a stately Temple frame,  
Stupendous Work, to Juno's awful Name:  
Rich Offerings and wealthy Zealots Vows,  
And her immediate Presence graced the House;  
On Brazen steps the lofty Entrance rose:  
With Brass the Beams were strengthened and enriched,  
And brazen Gates on brazen Hinges scrieched.   

Here first an unexpected Sight relieved  
Aeneas Fears, and his faint Hopes revived.  
For while he there expecting Dido stays,  
And the Condition of the Place surveys;  
Admiring all that skilful Hands had done,  
The State and Artful Beauties of the Town;  
He spies the Siege of Troy, those angry Wars  
Already famous through the Universe:  
The adverse Monarches, with their fight Youth,  
And st●rn Achilles equal Foe to both.  
He stood, and weeping thus bespoke his Friend;  
What place, Achates, what so distant Land,  
Which has not heard our Woes? see Priam there!  
See! Virtue has its Honours even here;  
Even here our Mis'ry due Compassion finds,  
Human Misfortunes work on human Minds.  
Then fear not: they who to our Sufferings give  
So just Regard, the sufferers will relieve.  
He said, and fed his Soul on th' empty piece,  
While from his troubled Breast strong Sighs arise;  
And Floods of Tears fall streaming from his Eyes.  
For there the Tides and Ebbs of War he saw,  
Saw the prevailing Trojans there pursue  
The flying Greeks; the Trojans flying here,  
And fierce Achilles hanging on the Rear:  
Next the white Tents of Rhesus he beheld,  
Which while first sleep the weary Thracians held,  
Tydides' entered, and with slaughter filled;  
And seized the fiery Horses ere they came  
To taste Troy's Food, or drink of Xanthus' stream:  
There Troilus disarmed his Horses drew,  
Whom Chance of Battle on Achilles threw.  
Unequal Match!—  
Down from his empty Seat he hung supine,  
Yet his clenched Hand still grasped the useless Rein;  
His beauteous Head seemed o'er the Stones to bond,  
The Spear inverted scrawled the dusty Ground.  
There went the Trojan Dames in mournful State,  
T'avert with Offerings fierce Minerva's Hate;  
With Hair unfurled, each smote her tender Breast,  
And all the Pomp of solemn Grief expressed;  
The sullen Goddess yet disdains their Vows  
With downcast Eyes, nor one kind Look allows.  
Thrice had Achilles round the Trojan Walls  
Dead Hector dragged, and now his Carcase sells.  
But then deep Sighs his troubled Bosom rend,  
To see the sad Dishonours of his Friend;  
The Spoils, the Chariot, and on bended Knee  
Old Pri●m beg the wretched Courtesy.  
Himself engaged with Grecian Chiefs he spied,  
And Eastern Bands by swarthy Memnon led.  
And there the fierce Penthesilea leads,  
Through adverse Troops, her Amazonian Maids:  
Girds up her Breast, her horned Buckler takes,  
Through yielding Men her Conquering way she makes,  
And scorns the Disadvantage of her Sex.   

While this surprising Piece the Prince surveyed,  
And this one Object fixed his Soul employed;  
Attended with a numerous youthful Train,  
Up to the Temple moved the beauteous Queen.  
Such as Diana on the slow'ry Mead  
Where cool Eurotas flows, or Cynthus Head;  
When she leads forth her Virgin Train to dance,  
In numerous steps a thousand Nymphs advance:  
She round her Neck her rattling Quiver bears,  
And the Majestic Goddess still appears,  
In graceful Motion high above the rest;  
A secret Joy tickles Latona's Breast.  
Such Dido was, so beautiful, so pleased,  
She through thick Crowds of busy Tyrians past;  
And still their Labour urged, and still improved their Hast.  
Thence to the Temple, where she proudly sat,  
Supported on the lofty Throne of State:  
And round with Guards and Loyal Subjects fenced,  
The righteous Laws and equal Tasks dispensed.  
When through a gaping Crowd Aeneas sees  
His lost Companions making to the Place:  
Whom far dispersed, on Mists and Darkness lost;  
The lowering Storms on distant Shores had tossed.  
He and Achates both astonished were,  
Distracted equally 'twixt Joy and Fear;  
Their despaired Friends fill them with eager Joy:  
But yet unknowing what their Case might be,  
They in the Clouds dark Womb concealed remain,  
Till their Friend's Fortune should itself explain.  
At length they free Access and Audience gained;  
When calmly thus Ilioneus complained;  
Great Queen, whose rising Walls kind Gods allow,  
To whose Command these haughty Nations bow:  
We the unhappy Residue of Troy,  
By adverse Winds long driven o'er the Sea,  
Do here your Justice and Protection crave;  
From Ruin undeserved our Vessels save;  
Spare Innocence, Ah! spare a pious Race;  
And hear, and hearing pity our Distress.  
