MISCELLANY POEMS AND Translations By OXFORD Hands.  
— Si Quis tamen haec quoque, si Quis  
Captus amore leget—  Virg Ec. 
LONDON, Printed for Anthony Stephens, Bookseller near the Theatre in OXFORD, 1685.   

THE PUBLISHER TO THE READER.  
SInce Poetry has had the good fortune hitherto, to be much esteemed in the world, and to become the favourite of the Age: I hope it will not now fall short of its own end, and my design, which is to divert and please; and how far I have consulted this, may appear from the following work: where such variety of Subjects cannot but be grateful, and a Miscellany must needs yield more delight than one continued Poem; for the same reason I presume, as at an Entertainment, most People are pleased with variety of Courses, when a standing Dish would not at all gratify their Appetites. Now, as for the several Hands which have been so kind to oblige the world no doubt, as much as me, in contributing to this piece; I acknowledge it beyond my capacity to commend: And indeed could I do it, I presume it would be altogether needless; since their own Poems will speak their praise in a more ample manner. Yet I would not have you think I have commended these Poems so far upon my own Judgement; But that I have relied wholly upon the Authority of able Critics, to whom I left it wholly to approve, or disapprove of what they pleased: knowing it to be a prudent way for any one who understands not whether a Coin be sergeant to refer himself to the Test of a Touchstone: Whereupon I admitted no Copy but what had stood this Trial, and came of with reputation. Now after all this care and diligence, there remains nothing; but that I should commit this piece to your Judgement, in whose Power it is to make it happy; wishing that it may carry worth enough in it to deserve your favour; and if so, assure yourself the undertaking will be very satisfactory to him, who has made it his business  
To serve You, ANTH. STEPHENS.   

THE CONTENTS.  

Out of Catullus Epig. the 5th to Lesbian etc. By F. Willis Fellow of New Coll. Oxon. p. 1.  
The Third Elegy of the Third Book of Tibullus, to his Mistress by F. Willis. 3.  
The 14th Elegy of the first Book of Propertius, To his Friend Tullus. By ●. Willis. 6.  
LOVE VERSES, by the same Hand. 

To the God of Love p. 8.  
To Floriana. 10.  
The Wound. 11.  
His Death. 13.  
Falling in Love with a Lady for her Wit. 15.  
The Unconstant. 17.  
The Parting. 19  
The Pink to Floriana. 21.  
Upon his being asked what Love was. 22.  
Her Retreat. 29.  
Farewell to Love. 25.    
Two Pindaric ODES by F. Willis. 

ODE I. TO the Right Honourable JAMES Earl of ABINGDON. p. 27.  
ODE II. Against sensual Pleasure. by F. Willis. 32.    
To his Chamberfellow Mr. Tho. Creech on his Translation of Lucretius: by H. Hody of Wad. Coll. 38.  
On Reason and Coyness: by another Hand. 47.  
Casimire Ode the 18th Book the 4th, To the Rose with which he vowed to Crown the Virgin Mary with every June. 50.  
Out of Casimire Ode 34th, Book the fourth: To Quintus Tiberinus. 51.  
Casimire Ode the 25. Book the Fourth. A Dialogue between the Child JESUS and the Virgin Mother. 53.  
Song set by Dr. Blow. 58.  
Translated by the same hand. T. B.  
The Extravagant, written 1682. by Tho. Brown of Ch. Ch. 58.  
A Paraphrase upon the Twelfth Ode in Horace Lib. 4. Audivere Lice etc. by T. Brown. 61.  
The Thirteenth Chap. of Isaiah Paraphrased. 64.  
Pindaric Ode: by another Hand.  
Ode the Fifteenth of the first Book of Casimire Imitated. 75.  
A Fragment, out of Catullus to Lesbian. 80.  
Casimire Ode 23. Book 4. To the Grass-hopper. 81.  
Out of Martial Book 33. Epig. 54. Imitated. 82. 83.  
Out of Catullus Epig 3. 85.  
A Fragment out of Petronius imitated. 86.  
On Woman's Levity out of Petronius. 88  
To his Mistress out of Petronius. 89.  
Ouisquis habet nummos, out of Petronius Imitated. 91.  
●…ve in a Trance. Song. 93.  
〈◊〉 Violet. 101.  
Resolved to obtain. p. 105.  
Several Elegies out of the first and third Book of Ovid's Amours Imitated and Paraphrased. 

Elegy the Ninth, Book the first. 108.  
To a Girl dehorting her from ask Money for her Love. 113.  
To the Waiting Maid, that she would convey his Letter to his Mistress. 119.  
Elegy the sixth, to the Porter 122.  
Elegy the Third, Book the first, To Pacify his Mistress, whom in his Passion he had beaten. 131.  
Book the first, Elegy the Thirteenth, to the Morning that she would not rise too soon. 137.  
Of his Mistress that had perjured herself. 142.  
Book the Third, Elegy the Eleventh 145.  
Elegy the Ninth, Book the third, The Poet grieves that he is Rejected by his Mistress 148.  
Ovid's Amour's Elegy the 15th, Book the first Imitated. 154.    
Prologue to Perseus Satyrs Imitated. 158.  
Martial Epig the third, Book 18. Imitated. 159.  
A Rural Complaint of the Approach of Winter. 161.  
Claudian Epigr. de Sphera Archimedis. Imitated. 164.  
Upon the slighting of his Friends Love. by Mr. C. S. of Wad. Coll. 165.  
Ovid's Amours Elegy the third, Book the first: To his Mistress: by J. G. 168.  
Ovid Book 3. Elegy the seventh by the same Hand. 170.  
The Golden Age by H W. 177.  
To Sylvia: by the same Hand. 180.  
Love's Religion: by F. W. of New Coll. 184.  
The Union. by the same Hand. 185.  
To his Honoured Friend and Relation Mr. Francis Willis Merchant in Greenwich Upon his discovery of a Weed in Virginia which is a present Remedy against the Venom of he Rattle Snakes there, by F. Willis Fellow of New Coll. Oxon. 187.  
Book 1. Ode 21. of Horace Paraphrased. by the same Hand. 189.  
Seneca's Hercules Furens. Act. 1. Chorus by F.W. 192.  
Seneca's Agamemnon. Act. 1. Chorus. by J. Glanvil. of Trin. Coll. 196.  
Song. by J. Glanvil. 199.  
The Baffled Swain. 200.  
To Sylvia. 203.    


TRANSLATIONS Out of Catullus, Tibullus, and Propertius.  By Francis Willis Fellow of New Coll. Oxon. 

The Vth Epigr. of Catullus, Vivamus mea Lesbian, etc.  

COme, Lesbian, let us live, and love,  
And all those fleeting joys improve,  
Those soft delights, that fly so fast,  
And like your lovely Beauty waste;  
For grave man's talk what need we care,  
Whom peevish age has made severe?  
The Suns that set, again may rise,  
And smile and wanton in the skies;  
But when alas our life's short day,  
On Time's soft wings has stolen away,  
All joys must cease, all our delight  
Be buried in eternal Night.  
Come than (that I may longer live)  
A Thousand vital kisses give;  
Come give me now an Hundred more,  
Add t'other Thousand to the score,  
A second Hundred will not do,  
Another Thousand must ensue;  
Let us kiss on; till at the last  
(When many Thousands have been past)  
We Bankrupt grow, nor can accounted  
To what vast sums our joys amount:  
Till no malicious spy shall know  
How much (my Dear) I'm kissed by you.    

The 111 Elegy of the 111 Book of Tibullus to his Mistress.  

IN vain (Fair Nymph) often to the gods I prayed,  
And Courting Odours on their Altars laid;  
Not that I might my wanton wishes please,  
And pride myself in Marble Palaces,  
Or for the wealth the largest Farm can yield,  
Styling me Lord of some extended Field,  
Whose fertile Glebe might bless me with a Crop,  
Vast as the promise of licentious Hope:  
All I entreat of Heavens' with Thee to Live,  
And drain all joys Life's longest Treat can give;  
That my Age too with you might melt away,  
And in your Bosom pleasingly decay,  
There drop its Silver Hairs, which ne'er will vie  
With Snow that on those Little Alps does lie:  
Than I when Life is thus run out, must go  
A naked shadow to the Realms below:  
For why should I such no great blessings seek,  
Or wish for all the trash a Lombardstreet  
Is loaded with? what pleasure can there be  
In a Rich Manor's useless Luxury?  
Were all Cheapside and the Piazza's mine,  
Nay should the courteous Heavns with kind design,  
Cast in the pomp of such a Grove beside,  
St. James' Park might envy in its pride:  
Might I enjoy in every glittering room  
The freight, that an East-India Fleet brings home:  
Nay all th' arrears of bliss misunderstood,  
Which the false common Vogue has stamped for good,  
'Twere trivial all: such is the play of fate,  
The copious Theme for envy, and for hate;  
Not Care alas! is by such state controlled,  
Nor Quiet bought with Treasuries of Gold:  
But ah! how pleasantly should I though poor  
(May Heaven such humble blessings have in store)  
Enjoy my Love; but if compelled to lose  
Your Company, a Kingdom I'd resuse;  
Blest be the Day, and thrice auspicious light,  
Which shall restore you to my longing sight:  
But if my Vows for your return are vain,  
And fond I to the deaf Skies complain,  
Whilst no complying God will lend an Ear,  
To the soft Accents of a Lover's Prayer:  
No promised Empire than, no wealth can please,  
Or soothe the fury of my fond disease;  
Let some unthinking Sots so vainly prize,  
This goodly Stock of glorious Fooleries.  
All I desire, is a Quiet Life,  
A pleasant Cottage, and a Loving Wife;  
May Juno, and the Paphian Queen combine  
To grant me this, and favour my design:  
Or if such blessings inconsistent be  
With Fate's inevitable black decree;  
May Death befriend me, and Eternal rest  
Lull fast asleep the tumults of my Breast.    