We came not to invade your rising State;  
Our humbled Fortunes no such Thoughts admit.  
A Place there is by Greeks Hesperia named,  
An ancient Land, for War and Plenty famed;  
Oenotrians heretofore the Kingdom held:  
But now, 'tis said, from some great Gen'ral called  
Italia. Thither was our Course designed,  
When hidden Tempests and a wanton Wind  
Through Waves, o'er Rocks, and Shelves, our Navy tossed;  
Of which some few came floating on your Coast.  
But to the Scandal of Humanity,  
Your Guards the Refuge of your Shore deny:  
And threaten Fire and Sword, and needless War,  
If any durst attempt their landing there.  
If ye Mankind and mortal Power defy,  
Yet shall just Gods revenge such Injury.  
Aeneas was our King,—  
Than whom none e'er could boast a greater Share  
Of all that's generous, both in Peace and War;  
Oh! If kind Fates but that dear Mortal spare!  
Oh if he live, and yet breathe upper Air,  
Farewell our Fears and yours: none shall complain  
They e'er obliged a Trojan Prince in vain.  
Beside Acestes and the Sons of Troy  
Enjoy the Realms and Power of Sicily.  
We only beg Permission to refit  
Within your Ports the Ruins of our Fleet:  
And then, if Heaven our Mates and Prince restore,  
we'll ease your Realms, and seek the Latin Shore:  
But if hard Fates that great Design forbid,  
If thou, brave Prince, in Libyan Seas art dead;  
And all our Hopes of young Ascanius fled:  
At least to Sicily our Course we'll steer,  
And to Acestes surer Realms retire.  
Thus spoke Ilioneus, and all the rest  
Bowed, and in Murmurs their Consent expressed.  
To whom the Queen returned this short Reply:  
Far be your Jealousy, ye Sons of Troy,  
The Rawness of our Realms and daily Fear  
Demand our strongest Guards and strictest C●r●.  
Who but the Trojan Race, their high Renown,  
Their daring Champions, and fierce Wars have known?  
Such stupid Hearts we Tyrians do not bear,  
Nor is the Sun so great a Stranger here.  
If for th' Hesperian Realms ye are designed,  
Or for the Shore of Sicily intent,  
Be sure of all th' Assistance we can lend:  
Or if my Kingdoms and this rising Town  
Have aught to tempt your stay, 'tis all your own:  
Trojans and Tyrians shall one People be,  
Equal, and equally beloved by me.  
And I could wish the same kind Storm had tossed  
Your Prince, the brave Aeneas, on this Coast:  
Nay; I will send and search, if haply he  
Lost in thick Woods, or some blind Village stray.  
At this news Joy and lively Hopes possessed  
Aeneas and Achates doubtful Breast;  
Now eager to disband their useless Mist.  
When thus Achates to the Prince began:  
Great Son of Venus, now what Doubts remain?  
No more of Danger now, of Fear no more,  
Since kinder Gods your Fleet and Friends restore,  
All but that one, who perished in our View;  
In all the rest your Mother's Words are true.  
Scarce had he spoke: when off the Vapours clear,  
The Clouds disband, and purge themselves to Air:  
There circled round with Light Aeneas stood,  
His Shape and Feature like some beauteous God:  
For round him all her Charms his Mother threw,  
Beauty and blushing Youth bloomed on his Brow;  
Such Grace the Artist's hand to Ivory lends,  
So with pale Silver, Gold its florid Yellow blends.  
When he with Words th' Assembly and Queen  
Surprised, and unexpected thus began:  
See! to prevent your Search, and ease your Fear,  
See! that Aeneas whom you seek is here.  
To you, what Thanks sufficient can we pay,  
Great Queen, the only Friend of ruin'd Troy?  
Who us, it's hapless Remnant, whom the Sword  
Of Grecian Foes almost in vain had spared,  
Distressed by Sea and Land, forelorn and Poor,  
Here to new Homes, and other Realms restore:  
Nor we, nor all the scattered Race of Troy,  
Can e'er return this Royal Courtesy.  
No! may the Gods, and sure if Gods there are,  
Who of the Good and Innocent take care;  
It Justice, Conscience, aught but Phantoms be;  
The Debts which we cannot They will repay.  
What more than Mortal Parents could bestow  
On this blessed Age such Worth as shines in you?  
For me, while Rivers to the Ocean flow,  
While rising Mountains shade the Vales below;  
While Stars seed round the Pole; your Memory  
And Name, whatever Land my Portion be,  
Shall still be honoured, still be dear to me.   

He said: and then in close Embraces meets  
His welcome Friends, and each in order greets.  
Dido surprised, with what herself had seen,  
And the unusual Fortune of the Man,  
Long silent stood; at length she thus began:  
What Fate unkind, brave Prince, through much distress,  
Pursues and drives you to this barbarous Place?  
Are you th' Aeneas, whom on Simois Shore  
Kind Venus to her dear Anchises bore?  
Nay, and I well remember, when for Aid  
Teucer expelled from Home to Sidon fled;  
To make his Fortune on some foreign Coast,  
And gain new Kingdoms since his own were lost.  
Cyprus for him my Father Belus took,  
And made it bow beneath his Conquering Yoke:  
E'er since have I the Trojan Story known;  
The Names of Grecian Leaders, and your own.  
Himself to Trojan Foes just Praise allowed;  
Himself he boasted sprung from Trojan Blood.  
Come then, my welcome Youths, kindly receive  
Such Entertainment as my Court can give.  
I too, before I settled here my Throne,  
Have like Severities of Fortune known;  
And, by the Sense of my own Sufferings taught  
Have learned to pity the Unfortunate.  
Thus she: and in she leads her Trojan Guest,  
And to the Gods proclaims a solemn Feast:  
But, not unmindful of their absent Friends,  
Twenty large Oxen to the Port she sends;  
The bristly Flitches of an hundred Sows;  
An hundred fat Lambs, with an hundred Ewes.  
Mean while the Rooms of State their Pride display;  
And all the Pomp of Royal Luxury.  
The well-wrought Furniture with Purple shone,  
With massy Plate the burdened Tables groan:  
And laboured Gold in lively Portraiture,  
Heroic Acts of great Forefathers bore;  
A tedious Chronicle of Deeds and Men,  
From him who first the noble Race began.  
Aeneas still remains dissatisfied,  
Doubts from paternal Love his Ease forbid:  
All's vain if his Ascanius be not there,  
Ascanius the fond Parent's only Care.  
Away he sends Achates, to the Port,  
To bear the News and bring the Lad to Court;  
Bids him withal such Presents bring, as he  
Had snatched from Ruin and the Flames of Troy:  
The Gown and flowered Veil, which Helen clad,  
When she to Troy and guilty Nuptials fled;  
The Sceptre of Ilione; her Crown,  
And Necklace, which with richest Jewels shone;  
Presents not mean, With these Instructions sent,  
Away Achates to the Navy went.   

But Cytherea in her thoughtful Mind,  
New Counsels framed, and other Arts designed;  
That Cupid should Ascanius Shape assume,  
And in his stead disguised to Carthage come;  
And th' heedless Queen with treacherous Presents move,  
And her fond Heart inspire with secret Love:  
For still the Faithless Tyrians cause her fear,  
Still she suspects their doubtful Safety there:  
Malicious Juno wrings her jealous Breast,  
Black Dreams and frightful Starts disturb her Rest.  
Uneasy therefore to the Tent she fled  
Of winged Love, and thus implored his Aid:  
My Son, my Strength, my Empire's only Stay,  
Who dar'st thy Father's angry Bolts defy;  
I for assistance to thy Godhead fly.  
What Storms at Sea, what Miseries at Land,  
Thy Brother, my Aeneas has sustained;  
How he has felt th' effects of Juno's Spleen,  
Too well thou knowst; and oft thyself hast been  
Grieved at his Wrongs, and mixed thy Tears with mine.  
Phenician Dido with a specious show  
Of Kindness and fair Words detains him now:  
But still I fear some secret Danger nigh  
When Juno entertains the Sons of Troy;  
Her watchful Malice will not let her miss  
An Opportunity so great as this.  
Therefore my Fears bid me prevent with Art  
The Queen, and place thee Guardian of her Heart;  
Lest any Power corrupt to worse Design  
Her Will, for my Aeneas may she pine,  
And love him with a Passion great as mine.  
So I've resolved, nor are the Means unknown;  
The Royal Youth, who my chief Care is grown,  
Obeys his Father's Summons to the Town:  
And with him Presents bears, which still remain  
Saved from Troy's Flames and th' fury of the Main.  
Him will I folded in the Arms of Sleep  
On high C●t●●ra or Idalia keep;  
L●st close Restraint disturb his jealous Thought,  
Or intervening crush th' abortive Plot.  
Do th●● one Night disguised like him appear,  
One Night h●s s●●●pe and well known Features wear:  
So when the Queen, softened with Royal Feasts  
And freer Wine, shall clasp thee to her Breasts,  
And kiss thy lovely Cheek; do thou inspire  
Thy pleasing Venom and unheeded Fire.  
Obsequious Love his Mother's Will obeys,  
Aside his Wings and Heavenly Form he lays;  
And counterfeits julus' Pace and Tongue,  
Pleased with the Change; and prattling trips along.  