The XIVth. Elegy of the First Book of Propertius To his Friend Tullus.  

THOUGH you (my Friend) in some cool Arbour lie,  
Where Tibur's Silver Streams glide softly by,  
And quaff rich Goblets of your Lesbian Wines,  
T' encourage mirth, and push on gay designs;  
Or there perhaps sometimes have wondringstood,  
To see the Lighters dance along the flood;  
Sometimes (to please your sight) amidst the throng,  
Observed tall Ships sail lazily along;  
And though your Groves make such a pompous show,  
Sheltering from Storms the infant Shrubs below,  
With Trees as vast as on tall Caucasus do grow:  
Yet think not all this State can equal prove,  
To one soft happy minute of my Love.  
How mean is Greatness if compared to this,  
And what are Richeses to a Lover's bliss?  
For whether my Dear She all over charms,  
Kindly at night reposes in my Arms;  
Or whether we consent to spend the day,  
In easy pleasure, and in wanton play:  
I fancy than Pactolus streams are rolled  
Thro th' enriched house, methinks I swim in Gold;  
Methinks I am as wealth, and as blest,  
As if the Indieses were by me possessed:  
Sure proudest Monarches would their Crowns resign,  
And tiresome greatness, for delights like mine,  
Which Heaven preserve till death shall change the Scene:  
For who can dote on wealth, or value Crowns,  
When Love's unkind, and when a Mistress frowns;  
Venus can even Heroic minds enslave,  
Soften the stout, and captivated the brave;  
No Palaces, no Beds of Down can prove,  
Strong countercharms to the great Queen of Love.  
She can disturb at night a Lover's ease;  
How than alas! can all our Richeses please?  
Who while she smiles on me, I will contemn  
The trifling Glories of a Diadem;  
I'll look on worlds of Wealth with generous hate,  
And pity rich Alcinous's Fate.     

Love-Verses by the same Hand.  

To the God of Love.  

I.  
Well now (great Love) I plainly see,  
Thy Conquests over Poetry;  
The very Laurel that's from Heaven secure,  
Must thy more potent Thunderbolts endure.   

II.  
Ah me! I feel thy pointed Smart,  
(Sure Sense ne'er Lodges in the Heart)  
For yet the Knowledge of my Wound does stay,  
Thomas on thy Wings my Heart is fled away.   

III.  
'Tis gone, 'tis gone to that bright She,  
Who now is all the world to me;  
To Floriana, who does proudly sit,  
Upon the Throne of Beauty, and of Wit.   

iv  
But pardon (Nymph) nor wonder why  
My flame of Love dares aim so high;  
You know alas! all Fire does upwards go,  
And soars to Heaven, why should not mine do so?    

To Floriana.  

THrice happy day, when first I gazed on you,  
And saw all Heaven exposed to mortal view.  
Unjustly we of Phaethon complain,  
Your Looks have set the world on fire again;  
Looks so divine, so lovely bright, so pure,  
Not uncompounded Essences are more;  
Modest, as she that first salutes the Sky,  
And blushes at th' approach of Phoebus' eye;  
Pleasant, as Eastern flowers, while they consume,  
And breathe away their Lives in rich perfume:  
So like your Mind, which thro' the purest Skin  
Displays its Nunnery of Thoughts within.  
With such a grace the precious Flies appear,  
Enshrined in Crystal, or an Amber tear;  
But sure you have no Matter, sure your mind  
Is called in Substances of Souls refined.  
Or we may guests Providence did delay,  
Curious to found some nobler piece of Clay,  
Whilst your impatient Form stole unarrayed away.  
Or else Heavn sent you thus, to let us see  
What at the Resurrection we shall be.    

The Wound.  

I.  
NEver any Parthians Bow,  
So many Painted Deaths did throw,  
So many Darts; as you comprise  
In the two Golden Quivers of your Eyes:  
But ah! too like the cruel Parthians, you  
Not sooner gave the Fatal Wound but flew.   

II.  
Yet though you fly, in my Mind  
've left your kinder Self behind;  
My Heart would sigh, but does not dare,  
For fear it foil your pleasing Picture there;  
So unseen Angels work in Fancy's Theme,  
And glorious Nothings please us in a Dream.   

III.  
Ah how vain this Shadow is!  
Can I content myself with this?  
Or as the famed Pygmalion do,  
And make a Mistress of thy Likeness too?  
Not: I in this should quite as vain appear,  
As He that was supposed to court the Air.    

His Death.  

I.  
THE wretch that stole Celestial Fire,  
ne'er animated Clay,  
With so much life as you inspire,  
And in a Kiss convey:  
Sure the morose, and grave-men only own  
Their Souls to Heaven, all Lovers theirs to You.   

II.  
Why named I Heaven, 'tis only She  
Can true Elysium prove;  
Where all departed Souls must flee  
To endless joys of Love;  
For as I in her kind Embraces lay,  
My eager Soul stole in the bliss away.   

III.  
So Sweet a death befell the Bee,  
Rifling a Virgin Rose;  
Whilst in her Golden Bosom, She  
Did all her Sweets disclose;  
But fond embracing leaves his life betrayed,  
And in that envied Tomb her Lover laid.    

Falling in Love with a Lady for her Wit.  

I.  
THis Love is pure, which is designed  
To court the Beauty of your mind;  
No Pimping dress, no fancied Air,  
No Sex can bribe my judgement there:  
But like the happy Spirits above,  
I'm blest in raptures of Seraphic. Love.   

II.  
Such chaste Amours may justly claim  
Friendship, that noble, manly Name;  
For without Lust I gaze on Thee,  
And only wonder, 'tis a She:  
Only our Minds are Courtiers grown,  
Such Love endures when Youth, and Life are flown.   

III.  
Who on thy Looks has fixed his Eye,  
Adores the Case where Jewels lie;  
've heard such foolish Lovers say,  
To you they gave their hearts away;  
I willingly now part with mine,  
To learn more Sense, and be informed by thine,    

The Unconstant.  

I.  
UNconstant! that word strikes me more,  
Than the bright Lightning of your Eyes,  
That made my melted Heart your prize;  
Can ever do before.   

II.  
Ah! like a cruel Murderer, You  
Fly from your Lover slain;  
Some other Booty to pursue,  
And proudly kill again.   

III.  
But why should I for this despair?  
Or at Inconstancy repined!  
Since only Change can make you mine,  
Now you Another's are:   

IU.  
What though the Heavn's beauteous frame  
Daily delight to move;  
It still returns again the same,  
And was composed of Love.   

V  
〈◊〉 pity too methinks that She,  
(By Beauty sure designed  
To cherish all Mankind)  
Should be confined to Me.   

VI  
For should the Sun all's smiling light,  
To his loved Rhodes display;  
All other parts must mourn in Night,  
And ne'er enjoy the Day.    

The Parting.  

I.  
SO when the beauteous Soul prepares her way,  
To the far Country of Eternal day.  
With such swollen, wishful eyes, the Body courts its Itay;  
As I did on my parting Life, my Mistress, Look;  
When she her fatal Farewell took,  
And left her Turtle here alone;  
Whilst with her Presence she does grace,  
Some Over-happy place,  
Happier than that, to which blessed Souls are 〈◊〉   

II.  
In vain Astrologers pretend to know,  
What Accidents shall hap here below,  
What Wether, what Eclipses from the Planets show;  
Their Calculations for some other Country run,  
Not made for Love's Meridian;  
In vain, they say 'tis Summer here,  
Now my bright Nymph is gone, 'tis She  
My Calendar must be;  
'Tis She divides the Seasons of my Year.   

III.  
Now Storms of rainy Tears, and black Despair,  
Have taken up their Winter Quarters here,  
And Sighs, that i'll my Heart with more than  
Northern Air:  
Greenland's a temperate clime, compared to frozen parts  
Inhabited by Lovers hearts,  
When absence does your Beams withhold:  
Ah! sure you'll guests this I'll to be  
Beyond the Eighth Degree;  
When he that's all on Fire complains of Cold.   

iv  
To what a Nothing am I grown and now  
Scarce know I live but by the thoughts of you:  
So Flowers that to the Spring their painted glories owe.  
When she on Zeph'rus gales has winged her fragrant way,  
In drooping withered Looks their grief betray,  
But at her bright return, not more  
Their Melancholy heads they hid,  
But with an early pride  
Start from their Buds as glorious as before.    

The Pink to Floriana.  

I.  
AH happy Flower! pride of all  
That dress the gaudy May;  
What Monarch would not humbly fall,  
And throw his Crown away?  
His Heart like you might be a Guest,  
In the fair harbour of that breast.   

II.  
How read thy flaming Leaves do grow!  
Warmed by her neighbouring Eyes:  
I wish methinks they'd melt that Snow,  
Which in her Bosom lies,  
And keeps out love, as the cold Zone  
Forbids th' approaches of the Sun.    

Upon his being asked what Love was.  

I.  
MYsterious Query! for 'tis strange that she  
Should ignorant be;  
Who gave this knowledge first to me:  
But so the lesle bright fire does warmth beget,  
And what it wants itself, distributes Heat.   

II.  
Well than I am resolved, I'll boldly tell  
What pains I feel,  
And what I know of Love too well;  
'Tis that of which none ignorant can be,  
Who have but had the lest dear glimpse of Thee.   