Venus' mean while the true Ascanius kept  
In pleasing Dreams and dewy Slumbers wrapped:  
Lulled in her Arms the Goddess bore away  
To her Idalian Groves the sleeping Boy;  
Where their delicious Breathes sweet Herbs and Flowers  
Round him exhale, and rise to shady Bowers.  
But now, with Presents fraught, the Heavenly Boy  
Pleased with his Guide, to Carthage makes his way.  
When he arrived, the Queen straight took her Seat  
I'th' midst, upon a golden Couch of State;  
Round her Aeneas and the Youth of Troy  
In order all on Purple Carpets lay:  
The Servants Water brought, and placed the Bread,  
And well-wrought Napkins round the Tables laid:  
Within did fifty Damsels neatly dressed  
Manage the State and Order of the Feast:  
An hundred, with as many Pages joined  
Of equal Years, round the large Board's attend.  
The Tyrians too, in swarms to Court repair,  
And th' Public Mirth and Entertainment share;  
The Presents all admire, admire the Lad;  
The God's fresh Looks, and counterfeited Chat.  
But hapless Dido, doomed to future Woes,  
No End, no Measure of her Fondness knows;  
Gazes, and ever gazing Fonder grows:  
The Boy and Gifts her Admiration move  
Alike, and both alike provoke her Love.  
He having long on his false Father hung  
And eased his Soul, away to Dido sprung.  
Her Eyes, her Heart dwell settled on the Boy,  
And oft she dandles him upon her Knee;  
Nor knows what Weight she bears of Deity.  
He mindful of his Mother's Charge soon razed  
All Thoughts of dead Sichaeus from her Breast:  
Then with new lively Passion strives to move  
Her listless Heart, and long unused to Love.  
Soon as the Edge of Appetite was laid,  
The Board's were cleared, and full crowned Bowls succeed.  
The Echoing Courts around divide the Joy:  
And loud Huzza's through all the Palace fly.  
Lamps hanging from high Roofs dart vigorous Light,  
And drive far off the heavy Shades of Night.  
Here did the Queen for that rich Goblet call.  
In which Old Belus used to drink, and all  
From Belus down to her: Then, Silence made,  
Dido the Goblet took, and thus she prayed;  
Grant mighty Jove, (for thou, the Stranger's Friend,  
Giv'st Laws of Hospitality to Men;)  
Grant, that through all succeeding Times, this Day  
May both to Trojans and to Tyrians be  
A Day of Mirth, and glad Solemnity;  
Juno and Bacchus smile upon our Feast,  
The Gods be kind, and ye my Tyrians pleased.  
Then on the B●ard she sp●ll'd a ●●ered Drop;  
Herself scarce kissed the Lips of the wide Cup,  
And smacking ●av't to Bitias: but he  
At no large Draught took down the frothy Sea.  
Round went the Bowl: while curled jopas strung  
His golden Harp, and Works of Nature sung,  
By Atlas taught: th' Excursions of the Moon,  
And never c●asing Labours of the Sun;  
Whence Men and Beasts, Thunder and Rain proceed;  
How Stars by Night their reg'lar Mazes tread;  
What makes the Winter Sun so hasty go  
Down to the Sea; what makes the Nights so slow.  
Tyrians and Trojans equally combine  
To praise the Song, and loud Applauses join.  
But the fond Queen with various Discourse,  
And needless Queries still protracts the Hours.  
And long Occasions of Love she takes,  
Vain Doubts of Priam and of Hector makes;  
Enquiring oft what Armour Memn●n wore;  
And oft what part the fierce Achilles bore.  
Nay come, says she, dear Guest, begin and tell  
The Grecian Treach'ry, Troy's unhappy Fall,  
And your own Travels: for seven times the Sun  
Has brought back Summer, since your Toils begun.    

Part of the Second Book.  

ALL hushed and mute with Expectation sat,  
When thus Aeneas from his Throne began:  
Sad is the Task, great Queen, which you enjoin,  
Our Sufferings to repeat: how wretched Troy,  
It's Power and Wealth, by Cruel Greeks were spoiled;  
And all the dismal Things I saw, of them  
Myself no inconsiderable Part.  
Who the most savage of our Enemies;  
What ha●dy Soldier from Ulysses' Camp  
Could without Tears such Misery's relat●?  
And now the dewy Wheels of Night hast down.  
The Western Steep of Heaven, and falling Stars;  
Rather to Sleep and needful Rest advise:  
But if so great your Curiosity,  
To learn our Fortunes, and Troy's last sad Hour;  
Tho' my Soul at the black Remembrance start,  
With Grief recoiling; yet I will begin.  