III.  
Love is the pretty Babe that proudly plays  
In your bright face;  
And wounds him who presumes to gaze;  
And Painters say, Poets with them agreed,  
He in no dress but Nakedness should be.   

iv  
The Darts he uses here, and glowing Arms,  
Are only Charms,  
With which some meaner Beauty warms;  
But when he inflames the Gods, and burns the Skies,  
He lights his Torch at Floriana's eyes.   

V  
Wings are to him (I know not how) assigned,  
But now I found,  
He uses them in Womankind;  
But when he stormed my heart he laid 'em by,  
And never never from my Breast will fly.    

Her Retreat.  

I.  
IN a flowery Myrtle Grove,  
(The solitary Scene of Love)  
On Beds of violets all the day,  
The charming Floriana lay;  
The little Cupids hovered in the Air,  
They peeped, and smiled, and thought their mother there.   

II.  
Phoebus' delayed his course a while,  
Charmed with the Spell of such a smile,  
Whilst weary Plowmen cursed the stay  
Of the too Uxorious Day;  
The little Cupids hovered in the Air,  
They peeped, & smiled, and thought their Mother there.   

III.  
But thus the Nymph began to chide;  
That Eye you own the world beside,  
You fix on me: than with a frown  
She sent her drooping Lover down;  
With modest blushes straight away she fled,  
Painting the evening with unusual Red.    

Farewell to Love.  

BEgone, begone thou wheedling cheat,  
Thou Enemy to all that's great;  
That only were't by Heaven designed,  
To be in pleasing torments kind;  
Thou Lovely Paris didst destroy,  
In a worse flame, than Grecians T'roy;  
Well may'st thou still delight in strife,  
That to a Tempest ow'dst thy Life;  
Hence all the beauteous Sex we see  
Have learned Inconstancy from Thee;  
Be damned for this, to some cold Isle  
Where never yet the Sun did smile;  
Where thy Lascivious Ovid went,  
Into deserved Banishment;  
And only there exert thy power,  
Where craving Seas clasp round the Shore.  
I'll burn my Songs, I'll break my Lyre,  
Unless it nobler thoughts inspire;  
And on the Theban Swan will fly,  
To view melodious worlds on high.     

PINDARIC ODES By the same HAND.  

ODE I  
To the Right Honourable JAMES Earl of ABINGDON.  

I.  
GO, go, my Muse, the winged Horse prepare;  
I purpose now to take the Air;  
Take solid Judgement for the Bit,  
And put on the rich Ornaments of Wit;  
Where Sense does shine like Dawn of Morn,  
(Not dazzled by the thick,  
And gaudy Flowers of empiric;)  
Through Interspaces which the work adorn:  
Lo! now I mount, and (Lo!) I take my flight,  
And travel with immense delight,  
Into the flowery Groves of never-fading light;  
Lo I look down with scorn, not envy there,  
On the Melancholy lands o'th' dull foggy Atmosphere.   

II.  
Hark! Hark! Sure this is Thunder's voice,  
Or else heavens Vaults echo some Hero's praise;  
Hark! BARTVE is the welcome Noise;  
BARTVE, that big-swollen Name,  
That is become the mighty toil of unperforming Fame:  
Tell me, o! tell me where,  
Shall I stick up that word, and make another Star?  
A Star, that will disdain, like petty Lamps of Night,  
To shine with borrowed light;  
Let Honour gilled o'er meaner Souls, and Those,  
Whose Actions want a gloss;  
Honour and Richeses Sun to him can add not more,  
Whose beamy Virtue was all bright before.   

III.  
Now, now, I mount uphigher,  
Where great Alcides' Star detains my sight,  
With almost such a source of Light,  
As if it still were clothed with th' Oetaean fire;  
That God like Child who in his Cradle lay;  
And did with hissing Serpents play:  
'twas He that squeezed out numerous Hydra's breath,  
Whose many Lives but multiplied the death;  
Thus Juno's rage conspired to make him great,  
And kindly found out Dangers worthy his Defeat.   

iv  
This well deserving place  
Thy Golden Character shall grace;  
Alcides' Star as yet does dimly shine,  
And wants the Neighbourhood of thine;  
For none, but God-descended he,  
Can almost boast of his Equality;  
Yet should we look on things aright,  
Examine 'em by Reason's light;  
His big-famed Acts no Miracles express,  
He that was born of Heaven sure could perform not lesle.   

V  
How much beyond our wonder's He  
Derived of Earthly Pedigree  
That did from no lesle Monsters the wild Nation free  
For when Ambition, the base Ferment of the Soul,  
Threw into a Calenture the Senseless All;  
Which by its cursed ill-brooding Heat,  
Did in each muddy Brain a Python-plot beget:  
'Twas He that bravely undertook to quell  
That Legion-Ill;  
And wheresoever he came,  
He planted there a Monarch's name;  
And with bold Sallies of Advice,  
Not sooner stormed, but took the Forts of Vice;  
How did it grieve him than to see,  
Unballast minds wrecked in Sedition's Sea,  
And the small Cargo of their wit dashed by those waves away;  
Whilst he in all this Hurricane  
Outbraved the fury of the Ocean;  
No thickening Clouds his Loyalty could hid,  
That was the Polestar still his course to guide;  
What gaping dangers need that Pilot fear,  
Who amidst threatening Storms by Heaven his course can steer?   

VI  
See, see, the Scene is changed of late,  
And now (my Lord) whither by Fate,  
Or You; we ' enjoy a Calm of State:  
For by your deeds we just suspicion found,  
To think your generous mind,  
Is not, like some transgressing Souls, confined,  
And closely imprisoned in the narrow Span  
Of Earthy man:  
Till they with much of toil, and much of strife,  
Have drudged thro' the Probation-State of Life:  
But left its Vehicle of purer Air,  
And condescended to inhabit here.  
Resolved to become,  
A Form assistant to this happy Throne;  
Until Impatient Heaven force your remove,  
To the great Triple Monarchy above.    

ODE II.  
Against Sensual Pleasure.  

I.  
A Way, away, Thou Ape of solid bliss,  
Fruition of Fool's Paradise;  
Mistaken Man! is this the fancied All?  
The Tinselled Nothing? that we Pleasure call;  
O Barbarism! no figure can excuse  
The gross abuse:  
Pleasure is only proper to the Soul,  
That can our misled faculties control;  
Pleasure is that verdant Flower,  
That ever blooms in Epicurus Bower;  
Which neither all the nipping Frosts of fear,  
Nor Sorrow's murmuring Winds with rude embraces tear.   

II.  
Ah! could we but with searching knowledge come,  
Into some quiet Soul's withdrawing Room;  
Content hemmed round with joys, we there might sinned,  
Content, the celebrated Sabbath of the Mind,  
That builds her Halcyon Nest,  
In the recesses of a calmy Breast;  
There sits, and laughs at gay Appearances,  
Which still the guled, unthinking vulgar please,  
Wherever Vice has placed the painted Scene,  
With the false Lights of Fortune set between:   

III.  
But stay (bold Fancy) stop thy flight, and stand  
In prospect of this Fairy Land;  
Where Ghosts of bliss wantonly stray,  
Grandeur, Lust, Richeses bear the sovereign sway;  
Grandeur, the hopefullest Child, that e'er had been  
Trained up in the wild Nursery of Sin:  
Grandeur, the first rate Vice.  
Placed highest in the List of Vanities,  
The Stalking Shadow we so dearly prize;  
The Bristol Gem, that sets the world at strife,  
And Silvers o'er the Great man's Dream of Life;  
But at the bright approach of Reason's day,  
The Airy Phantom slighly steals away.   

iv  
The first Grandee that e'er usurped the name,  
Against th' Almighty levied wars,  
And led out Spirits, like gilded Hosts of Stars;  
No Seas of Bliss could quench his thirst of fame;  
Michael at last encamped upon the Azure plain,  
Where big charge d Thunder lay,  
Upon the Crystal Battlements of Day;  
Which quelled the Foe, and rendered the great Project vain.  
This done, he boasted of's Defeat, and proudly fell,  
To reign an Emperor in Hell,  
Vassal of Happiness was too low a thing  
He thought it worth the loss, to be a King!  
He thanked this bold Exploit, that could procure,  
And bind Damnation sure;  
Jest God should disobliging mercy have,  
And Heaven might found out some pretence to save.   

V  
Go in thy mournful Empire reign,  
O'er all thy palefaced meagre-train;  
Where fiery Deluges o'erflow,  
All the sad glory Hell can show;  
I'm vexed that thy condition can't be worse,  
And has forestalled a further curse;  
Methinks I hear thee groaning   
Under the heavy Tax of milery;  
Begging of Heaven the Privilege to dye,  
And cut of the Entail of Immortality.   

VI  
Not yet (my Muse) are all thy arrows spent,  
Go let th● Bow again be bend,  
Here thy sharp Invectives shoot,  
At Richeses the white glittering Butt;  
Richeses, that only pity can implore,  
When we so many Cullies see,  
Labouring in Fortune's Galley-Slavery,  
Condemned to dig in Ours, and drudge for sordid Ore:  
Midas was cursed enough with all the advantages  
Conspiring wishes could invent,  
To lure him to his punishment;  
To which the well-pleased God did willingly consent,  
To carry on his coloured cruelties:  
Ah might he still enjoy his glorious Famine, and behold  
By his rich touching Alchemy,  
His very Meat converted into Gold,  
Whilst such insipid Luxury  
Can ne'er afford enough relief,  
To furnish Nature, and defray the small expense of Life.  
So fond of Death is he,  
Who of the Plague could be content to dye  
So he might view the gaudy Spots, and Purple bravery.   

VII.  
Happy Diogenes! thrice happy He!  
Blessed in the humble sweets of Poverty;  
Whose little Palace no rich Painting had,  
No gilded Roofs but what the Sunbeams made;  
Here he did out of Fortune's reach escape,  
Where none, but Natures Landskapes, pleased his sight,  
With all th' unexpensive, green delight,  
She yearly pours into the Valley's flowery Lap:  
Purple was here by every Vi'let worn,  
And richer Scarlet clothed the blushing Thorn;  
Thro Golden Fields a Silver Stream did play,  
Pure as his thoughts, nor lesle serene than they:  
Thus lived the Happiest of Mankind,  
Whose uncontrolled, and freeborn mind,  
Like th' aspiring Lark did upwards go,  
Conversed with Heaven and left its viler Tenement below.  
His potent Fancy made him Lord of All,  
That in Opinion lay,  
Opinion, the large Empire of unbounded joy;  
The great Pellean youth could ne'er so happy be,  
Thomas with the vast Expense of Victory  
He purchased for himself the overrated Ball.   
F. W.    

TO HIS CHAMBER-FELLOW Mr. THOMAS CREECH On His Translation of LUCRETIUS. Written immediately after the coming out of the Second Edition.  

HAil sacred Friend! this comes to let thee know  
That We can sing when Thou inspir'st us so.  
The powerful rays of such a Rising Sun  
Can influence Memnon, animate the Stone.  
And to glad Paeans tune its senseless Tongue:  
Thy Memnon I, who never spoke before,  
Speak at thy Rising, and shall speak not more.  
Five 
* Five years' Chamber-fellows.  happy years I Pythag'rean was,  
A silent Hearer of thy Golden Muse:  
A Five years' silence was the sage Decree,  
I now may speak, since 'tis in praise of Thee.  
Whilst emulous Wits thronged in to pay their Vows,  
And with their Laurels crown thy sacred Brows,  
In silence I and admiration lay,  
I knew too much t'ave any thing to say.  
Great things we praise, but infinite admire;  
Lower Objects reach at, only gaze at higher.   

Besides you know I ne'er could sing, for I  
Had ne'er presumed to court, not cast an eye  
On any Muse, though Helicon was by:  
I thought myself too poor, a Muse, I knew,  
Scorns his address, whose Talents are but few.  
But Ladies often, who scorn addresses, grace  
With their free visits even the homly'st place.  
So lately me a Muse a visit gave,  
Kind, condescending, as to Baucis Jove.  
Surprised I was; Ah lovely Maid, said I,  
So great a Stranger, and yet devil so nigh!  
Come leave your Books, the smiling Muse replied,  
And sing of Him, that's sung by all beside,  
I'll give by Grace, what Nature has denied.  
She said, and breathed, and breathing did inspire  
And warm my Breast with an unusual fire.  
The Muse inspired, but by experience found  
Thomas she breathed well, the Pipe would rough the sound,  
Not smoothed by use, not yet by custom tuned.  
Like thy Lucrece's World my Rhymes advance,  
No artful Structure, but the work of Chance:  
The little Atoms of the Alphabet  
Flew up and down, and long confusedly met;  
I know not how! at last there risen a Frame,  
A Building sacred to thy glorious Name.   

These my first Numbers, Sir, accept from me,  
First Fruits we offer to some Deity.  
These first and last I Sacrifice to Thee.  
Whilst great rich Poets throw in their Offering  
Of their abundance, I my Nothing bring,  
The only Mite that in my Treasure lay,  
They much, I little, yet I more than they.  
But can my gift increase thy mighty store?  
Can I augment thy Praise? 'Tis strange, yet sure,  
A cipher added makes the Figure more.  
Can I deservedly praise, my Muse I'd prove  
With Flames as strong as those wherewith We love,  
I'd sing of Thee with great Lucrece's Fires,  
Or such as Wallers greater Muse inspires:  
That great Panegyrist, whose rapturous Lays  
Speak more the Authors, than the others praise.  
What he of thee, or thou of him wouldst say;  
Such thou deserv'st, such only I would pay.  
Thou, who art praised by all, but who repined  
And angry grow 'cause now they cannot shine;  
Mere Touch-wood-Wits, that shine but in the dark,  
And straight take fire at a rising spark.   

We doubt (my Friend) to whom the most we owe,  
To your divine Lucretius, or to You;  
'Twas he that formed the Gem, thou mad'st it bright;  
He made the World, but Thou creat'dsh the Light.  
Thou reach'st his Sense, and deepest Thoughts dost see,  
As if his Soul were thine, and thou wast He;  
Lucretius scarce did know Lucretius so,  
His own great Genius knew him lesle than Thou.  
If I thy Language praise, than I must tell,  
Lucrece his Muse could never sing so well.  
Thy English Style outshines his Latin strain,  
He lisped at Rome, but speaks in Oxford plain:  
Voided of hard Terms, the Jargon of the Schools,  
Vain to the Wise, and only wise to Fools;  
Smooth, easy, flowing, faithful, chaste, refined,  
Clear as thy Judgement, pure as is thy Mind.  
When e'er thy Poet's Muse throws of her dress,  
And wantonly doth show her Nakedness,  
Thou clap'st thy Fig-leaves on, and hidest her shame,  
Writ'st not with hers, but with a Vestal flame.  
Thou loathest a bawdy Muse without a Veil,  
That Glow-worm-like shines only at the Tail;  
That fashionable Muse, whose Siren tongue  
Kills all, yet all are pleased with what is sung,  
So many Flies leave honey, feed on dung.   

I praise thee (Friend) 'cause Subjects thou hast chose,  
Which honour thee as thou dost honour those:  
Thou scornest the Stage, where Poets   
Writ their own Characters in bawdy Plays;  
Plays, that increase profaneness, lust inflame,  
The Writers scandal, and the Hearers shame.  
'Tis this thou hat'st; and next the amorous Toys,  
The scorn of Men, and the delight of Boys.  
Phyllis my Goddess— Can such Ballads please?  
Can manly persons sing such Psalms as these?  
Thou scornest to sing with such unmanly flame,  
The young Ascanius runs at nobler Game.  
Exalted Subjects, deep Philosophy,  
Things above others, court thy Muse and Thee.   

Than other Poets thou excel'st in this,  
They Trade, thou only Interlop'st in Verse.  
Thou lov'st thy Muse, but (Woman's nature's such)  
Thou makest her kind by loving not too much.  
It is the Curse of Poets, they should know  
But little else but what to Wine they owe,  
The Laurel's green where nothing else doth grow.  
They crown their ignorance with the Poet's praise;  
So Caesar hide his Baldness with his Bays.  
Who e'er does now Parnassus' Hills surround,  
Can nothing see but rocks and barren ground;  
No fruit or green and th' Muse's Seats do lie,  
(So Travellers tell) nay Helicon is dry.  
But thou art more than Poet, thou art seen  
In Arts, for which the Wise have famous been,  
As Caesar Consuls, thou art learned Men.  
Thou with the Sun makest one continued day  
In circling studies shining all the way,  
With an unwearyed eye dost all things see,  
As great a Student, and as learned as 
* The Sun was Apollo the God of Learning.  Herald  
Strange Metamorphosis in Nature seen!  
August in thee and youthful May combine,  
Autumnal Fruits with Vernal Flowers shine.  
So learned and young, as if, like Adam, thou  
Didst know the more for being born but now.  
So learned and young you are (my Friend) that you.  
Seem to have proved Medea's Art was true,  
That you were old, and did your age renew.   

Witness ye holy Lar, ye sacred Powers,  
That with such favour bless his fruitful hours,  
Witness how often charmed with learned talk,  
And tied to him with Ogmian Chains I walk.  
When e'er the Sun withdraws his evening ray  
From me untaught by him, you hear me say  
With Titus, grieving, I have lost a day.  
Pardon, ye Powers above, if I repined  
'Cause all is dark unless that Sun does shine.  
You gave me being first, first crowned my Brow,  
But the younger, Jacob, first was blessed by you;  
He greater far was born than I am now.  
Ah partial Heaven! 'tis strange one Room should be  
So blessed by him, and so unblessed by me:  
True Emblem of the Lake of Mexico,  
On that side fresh and fruitful Waters flow,  
In this, that's salter, nothing good doth grow.  
Thirsty I languish by the Muses Well,  
Like Fishes I fresh in the Ocean devil.  
Whilst all the Room is moist, and Dew doth lie  
On all the Floor, my Fleece alone is dry.  
Ah mighty God forgive when I implore,  
Give me but this, and I will ask not more:  
Since pray I can't new Miracles may show  
The Place all dry, Me only blessed with dew,  
Ah! cease thy Wonders, give me moisture too.   
HUMP. HODY, Coll. Wadh.   

REASON.  

I.  
REASON thou vain impertinence,  
Deluding Hippocrite begun,  
And go and plague your men of Sense,  
But let my Love, and me alone.   

II.  
In small concerns of life we'el own  
Thy so much boasted Soureingty,  
But sacred Love, just like Religion,  
Scorns, and throws of thy Tyranny.   

III.  
Illnatured, churlish, illbred, thing,  
Who me amidst my Rapturous Joys,  
Dost with thy Cnecks of Conscience sting,  
Whose bitter all my sweet destroys.   

iv  
In vain some dreaming, thinking Fool,  
Would make thee o'er our Senses reign,  
And all our noble Passions rule,  
And constitute this Creature Man.   

V  
In vain some Dotard may pretend,  
Thou art our Torch to Happiness,  
To Happiness, which poor mankind  
As little know, as Paradise.   

VI  
At best, thou'rt but a glimmering Light,  
Which serves not to direct our way,  
But like the Moon confounds our sight,  
And only shows it is not day.   

VII.  
The Fool's the happiest of mankind  
Whom Tyrant thou dost ne'er control,  
No care disturbs his thoughtless Mind,  
Like night there's rest and darkness in his Soul.   