By Fate and Power repelled the Grecian Chiefs,  
After so many Years successless War,  
Contrive a mighty Horse of Mountain bulk,  
By curious Architecture framed, and fenced  
With Planks his wooden Ribs; pretending it  
A Vow for their Return; so 'twas given out;  
But in his darksome Entrails secretly  
They stowed the Flower of their remaining Troops  
And fill with Arms and Men his hollow Womb.  
In Sight lies I●enedos, an Isle Renowned,  
Renowned for Wealth, while Priam's Empire stood;  
Now only a small Creek, and dangerous Road:  
Hither the Grecian Fleet retired from sight  
Behind the Rocks and unfrequented Shore;  
We thought them sailed directly back for Greece.  
Troy therefore soon forgot her long Distress,  
Open were slung the Gates; and pleasant 'twas  
To view the Grecian Camp, the Country cleared,  
And the abandoned Shore. Here lay the Band  
Of Dolopes: there stern Achilles marched;  
Here road the Fleet: there were fierce Battles joined.  
Most had their Eyes with Admiration fixed  
On Pallas bulky Gift, their future Ruin.  
And first Thymaetes, whether moved by Fate  
Or Treachery, advised it to be brought  
Within the City, and placed in the Tower.  
But Capys, and the wiser Heads persuade  
To drown or burn the Greeks suspicious Gift:  
Or bore and wisely search its hollow Womb.  
The doubtful Vulgar various Thoughts divide;  
There first La●●●●n with angry Hast  
From the high Tower, with a numerous Train,  
Runs foaming down, and bellows from afar:  
What Frenzy thus misleads my Countrymen?  
Do ye believe our Foes thus tamely gone?  
Or do ye think Greek Gifts can want Design?  
And is Ulysses yet no better known?  
Either this treacherous Wood is lined with Greeks  
Or 'tis an Engine framed against our Walls,  
To seal our Works and overlook the Town:  
Or 'tis some sly Design; whate'er it be.  
I dread the very Kindness of the Greeks  
He said; and with full strength his Javelin whirled  
Against the Horse's side, that trembling stood;  
And straight a grumbling Sound followed the stroke,  
And from its hollow Entrails came a Groan.  
Then had not Fate armed all our Thoughts askew;  
The Greeks had died, in their own Ambush caught;  
And Troy and Pri●●●'s Court had still remained.    

Part of the Third Book.  

SInce it so pleased the Gods our Asian State  
And Priam's guiltless Nation must be lost;  
Since haughty Ilium was now no more,  
And Neptune's Work lay smoking on the ground.  
We by the Oracles of Gods are urged  
To leave our Native Lands, and seek new Homes:  
Under Antandros, at the foot of Ide,  
We build a Fleet, (unknowing whither Fate  
Would call, or where we might expect to rest)  
And raise what Force we could; Summer scarce peeped,  
When by my aged Father we are bid  
To hoist, and trust our Sails to Providence.  
Weeping I bid my Native Shore's adieu,  
The Phrygian Ports, and Fields where Troy once stood;  
By Fate an Exile forced I to the Waves  
Myself, my Friends, my Son, and Gods commit.  
Far hence there lies a Land, by Thracians tilled,  
Where in times past severe Lycurgus reigned;  
In amicable League Allied to Troy  
While Troy its Grandeur held; here in ill Hour  
I first touched Land, and on the crooked Shore  
Raised my first Walls, and gave it mine own Name.  
Here to my Mother sacred Rites I paid,  
And to the Gods who favoured my Design;  
To Jove a Milk-white Bull bled on the Shore.  
Fast by there rose a little Hill, thick stuck  
With Shrubs and Myrtle Spears. I went, and strove  
To ravish from its Earth the sprouting Grove,  
To shade my Altars with its leafy Boughs;  
When a strange Prodigy surprised my Sight:  
For the first Tree, which from the Earth I forced,  
From his torn Roots trickled black Drops of Blood,  
And stained the Ground with Gore: a shivering Fear  
Shot through my Veins, and curdled all my Blood.  
Desirous yet to learn the secret Cause  
Of an Effect so strange, a second Twig  
I plucked, and from a second Twig dropped Blood:  
Amazed, and troubled to the Nymphs I kneeled,  
And Mars, the Guardian of those Lands, besought  
The Omen to avert, and turn 't to good.  
But while I fixed my Knees to ground, and strove  
With all my strength from Earth to pluck a third;  
(Shall I proceed, or leave the rest untold?)  
Deep from the Earth there came a mournful groan,  
And a sad Voice thus speaking reached my Ears:  
Forbear, Aeneas, to torment the dead;  
Slain not with Cruelty thy Righteous Hands.  
That which thou now beholdest drop from these Trees  
Is Trojan Blood and near Allied to thine;  
Oh! fly this cruel Land, this greedy Shore.  