VIII.  
Nay even Brutes are far more blest  
Than wretched human kind:  
For they those Joys may freely taste,  
From which by Reason we're confined.    

COYNESS.  

I.  
NAY, I confess I should despise,  
A too too easy gotten prize,  
Be coy, be cruel yet a while,  
Nor grant one gracious look, or smile,  
Than every little grace from thee,  
Will seem a Heaven on Earth to me.   

II.  
If thou wouldst have me still love on  
With all the Flames I first begun,  
Than you must still as scornful be,  
For if you once but burn like me,  
My Flames will languish and be gone,  
Like Fire shined on by the Sun.   

III.  
All things that are obtained with ease,  
As soon as gotten we despise,  
Scarceness does much the value raise,  
For this we far fought Jewels prise,  
(For which o'er Seas the Merchant runs,)  
As worthless else as Pebble-stones.   

iv  
Be Prudent than, and have a care,  
Jest I surprise thee unaware,  
Let Pride and Scorn thy Guardians be,  
And a dissembled Modesty,  
That Curse by which poor womankind  
Are always forced to hid their mind.   

V  
Nor lay these arts too soon aside,  
In hopes your Lover fast is tied;  
For I have often an Angler seen,  
With over hast lose all again,  
When if the Fool had longer stayed,  
The harmless Fish had been betrayed.   

VI  
Things to perfection quickly grown,  
Do still decay and die as soon,  
My Love as yet imperfect is,  
And Born just like an Embryo dies.  
Thus early Flowers we often see,  
Just blossom forth than fade and dye.    

ODES out of CASIMIRE.  

ODE the 18th BOOK the 4th of CASIMIRE Paraphrastically Translated.  
To the ROSE with which he vowed to Crown the Virgin MARY with every June.  

I.  
FAir Rose, whom joyful Heaven does beget  
With seminal showrs, and Bridegroom heat:  
Whose shining leaves so flaming are.  
Thou seem'st thyself a very Star;  
Spring from Earth's Womb, thy lovely head display,  
And blush from thy bright East a Purple day.   

II.  
To welcome thee even Nature now does gilled  
With glittering Pride, each Bush and Field.  
Soft Gales from Heaven black Clouds do chase,  
And Golden Smiles sit on its face.  
The Winter's rage grows calm, and flies away;  
The West-winds sport, and clap their wings for Joy.   

III.  
Spring gentle Flower; and ask not whose bright Hair  
Shall thy gay, comely Hoeours wear:  
For thou whose blush speaks thee to be  
The Child of Virgin Modesty,  
Oughtest not alas! thy Beauties to bestow,  
On any common, or unhallowed Brow.   

iv  
Than Crown not more the profane Vulgar's Head,  
thou'rt fit to be on Altars laid.  
See how the sacred Virgin's Hair  
Flows loosely thro' the flowing Air;  
She sues by thy rich Purple to be Crowned,  
By thee she longs to have her Temples bound.    

Out of CASIMIRE.  
To QUINTUS TIBERINUS ODE the 34th BOOK the 4th.  

I.  
NOT— never think him truly rich, or great,  
Whose fertile soil and large Estate  
Far more luxurious Crops, and Har vests yields  
Than the most fruitful Eastern Fields;  
Thomas Fortune with rich Tides his Land overflows,  
And Golden Seeds for Grain in his bright Furrow sows.   

II.  
Nor him whose Birth, whose Arms, and Father's Name,  
Have made the Heir to wealth, and same:  
Whom Glory in her Chariot glittering bright  
With Golden rays, and gemmy light,  
Has born in Pomp, and a Triumphant show,  
Thro wondering cities, & all earth's vast kingdoms too.   

III.  
He's poor that wants himself, who proud to weigh  
Himself against his Vanity,  
He with his Titles, ponderous Bags and all  
His massy Gold can't turn the Scale;  
And though he adds his Lands, and whole Estate  
In his own lighter Scale, he can't make up the weight.   

iv  
He scarcely knows himself, and he seems great  
Only in his own vain conceit;  
Who, being puffed up with the false esteem  
The Giddy crowed bestow on him,  
Wonders to see his Size so monstrous made,  
In the Gygantick bulk of his own stalking shade,   

V  
Let no false glittering treasure cheat thy sight,  
With its deluding foolish light;  
Scorn swelling Titles without solid praise,  
Which nothing but Ambition raise.  
Like Boys thin Bubbles for a while they fly,  
They shine, look big, than burst and dye:  
Get thou true Wealth from Virtues of thy own,  
And learn thou to be Happy from thyself alone.    

CASIMIRE ODE the 25th BOOK the fourth.  
A Dialogue between the Child JESUS and the Virgin-Mother, taken partly out of the First, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Chapters of the Canticles.  

I.  
Child. OVirgin-Mother! fairer to behold  
Than Stars heavens glittering Diamonds are,  
Moore glorious than refulgent rays of Gold,  
Moore bright more clear than Crystal far,  
Moore pleasing than rich Scarlet to the sight,  
Moore fair than Lilies clod in Virgin white.   

II.  
Virgin. Dear Child, than Purple Hesperus more clear,  
Moore shining than the Midnight Moon,  
Lovelier than Meadows that Springs Livery wear,  
Moore radiant than the Sun at noon:  
A Sea of Milk does all thy Limbs o'erflow,  
And thou'rt more pure than Beds of Winter Snow.   

III.  
Child. Your sparkling eyes two Silver streams surpass,  
That near to Essebon do stray,  
Which when they long have bubl'd o'er the grass,  
And sported long in wanton play,  
Wonder to found their wandering Streams suppressed,  
To bounds confined, and hushed in calms of rest.   

iv  
Vorgin. Your shining Eyes as clear, and spotless look  
As two white Doves in Milk washed o'er,  
Which sit upon the Bank of some fair Brook,  
Or some transparent River's shore:  
Yet from those Balls of Snow bright flashes fly,  
Moore swift than Lightning darted from the Sky.   

V  
Child. Your comely Locks with circling glories deck  
The shaded Beauties of your Face,  
They add new whiteness to your snowy Neck,  
And with lose pride your Shoulders grace  
Like Gileads new-washt Fleeces they appear,  
But they with Sunbeams gilded are not so fair.   

VI  
Virgin. As some green Palm about whose flourishing head,  
It's verdant leaves for hair does grow,  
So round your Cheeks your golden Tresses spread,  
And down in Waves of Curls they flow;  
Like Raven's wings they shine which glissen bright,  
And cast a lustre from their very night.   

VII.  
Child. As from the Comb the Honey drops distil,  
So from your Lips words gently fall,  
With golden sweets the ravished Ear they fill,  
And shower down blessings upon all;  
Or like bride's long vail loosed from her hair,  
They dance and revel in the sportive air.   

VIII.  
Virgin. Within your mouth soft Accents gently glide,  
And in swollen tides of Nectar swim,  
Like generous Wine in a charged Bowls full tide,  
Which sparkling bright o'erlooks the brim:  
Your words are like fair Lilies when made wet,  
And all with liquid gems of Dew beset.   

IX.  
Child. Your two white Breasts may with twin-Roes compare,  
That in sweet beds of Flowers stray;  
And feeding on the Lilies, wanton there  
Till night shuts in declining day;  
Which now grown old, weary and panting lies,  
And all it's vital flames extinguished, dies.   

X.  
Virgin. Your Breasts more bright than purple Cluster show,  
Clusters that fruitful Cyprus bears,  
Or those that in Engaddus Vineyards grow,  
When crowned with Grapes its head appears:  
Those bunches of soft gems that load the Vine,  
Are not so beauteous as those Breasts of thine.   

XI.  
Child. Who looks upon your ruddy Cheeks may see,  
Such various lively Colours spread  
As blushing Apples show upon the tree,  
All painted gay with streaks of read:  
But in your Breast there heavenly Beauties lie,  
Too glorious to be seen by Mortal Eye.   

XII.  
Virgin. Who sees your face with wonder there shall view  
Borders of Flowers in order stand;  
Here Roses blow and palefaced Lilies too,  
All set by artful Nature's hand:  
And he that choicest Flowers, or Spices seeks,  
May have them in the Flourets of your Cheeks.   

XIII.  
Child. Who loves not thee his monstrous Breast is filled  
With more unhuman cruelty  
Than the most savage woods and deserts yield,  
Where Beasts on blood and slaughter prey:  
Fierce Tigers, Serpents, Bears and Panthers seem,  
All mild and gentle things compared to him.   

XIV.  
Virgin. Who loves not thee is more unconstant known  
Than fickle Gales of veering wind;  
He's more relentless than the Marble Stone,  
Deafer than Seas, and more unkind:  
The craggy Mountains raging fire and Sea  
Are not so rough, so mercyless as he.     

SONG Set by Dr. Blow.  

GO perjured man, and if thou  return  
To view the small Remainders of my Urn,  
When thou shalt laugh at my religious dust,  
And ask, where's now the Colour, Form and Trust  
Of women's Beauty, and perhaps with rude  
Hands riffle th' Flowers, which the Virgins strewed:  
Know I have prayed to pity, that the Wind  
May blow my Ashes up, and strike thee blind.   

Translated by the same HAND.  
I To exccrandis perside passibus,  
Vagumque retro si tuleris pedem,  
Visurus extremas pudendae  
Relliquias inimicus Vrnae:  
Si quando risu turbidus improbo  
Rectè monentem temnere pulverem  
Proclivis, Ornamenta quaeres  
Faemineae fugitiva formae;  
Fortè &, piarum munera virginum  
Flores, profanâ disiiccies manu,  
Huic sexui, Eheu! quam fugacis  
Imperii monumentum, & Omen:  
Vtar protervi vindiciis Noti,  
Vocabo & Euros, tu cineris breuì  
Ultoris insurgente nube,  
Perpetuam patiere noctem.   
T. B.   

The Extravagant. Written 1682.  
ODE.  

I.  
HOW quickly are Love's Pleasure's gone!  
How soon are all its mighty Triumphs done!  
In vain, Alas! do we the Banquet taste  
Whose Sweets as swift as Thought are past.  
In vain do we renew the Fight,  
Whom even the first Alarms do basely put to flight.   

II.  
Happy great Jove! who in Alcmena's Arms  
For three full Nights enjoyed Loves Charms,  
Nature turned Bawd her Monarch to obey,  
And pimping Darkness shut out Day;  
Whilst in vast joys the half-spent God did Sweated,  
Joys as his Lightning fierce, and as his Godhead great.   

III.  
Bravely begun! O had it mounted higher  
Fed still with vigorous thought, and fresh desire,  
Were I but Jove my boundless reign should prove  
But one continued Scene of Love:  
In Ecstasies would I dissolving jye,  
As long as all the mighty round of vast Eternity.   
T. B.   

A PARAPHRASE upon the XIIIth ODE in Horace Lib. 4. Audivere Lice &c:  

I  
LOng have my Prayers slow Heaven assailed,  
But thanks to all the Powers above  
That still revenge the cause of injured love,  
Lice at last they have prevailed:  
Now full amendss by Heaven is made,  
For who can Providence upbraid  
That sees thy former pride with hastened age repaid?   

II.  
thou'rt old, and yet by awkard ways dost strive  
Th' unwilling passion to revive,  
Dost dance, and drink, and teach thy Lyre,  
And all, to set some puny heart on fire:  
Alas! in Chloes Cheeks Love basking lies,  
Chloe great Beauties, fairest prize,  
Chloe that charms our Ears, and ravishes our Eyes.   

III.  
The vigorous Boy flies o'er the barren Plains  
Where sapless Oaks their withered Trunks extend.  
(For Love like other Gods disdains  
To grace the shrine that age has once profaned.)  
He too laughs at thee now  
Scorns thy grey Hairs, and wrinkled Brow,  
How should his youthful fires agreed with hoary age's snow?   

iv  
In vain with wondrous art, and mighty care  
You strive your ruin'd Beauty to repair,  
No far-fetched Silks one Minute can restore  
That time has added to the endless Score,  
And precious Stones, though ne'er so bright  
They shine with their own native light.  
Will but disgrace thee now, and but enhance thy night.   

V  
Ah! me where's now that mien! that face!  
That shape! that air! that every grace!  
That colour! whose enchanting read  
Me to Love's Tents a Captive led:  
Strange turn of Fate, that she  
Who from myself so often has stolen poor me,  
Now through the just revenge of time stolen from herself should be,   

VI  
Time was, when Lyce's powerful face  
To Phillis only gave the place,  
Perfect in all those little Tricks of Love,  
That charm the sense, and the quick fancy move.  
But Fate to Phillis a long Reign denied,  
She fell in all her blooming Beauty's pride,  
She conquered whilst she lived, and triumphed as she died.   

VII.  
Thou (like some old Commander in disgrace.)  
Surviving the past Conquests of thy face,  
Now the great business of thy life is done,  
Review'st with grief what Trophies thou hast won:  
Damned to be parched with Lust in frozen age,  
And though passed acti'n damned to keep the Stage.  
That all might laugh to see that glaring light  
Which lately shone so sierce, and bright,  
End with a Stink at last, and vanish into night.   
By T. B. of Ch. Ch.   

ODES paraphrased and Imitated.  

The XIIIth Chap. of Isaiah paraphrased.  
Pindaric ODE.  

I.  
BEhold, proud Babylon, with trembling fear  
Thy miseries and ruins drawing near:  
Thy Sins have roused the great Almighty one;  
And see the Harvest of his Fury's coming on.  
Behold his bore Arm terribly stretched out;  
His ponderous Sword is drawn, whose mighty weight  
Can crush the World, and make it yield to Fate;  
With fierce Revenge 'tis edged too for the fight,  
And from it comes a dismal light;  
Ruin and Destruction sit  
In Triumph on the paint of it.  
Lo! now his bloody Banner is displayed;  
What numerous Armies fly now to his aid?  
See how they leap for joy, and hark how terribly they shout.   

II.  
The Armies on the Mountains stand;  
And beckon to each other with the hand:  
And hark, methinks, I hear them say,  
Ho! noble Chiefs, let's march away,  
Let us (Heaven's Emp'ror's Host) sit down  
Before the boasted Walls of Babylon;  
Before their Nobles Gates; and there  
Let us consult to carry on the sacred War.  
Hither the Medes and Persians' all  
Come at their King's great call:  
By his unutterable Name they swear;  
That they no Age, no Sex, nor no Degree will spare.   

III.  
As some brave war-horse, when the Trumpets sound,  
Eager to be amongst his Foes, does bound,  
And with his Hoof paws up the ground,  
Than neighs about for joy to hear  
The clashing noise of Arms so near:  
So they're impatient to engage,  
To be the Scourges of Heaven's rage.  
Not all those Worthies, whose great deeds, and name  
Are Registered, that they may be  
A Pattern for Posterity,  
And wrote down in the Golden Rowls of Fame;  
Not Saul, and David, who did come  
From Helah's Plains in Triumph home;  
Can ever boast of more success,  
Or greater Battles to be won than these;  
Armies shall be o'ercome by them, and they  
Shall all their Thousands, and ten Thousands slay.   

iv  
Those many Plague's Heaven did on Egypt bring  
To punish a Proud stubborn King,  
Those Plauges shall be.  
Poured down on thee.  
Huge Troops of Locusts o'er their land did pass,  
Which eat up all their Corn and Grass;  
But these (O Babylon) shall yet do more,  
They shall thy Fruit, thy Corn, and thee and all devour.  
Thick darkness to be felt was there,  
And no lesle darkness shall be here.  
Th' Egyptian Host was drowned too in the Flood;  
And all thy Princes, all thy Pomp, and State,  
With them in this shall share an equal Fate;  
For they too shall be drowned in a Red-Sea of Blood.   

V  
What dismal shouts th' affrighted Air do fill,  
And from the Mountains they grow louder still,  
Like those when routed Armies fly,  
And all with one united voice proclaim their Victory.  
Lo! the World's Gen'ral comes, and from afar  
He brings with him his mighty men, and instruments of War;  
Drawn by the winds now down he flies,  
Moore swift than his own lightning from the skies.  
And in a Chariot of thick Clouds does ride,  
By Angels guarded on each side;  
A rapid Tempest drives along before,  
A rolling Sea of Thunder, whose loud Billows roar;  
All to proclaim his coming, and triumphant power.   

VI  
Thus armed with th' Weapons of his wrath,  
And indignation he's come forth.  
All to the Gen'ral Muster now repair;  
The Lord of Hosts commands them to be there;  
And first he views their order well, and than  
Draws in Battalions up his men,  
Sets every Troop and File aright,  
And thus prepares them for the Fight:  
Before him all his Chiefs their valour try,  
Their skill in Arms, and arts of Chivalry:  
And what may not such Armies do,  
Commanded thus by God, and by him thus instructed too?   

VII.  
When troubled Nature hears this dreadful noise,  
And roaring Thunder of th' almighty's voice;  
With terror struck, she than shall stand aghast:  
The reeling Earth for fear shall quake,  
And its dear Centre than forsake:  
The loosened Centre too itself shall shake:  
Earth on all the wings of fear shall fly as fast,  
〈◊〉 swift Roe, when by the Hounds he's chased,  
●…d she shall think those Pangs she feels, her last.  
●…e Heavens startled at this dreadful show,  
Shall shrink for fear and tremble too:  
And strange confusions shall be hurled  
Thro Earth, Thro Heaven, and all the world.  
Blind Night shall now mistake her way,  
And meet the Rising Sun half way;  
And all his Purple Majesty of Morning light  
Shall shrouded be in solid, and substantial night.  
The Moon for want of borrowed Rays shall be out,  
A blotted Orb of dark obscurity.  
Those Lamps, that gild the night, shall be blown  
In darkness lose their way, in darkness wander all about.   

VIII.  
This day of Terror now shall quickly come.  
Prepare, cursed City, to receive thy Doom;  
With fierce wrath burning see the Lord  
Brandishes o'er thy head his Sword;  
See how he now lifts up his hand  
To ruin and destroy the guilty Land:  
Each stroke of his vast slaughters shall bestow,  
And swift destruction shall attend the blow.  
In vain shall all thy Armies fight:  
In vain shalt thou attempt thy flight,  
In vain thy Stratagems shalt use,  
When Vengeance, and an angry God pursues.   

IX.  
Thy great Gygantick Sons of pride,  
Who have both Heaven and Earth defied,  
Who on Ambition's towering Wings  
Did soar above the height of all Earth's vassal Kings;  
To whose commanding Sceptres sway  
The tributary World did Homage pay,  
Like lesser Rivers to the boundless Sea;  
Thy terrible, and men of might,  
Whose names but mentioned, distant Lands could fright;  
Who on the Necks of their slain Enemies,  
And slaughtered Monarches to the thrones did rise,  
Shall be from all their glories tumbled down,  
And on the Earth regardlessly be thrown;  
But in their fall they shall be mangled so,  
No one thy Kings from common Slaves shall know,  
Their Royal Blood mixed with base Slaves shall undistinguished flow.   