For I am Polydore: a Grove of Spears  
Here slew, and covered me; and in my Flesh  
Fixing their Iron Heads, took Root and grew.  
Then new Amazement seized my doubtful Mind,  
My Hair stood upright, and Fear cramped my Tongue.  
This Polydore unhappy Priam sent  
With mighty Treasure to the Thracian King;  
When he began to doubt the Fate of Troy,  
And saw his Walls girt with a threatening Siege.  
He, when he saw the Trojan Power decay,  
Took Fortune's part, and with the conqueror joined  
Forgot all Right; young Polydore he slew,  
And by unjust Violence his Treasure seized.  
O Gold! how does the cursed Desire of thee  
Work irresistibly on mortal Hearts!  
At length, recovering from deep Amaze,  
I to my Chieftains, and my Father first  
Disclose the Prodigies, and ask their Thoughts;  
Unanimous they all agree to leave  
The treacherous unhospitable Shore.  
To Polydore we Funeral Rites performed,  
Made him a Tomb of Earth, and Altars raised  
To the infernal Powers, with Purple Fillets  
And Cypress Garlands mournfully adorned.  
With Hair dishevelled stood the Trojan Dames:  
Bowls frothing with warm Milk and hallowed Gore  
We sacrifice; and to the quiet Grave  
Commit his Ghost, and hail him off to Rest.    

Part of the Fourth Book.  

ALready was the Queen struck deep with Love,  
The sly Disease creeps circling round her Veins;  
And secret Flames within prey on her Heart:  
The Hero's Virtue, and his Country's Fame  
Are the perpetual Objects of her Thought:  
Still present she beholds his Charming Face,  
His charming Voice still Echoes in her Ears,  
By careful Love, kept waking all the Night.  
Now had next morning Sun with radiant Light  
Gilded the East, and dewy Night dispelled;  
When to her Sister thus distracted she  
Unfolds her secret Grief: Ah! dearest Ann,  
What mean these troubled thoughts which break my nights.  
And to my weary Eyelids grant no rest?  
What noble Stranger do we entertain!  
How charming are his Looks! how brave his Soul!  
Well! I believe (and justly I believe)  
That he indeed is sprung of Race Divine,  
Base low-born Souls are by their Fear betrayed:  
What Shocks of adverse Fortune bravely born,  
What hard Exploits of War did he relate!  
Were not my Soul unalterably fixed,  
No more to link myself in Nuptial Bands,  
Since my first Love by Death was disappointed;  
Did I not hate the name of Love and Wedlock,  
To this one Fault perhaps I could submit:  
For I must own, since poor Sichaeus died,  
And stained with Blood his Brother's guilty Walls,  
None e'er so far inclined my Soul to Love:  
Nor were my Resolutions e'er so shocked;  
I feel my former ●lame returning strong.  
But may the yawning Earth first swallow me;  
Or Thunder strike me to the Shades below,  
Pale Shades of Frebus, and Night profound,  
●'er I the Laws of Chastity transgress:  
No; he who first my Vows and Heart engaged,  
He bore away my Love to his cold Grave;  
There let it lie buried with him for ever.  
Thus said she mournful, and with showers of Tears,  
Watered her Bosom; when thus Ann replies:  
O dearer to thy Sister than this Light,  
Why will you lose the precious Bloom of Youth  
In solitary Grief? nor know the Joys  
Of pretty Babes, and all the Sweets of Love?  
Think you cold Ashes and departed Souls  
Regard such Matter? or, suppose they do,  
He cannot think you easy, who so long  
Remained irreconcilable to Love:  
Nor could jarbas, nor what other Chiefs  
Victorious Africa breeds, acceptance find.  
And will you still resist the Charms of Love?  
Regard at least the Dangers of your State;  
On every side by warlike Neighbours girt.  
H●re fierce Getulians spread their Conquering Arms,  
And wild Numidians: there a Desert wide,  
And the far ravaging Darceans lie.  
What need I mind you of your Brother's Threats,  
And Wars prepared to follow us from Tyre?  
To me the Trojans seem by Heaven sent  
And Juno's friendly Care to be our Guard.  
Strengthened by such Alliance how shall we  
Advance your growing State! to what a height  
Of Glory shall you see your Carthage rise!  
Only do you by Prayer and Sacrifice  
Propitiate Heaven, then to your Guest be kind,  
And frame Excuses for his longer stay;  
The stormy Season, and tempestuous Stars,  
His shattered Fleet, and the unruly Sky.  
Thus she with Words fueled her amorous Flame,  
Wiped off all Shame, and let her lose to Love.     

CHRIST Born.  
A Pastoral.  