X.  
Thy ' Inhabitants in every dismal Street  
Triumphant Grief in sullen Pomp shall meet;  
Vast Floods of Sorrow shall encompass them about,  
And they in vain shall struggle to get out;  
Their Souls shall melt away in fear,  
And Childbed Pangs their labouring Breasts shall tear,  
Their strength shall languish and decay,  
And they shall swoon and faint away.  
The rest fixed with amaze,  
Shall on each other wildly gaze;  
Their faces than shall seem to burn with shame,  
And with hot glowing blushes kindle to a flame.  
At these Al'arms thy Strangers all shall run  
From thy cursed Walls the threatening Plagues to eat,  
And the black gathering Tempests rolling on.  
And those, that there behind remain,  
Shall serve but to augment the number of the slain.   

XI.  
In vain shall neighbouring Kings with them combine,  
And their auxiliary Forces join,  
For all by the impartial Sword shall fall,  
And all the land be made one grave, and they one funeral.  
The Medes to thy barred Gates shall go;  
A numerous, powerful, and resentless Foe,  
And thy strong Forts, thy Walls, and Bulwarks over throw.  
Not those rich births the Sun did  beget,  
Hatched by his active genial heat,  
Not Ophir Gold with its bewitching charms  
Shall bribe them to lay down their Arms,  
Or have the power to save  
The meanest Vassal's Blood, or vilest slave:  
They every Spring of life shall drain,  
Shall suck up the last drop, and drink up every vein  
Thy glittering wealth shall not delight their eyes;  
They shall confounded both that, and thee, and both alike despise.   

XII.  
Than Fate with Carcases shall pave thy ways,  
And Mountains of piled deaths, high as thy towers, shall raise.  
To none thy cruel Foes shall Quarter give,  
Their crime deserves death now who dare to live.  
Even newborn Infants shall no pity found,  
Their deaf inexorable Ear  
Shall not their tender cries, or Mother's Prayers hear:  
If they give quick dispatch, they'll think they're kind.  
Their helpless Mothers shall stand by,  
And see their Children on the Pavement thrown,  
Battered, and mangled on the flinty Stone;  
Where they drowned in their blood shall sprawling lie.   

XIII.  
Nor shall thy very houses be secure,  
They shall their wild revengeful rage endure.  
Of thy choice Richeses they shall havoc make,  
And all thy Wealth, as their free Plunder, take:  
Thus those vast sums, for which thou long didst toil,  
Shall be the Soldiers cheap and easy spoil.  
And after all when they rich Cates and Wines  
Have with hot lust inflamed their swelling Veins.  
Than to augment thy grief and fresh disgrace  
Thy wives shall ravished be before their husband's face.  
Yet when 've quenched their lustful fire,  
Their fury still shall flame the higher;  
For than they shall rip up their teeming Womb,  
And cruelly paint o'er  
The Embryo with his Mother's gore,  
And expiate thus with blood, what they defiled before.  
The place that should give life shall give a Tomb,  
And they shall kill succeeding ages yet to come.   

XIV.  
Thus the proud City in which Kingdoms boast,  
And Chaldee Monarches glory most;  
Which more refulgent now appear,  
To lesser Towns and Cities round,  
Than Cynthia 'mongst the vanquished Stars,  
When that bright Empress of the night  
Dazzles in her full Orb, and rich majestic robes of light,  
And with the Golden Sunbeams set with Gems of Stars she's crowned.  
Even she and all her Palaces which rise so high,  
They seem to touch the neighbouring Sky,  
Shall levelled with the Earth in their own ruins buried lie,  
Like Sodom, or Gomorah's lustful Town,  
When Heaven reigned showers of Fire to burn it down;  
An empty desolation shall embrace  
The uninhabited and desert place:  
An emptiness as great as that  
On which old Primitive nothing brooding sat,  
And all things from its fruitful Womb begat.   

XV.  
Not gentle Shepherd here shall keep  
His tender Flocks, or feed his Sheep;  
No wandering Arabians hear  
Their numerous Streets of Tents shall rear,  
Upon the unfrequented Plain;  
And to a City so restored again.  
Nothing here shall ever stay  
But obscene Birds and Beasts of prey.  
The Lion, their stern Morarch shall possess,  
And Reign in thy gilt Palaces,  
O'er all his savage Subjects of the wilderness.  
The Satyrs here shall dance for joy to see  
The Relics of thy misery.  
Fierce Dragons and Night-ravens here shall devil;  
But no one's death by dismal croaks fortel:  
With hid eous scrietches the foreboding Owl  
Shall fill each house, and Wolves in every street shall howl.    

ODE the 15th of the First BOOK of CASIMIRE imitated, encouraging the Polish Knights after their last Conquests to proceed in their Victory.  

I.  
BElieve, ye after ages yet to come,  
Believe the mighty Conquest won.  
John! the mighty Conquest's won, and we  
Have purchased a triumphant Victory.  
The Turks they fly now basely all,  
Their scattered Troops ignobly fall;  
Gasping they beg your fatal Arms to cease,  
And with their Blood they bargain for a Peace.   

II.  
What trembling fear did through their Army spread;  
And winged with fear how swift they fled,  
When our great King in Honours noble race  
Before him did their flying Heroes chase  
Like Jove he than his Thunder threw,  
And killed whole Myriads as they flew.  
Terribly bright his Sword, like Lightning, kills;  
And numerous deaths increase the neighbouring Hills.   

III.  
What great amazements now the Tartars seize;  
One faints for fear, another dies.  
The cruel Tartars, which no pity knew,  
On bended knees did now for pity sue;  
When they beheld the Danube's Flood  
Rowl down in Tides of their own Blood;  
And how the Bospher to the Ocean fled,  
In blushing streams to hid his Captive head.   

iv  
When they saw all their Chiefs, their men of War,  
And Janissaries fly for fear;  
Whilst they beneath their sheltering Arms did bow,  
And strove now only to defend the blow;  
They could not now their Spears command,  
They dropped from their weak trembling hand.  
So meaner Beasts of Prey to Lions yield,  
And leave the Spoil and Trophies of the Field.   

V  
When Buda, Gran, and every Fortress near  
Of their inglorious flight did hear,  
The noise of Arms, and groans of dying Men;  
Their fresh disgrace they echoed back again.  
When the sad news Byzantium knew,  
The great Byzantium trembled too;  
It's lofty towers now seemed to rock with fear,  
As if our King played all his Thunder there.   

VI  
Shall we thus crowned with Laurels and success.  
Lie all dissolved in sloth and ease?  
Have we in vain with our Blood Honours bought?  
In vain for future ages glories sought?  
Shall our example sloth created,  
And make our Sons degenerate?  
Our sprightly youth useless in War become,  
And sleep in peace and slavery at home.   

VII.  
Alas 'twill be a most upbraiding shame  
(A hated truth I'd blush to name)  
To see that sprightly fire and generous heat  
(Which did our great Fore fathers animate)  
In us to languish and decay,  
In us to dye and faint away:  
And all their Warlike rage in us to waste,  
And every age grow worse still than the last.   

VIII.  
Or let us (who in all the Glories share,  
Our Ancestors e'er got in War)  
Pull down the Trophies in our Temples hung;  
(For which we lately To Paean! sung)  
Th' Imperial Flag (which our great King  
Late from the Turkish Camp did bring)  
The Arms, the Swords, the Helmets and rich spoil,  
The just rewards of our great Leaders toil.   

IX.  
Let us pull down all those bright Arms, that be  
Our Monuments of Victory,  
And sacred Statues, which the likeness give  
Of our great Fathers, in which still they live;  
And let us all their Honours raze,  
And burn the Records of their praise;  
Lest even their Images should blush to know  
A Race so much unlike themselves, as you.   

X.  
Or if we hope our Glories to increase,  
And would not live in lazy Peace;  
With sacred Oaths let's in a League combine;  
With brave Lorraine and Staremburg let's join;  
And let us once again act o'er,  
Those Triumphs we obtained before;  
Whilst the cursed Infidels to make it good,  
Shall Seal and shall Cement it with their Blood.   

XI.  
O mighty Prince of everlasting Fame,  
Whom Kings and Emp'rors' joy to name,  
Whom Glory on fwift Wings to Heaven bears,  
And fixes thy bright Praise amongst the Stars:  
Thou Bulwark of the Germane Throne,  
Thou Pride and Glory of thy own:  
Stop thou not here, but as thou hast begun,  
To greater Conquests lead thine Armies on.   

XII.  
March thro' thick Groves of Spears with thy drawn Sword,  
And to quick Victory give the word,  
And let thy Glutton Blade (which twice before,  
Has been made drunk with Turkish Heroe's gore)  
Be nobly the third time embrued  
In a vast Sea of Turkish Blood;  
And with thy Troops pull the proud Sultan down,  
Thomas Mahumet should stand to guard his Throne.    

A Fragment out of Catullus to Lesbian.  

HAppy the man! thrice happy he  
And equal to a Deity,  
He, if it sounds not too too odd,  
Is greater far than any God;  
Who sits and hears, and sees you, while  
You sweetly speak, and sweetly smile.  
As soon as I my Lesbian see  
My Senses all depart from me.  
Nothing about me is secure,  
From Love's and Lesbia's mighty power.  
My faltering Tongue now cannot speak;  
My Heart swells up as it would break,  
Each Vein is with her love possessed,  
And gentle Flames glide thro' my Breast,  
My Ears ring with a fancied noise,  
My Soul faints with excessive joy,  
My swimming Eyes grown dull of sight,  
Are clouded with a double Night.  
Thy Sloth has done this injury,  
Catullus it has ruin'd thee.  
Too much you wanton in soft ease,  
And that, alas! too much does please.  
'Twas Sloth rich Cities first o'erthrew  
Destroyed both Kings and Empires too.    

CASIMIRE Ode the 23d Book the 4 th'. To the Grasshopper.  