A Trend, ye Shepherds, to my rural Song;  
Rural, but sweet, and with high matter fraught  
My Meditation, while full of Thought  
From Fairfield's ever hospitable Seat;  
Great in itself, but in its Owners more.  
(Swains must not flatter, but may give just Praise)  
To aged Severn's rocky Shore I walk,  
And roam the Fields, heedless of any Path  
For so I use, a poor contented Swain.  
Sweet are the Fields to them who early walk,  
And pleasant sounds from far the murmuring Sea.  
Attend, ye Shepherds, to my rural Song,  
Safe are your Flocks; nor tedious is my Verse.  
Disdaming humble Furzes and low Shrubs,  
Fond Shepherds wanton Loves, and sordid Cares;  
To higher Thoughts I tune my pastoral Reed:  
Such as Sicilian Muse of old ne'er joined  
To oaten Pipe; nor he who Mantua bred,  
Nor could: tho' sweeter far his Lays than mine.  
I the great Shepherd sing, whose wondrous Birth  
Angelic Quires to humble Shepherds sung.  
An arduous, but not improper, Task,  
Since all to Shepherds and their Flocks confined.  
Attend ye Shepherds to my rural Song,  
Safe are your Flocks; nor tedious is my Verse.  
In Bethlem's verdant Pastures, round their Folds  
Shepherds by Night their careful Watches kept,  
Fearless of Blast, Dews and midnight Cold:  
So great their Love of Flocks or Thirst of Gain.  
By chance together they had pitched their Folds,  
Protected safer thus by mutual Aid;  
Where, after each had walked his nightly Rounds,  
They met; and, as befell, mixed various Chat;  
Yet not of amorous Toys, or female Guiles;  
But with wise Talk deceived the Hours of Night.  
What mean, said one (and round he tucked his Cloak  
Close to his Breast, as bend on long Discourse)  
What mean the People, who on tiptoe stand  
Expecting the deliverer, who should come,  
And rescue Israel from long Servitude?  
For so I heard, when to the Temple late  
I drove my tender Lambs, meek Offerings.  
These careful Watches than we need not keep,  
Tame Wolves and Lambs shall then together play,  
Lions with fearless Kids; so 'tis foretold.  
Attend, ye Shepherds, to my rural Song,  
Safe are your Flocks; nor tedious is my Verse.  
Are now the years fulfilled? is this the time  
Where our inspired Prophets have foretold,  
A Branch of Jesse, sprung from David's Loins,  
His Father's Sceptre shall resume, and rule  
All Nations; and whose Reign shall never end?  
Sure when he comes, we shall not be forgot,  
For David was a Shepherd ere a King.  
Come when he will, two of my fattest Lambs  
Shall, as a Vow, on th' holy Altars bleed.  
Thus talked the Swain, and he much more had talked  
Even till the Morning Star and Day arose:  
But suddenly a glorious Glare of Light  
Surprised the sleeping Field: a glorious Light  
Bright as the midday Sun, when from the Crab  
He stairs with glowing Eyes on the parched Earth;  
Then Shepherds, lead your Flocks beneath the Shade,  
Or to some Silver stream; for Heat breeds Thirst,  
Attend, ye Shepherds, to my rural Song,  
Safe are your Flocks; nor tedious is my Verse.  
Rest, rest again, ye Sheep, 'tis a false Day;  
Rest, till Day break indeed, and Night be gone.  
Amidst the Glory was an Angel seen,  
And thus he spoke: Cease, Shepherds, cease to fear:  
To you, from the Eternal I am sent,  
With Tidings sent, which ye shall joy to hear,  
Ye and all Nations: for this Day is born  
Your Saviour; David's long expected Son.  
And lest ye doubt, straight hence to Bethlem go,  
There in a Manger, humble Cradle, lies  
The smiling Babe; go ye, and see him there.  
While thus he spoke, a Choir of Angels came  
Wasting through Air, and hover on Wing  
Chanted Celestial Hymns; and Glory sung  
To him that sits on the Eternal Throne,  
On the Earth Peace, and good Will toward Men,  
Attend, ye Shepherds, to my rural Song;  
Safe are your Flocks; nor tedious is my Verse.  
They joyful went, and going, much they talked  
Of what they saw, and what they were to see.  
Why this to us, said they, of all Mankind?  
Sure Heaven is partial to the Shepherd's Life,  
Since righteous Abel first acceptance found;  
Our great Lawgiver kept his Father's Sheep  
And David from his Fold was called to reign:  
No Wolf, nor Thief, ye Sheep, infest your Folds,  
But rest in Peace until your Swains return.   
FINIS.    

BOOKS Printed for and Sold by Charles Harper at the Flower-de-Luce over against S. Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet.  
DOctor Willi's Practice of Physic being the whole Works of that Renowned and Famous Physician, Rendered into English. Second Edit with Forty Copper Plates. Fol.  
The Historical and Miscellaneous Tracts of the Reverend and Learned Peter Heylyn, D.D. now collected into one Vol. And an Account of the Life of the Author, never before Published, Fol.  
The Religion of Protestants, a safe Way to Salvation, with a Discourse of the Apostolical Institution of Episcopacy. By W. C●●dingworth, M.A. To which in this Edit. is added▪ showing the Reason why he left Popery, Fol.  
The History of Qu. Elizabeth: By W. Cambden King at Arms. Fourth Edition. Fol.  
The Second and Third Parts of the Works of Mr Abraham Cowley, The Second containing what was Written and Published by himself to his younger Years: Now Reprinted together. Sixth Edition. The Third Part containing his Six Books of Plants never before Published in English. viz. The first and Second of Herbs the Third and Fourth of Flowers the Fifth and Sixth of Trees Now made English by several Hands, with necessary Tables to both Parts, and divers Poems in Praise of the Author, Fol.  
An Impartial Collection of the great Affairs of State from the beginning of the Scotch Rebellion in the Year 163● to the Murder of King Charles the First, Fo●. in 2 Vol. By Dr 〈◊〉.  
Dugda●es Monasticon Anglicana. ●.  
The History of the L●e▪ Reign and Death of Edwa●d II. King of England and Lord of ●●e●and, F●●.  
The Laws of Jamaica, Fo●..  
Dr. W●llis's practical Part of Physic ●. With his Treatise of the Plague.  
Bishop usher's Power of the ●rinc● and the Obedience required of the Subject, with a large Preface by Bishop ●a●derson, 8.  
Some Animadversions upon a Book Entitled, The Theory of the Earth, by Herbert Lord Bishop of Hereford, 8.  
A Treatise of Moral and Intellectual Virtues wherein their Nature is fully explained, and their Usefulness proved, as being the be●t Rules of Life, and the Causes of their Decay are inquired into, concluding with such Arguments as tend to revive the Practice of them. With a Preface showing the Vanity and Deceitfulness of Vice, by J. Har●●●●f B.D. and Fellow of King's College Ca●●●idge. Pric● ●s.  

Law Books.  
The Lord Coke's Reports in English, Fol.  
Judge Crook's Reports in 3 Vol. Third Edit. with References to all the late Reports, Fol.  
The Lord Coke's Commentary on Littleton, Fol.  
— His Commentary on Magna Charta. Fol.  
— His Pleas of the Crown, of the Third Part of the Institutes. Fol.  
— His Jurisdiction of Cour●s or Fourth Part of the Institutes.  
— His Eleven Reports in French Fol.  
Buistrede's Reports with new References, Folly  
Leonard's Reports in Four Parts with new References, Fol.  
The Year Books in Ten Vol. the last Edit. with new Notes and T●bles to them all, Fol.  
The Reports of the L. Keep. Littleton▪ in the time of K Ch. I. Fol.  
The Reports of the learned Judge Sir Henry H●bart, the Fourth 〈◊〉 corrected and amended, Fol.  
Reports in the Court of King's Bench at Westminster, from the 12th in the 3●th. Year of King Charles II. by Jos. Keble of Grays●●n, Esq. in 3. Vol Fol.  
Ke●ray's Reports with new References to all the late Reports, Fol.  
Reports of several especial Cases in the Court of Common Pleas, by S. Carter of the Inner Temple Esq Fol.  
An Assistance to Justices of the Peace, for the easier Performance of their Duty the First Part containing the particular Clauses of all men Statutes from Magna Charta, until the 1st. of King James II. that do any ways concern a Justice of Peace; in the other Part the whole Office of a Justice of Pe●ce is methodically digested▪ with the most approved Precedents under proper Heads to which is now added a Table for the ready ●nding ●●t the Precedents, never before Printed, by J. 〈◊〉 o● 〈◊〉. Esq  
An 〈◊〉 A●●●gment of the Records in the Tower of London, being o● 〈◊〉 Use for all that are concerned in Parliamentary Affairs, and Professors of the Laws of this Realm, collected by Sir Rob Cott●● K●●ght ●●d Baronet, F●●.  
.  
Th● W●ol● 〈…〉 Man, a●●o●●●● to the L●w of Nature, by that 〈…〉 S●●● 〈…〉 of to Laws of Nat●●e and N●tio●s in th● University 〈…〉 University, now made English 〈…〉.  
〈…〉 a D●●tor of Divinity, and a Student in the 〈…〉 the said Laws and of Conf●●ences, newly revi●●d 〈…〉.  
〈…〉 of the most reverend Judge Mr. 〈◊〉. Fitz-hugh 〈…〉.