I.  
Blessed Epicure of Race Divine,  
Who, drunk with Heavens dewy Wine,  
On some cool shady Tree dost sit,  
And sing upon the top of it;  
Whilst with the cheerful Music of thy voice  
Thou makest thyself, and silent Woods rejoice.   

II.  
Now since the tedious Winter's past,  
And welcome Summer's come at last  
(Which with swift Wheels still hurries on,  
And still is eager to be gone)  
Chide the Sun's haste, with mirth the day prolong,  
Make Phoebus stop his course to hear thy Song.   

III.  
As the most happy glorious day  
Just brings itself, and shows us joy,  
So bliss but smiles on us, and than  
Snatches its self away again:  
Our empty joys too fleeting still appear,  
But solid griefs too long and tedious are.     

EPIGRAMS Imitated.  

Out of MARTIAL Book the 3d Epig. 33d imitated.  

FOR God's sake tell me what bold confidence  
Does draw you up to Town, Dear Friend; from hence?  
Let not vain hopes your better sense deceive;  
If you'll go, tell me how you hope to live.  
O Sir, you cry, I in the Laws will trade,  
And eloquent as W— Causes pled;  
Nor shall the notedst Gown with me compare  
At Doctor's Commons, or at Westminster,  
The Courts of Chanc'ry, or the King's Bench-bar.  
F— and T— both did Causes pled,  
Yet they, you know, could scarcely get their Bread;  
Now they, like common Rogues, are forced to ply  
In Temple Walks and trade in Perjury.  
Well Sir you say, if this thing does not hit,  
I'll Poetize and be a man of Wit;  
The lofty Verses which from me you hear  
With wonder you'll applaud yourself, and swear  
That they as good as L— s or D—s are.  
heavens Sir you rave, you talk so madly now:  
Those tattered things which out at Elbows go;  
Which wait for Scraps and Coach-room at Whitehall,  
Are Spencer's, Cowleys, L— s and D—ns all.  
Pray than advice, how I my course may Steer,  
For I am now resolved to settle there.  
Why, Sir, if you're that strange unheard of thing,  
True to your Country's cause, your God, and King;  
You by some Miracle perchance may thrive;  
And by strange luck may make a shift to live.    

An Epig. out of MARTIAL imitated Book the 3d, Epig. 54.  

SIR Fopling, you're a man of Fashion grown;  
The most accomplished Blade in all the Town:  
'Tis all the Ladies talk; but tell me this;  
What a fine man of Mode and Fashion is.  
'Tis he that's all the morning at the Glass,  
To put each Curl in its most proper place,  
And in affected forms to set his Face.  
That smells of Essence, and the best perfume,  
Which does from India or Arabia come.  
That when one speaks (as if he did not hear)  
Hums o'er some wanton Song, or modish Air.  
That Legs and Arms in various postures throws;  
And seems to dance at every step he goes.  
That sits among the women in the Pit,  
And that he may be thought a man of Wit;  
He whispers to the next as to a Friend,  
Than in loud laughter does his whispering end.  
That reads and writes Love-letters to and from,  
And does each Gallants Wench and Mistress know.  
Who, though unbidden, is a constant guest,  
At every Mask, at every Treat, and Feast,  
But sits in pain for fear the next should stir,  
And so displace his dress or Garniture.  
Who knows New Market breed so well, that he  
Can tell you Jack-a-Dandy's Pedigree;  
And down from long descent pretends to trace  
The famous Swallows or fleet Dragon's Race.  
How Sir? what's this you say? is this Buffoon  
Admired so for a Spark throughout the Town?  
Believe me Sir, on Earth there cannot be  
A more ridiculous trifling thing than he.    

CATULLUS EPIG. 3d.  

YE Graces weep, weep all that's fair,  
Ye Loves and Cupids shed a tear,  
Weep every beauteous Youth and Maid;  
My Lesbia's pretty Sparrow's dead,  
Her joy, delight, which she did prize,  
And love more dear than her own Eyes;  
For 'twas a lov'ly wretch, and sweet,  
As ever Woman fancied yet.  
Not better knew my charming Dear  
Her mother, than this Sparrow her.  
Always in Lesbia's Lap it laid,  
And there it hoped about and played;  
Still to my Love it chirped alone,  
But now alas, alas, 'tis gone;  
And takes its everlasting flight  
To the black shades of endless Night;  
Whence nothing, when by death 'tis slain,  
Can ever make return again.  
Ye cursed shades; may no weak Ray  
Cheer you with dawning hopes of day.  
Which devour first and prey upon  
All that's lovely, fair, and young:  
O cruel Fates! what have you done!  
Alas poor Sparrow thou art gone;  
And Lesbia's swollen Eyes look read  
With weeping for thee now thou'rt dead.     

FRAGMENTS Imitated out of PETRONIUS.  

A Fragment out of PETRONIUS Imitated, beginning Thus— Non est, falleris etc.  

YOu're mightily deceived, I swear,  
And mightily (Dear Friend) you err;  
Wretched's that State, in which you guests  
Alone consists life's happiness.  
'Tis not your proud hands to behold  
glittering with Diamonds set in Gold,  
Nor, like an Emp'ror's Miss, to wear  
A Nations value in your Ear,  
Nor all those trifles to receive,  
That the Exchange or Mint can give;  
With all the shining toys, and cost,  
That wealth Lombardstreet can boast;  
Nor is't, like Popes, ourselves to please  
With Holy Luxury, and ease,  
Nor stretched in sloth to lie upon,  
And sink into soft Beds of Down.  
Nor, in great Pomp, to sit at Meat  
In an Embroidered Chair of State,  
And quaff rich Wines from Golden Plate.  
Nor is't to have our Tables groan  
Beneath the costly load thereon  
Of Foul, Ragousts, and Fricasees,  
And all those French varieties,  
Or Kickshaws of the noblest Feast,  
By Locket, or by Lumly dressed.  
Nor to possess all the rich store  
That our East-India Fleet brings o'er.  
But 'tis to have a Conscience  
Guarded with spotless Innocence;  
And with bold courage to advance  
Against the Shock of adverse chance;  
And not, as M— did, to go  
Amongst the dirty crowd, and bow  
On both sides popularly low.  
And not to be with fear possessed,  
Thomas a Sword's drawn against your Breast.  
The happy man that thus can be,  
In spite of Fate, from danger free,  
From fear, and mere Hypocrisy,  
He may despise, and laugh in sport  
At the Intrigues of State, and Court;  
He at command may Fortune have,  
And make her serve him as his slave.    

On Woman's Levity. A Fragment out of PETRONIUS.  

TRust thou thy Ship to Sea, and Wind,  
But not thyself to Womankind;  
For the unconstant Wind, and Sea,  
Are Faithfuller by far than they.  
All Maids are treacherous in their love,  
And if by chance one constant prove,  
I know not how she e'er could be  
Made constant from Inconstancy.    

A Fragment out of PETRONIUS imitated, beginning Candida sidereiss etc.  
TO his Mistress.  

YOU, fair Cosmelia, have two burning Eyes,  
From which as from two Stars bright slames arise;  
Your Neck with odorous sweets of Roses flows;  
Your shining Hair more wealth than Gold bestows,  
Your sweet delicious Lips are overspread,  
Like young Aurora's, with a Purple read;  
In various wantonness each branching vein  
Does your white Breasts with blue Meander's stain;  
Beauty itself, youth, smiles, and every Grace  
Do all pay Tribute to your heavenly Face;  
A dazzling Goddesses bright form you show,  
The Queen of Beauty yields herself to you;  
Your Hand as made with Silver, does appear;  
Your graceful Fingers long, and slender are;  
Your pretty Foot does ever tread upon  
A shining Floor of polished Marble Stone;  
Nor should ignoble Stones, or common Street  
Hurt, or profane Cosmelia's sacred Feet;  
When you among the Beds of Lilies stray,  
Their leaves drop down as proud to strew your way;  
Whilst, like Camilla, over them you pass  
Leaving no print upon the Flowers, or Grass:  
Let others with rich Gems, and Pendents deck  
And Necklaces of Pearl their head, and neck;  
You only, Dearest, can attract mine Eyes  
When rifled of those shining vanities.  
All who view your Perfections, grant you be  
As much above their Praise, as Flattery.  
The Muses, and the Sirens cease their Song  
At the soft Music of your charming Tongue;  
From which increasing sweets do ever flow;  
And my poor panting Soul you ravish so,  
That to your wretched slave you cruel prove,  
And dart at him a Thousand shafts of Love.  
A raging flame feeds on my wounded heart,  
And 'tis incurable by Surgeon's art:  
But one kiss from your Lips, on mine impressed,  
Can banish these fierce tortures from my Breast;  
This healing Medicine can my griefs control,  
And cure the sad distempers of my Soul.  
Let not your Face such kill fierceness wear;  
Ah! do not thus my Nerves in pieces tear;  
Nor let my Tomb, when I am dead, complain,  
That I was by my Dear's unkindness slain.  
But if you think this Boon too great to grant  
To me your slave, and humble suppliant,  
Yet grant me this, that when I breathless lie,  
Killed with the murdering Lightning of your Eye,  
You would in your white Arms embrace me than;  
And so restore me to my life again.    

A Fragment out of PETRONIUS imitated, beginning Thus— Quisquis habet nummos etc.  

THE wealth Lord thro' Storms at Court may sail  
Into Preferment with a prosperous gale.  
On Honour's gilded Pinnacles may stand,  
And have the world, and Fortune at command;  
He by his tempting Golds all mighty charms  
Can bring a Queen, or Princess to his Arms;  
And bribe her Father, though a King, like Jove  
With a bright shower of Gold to grant his love.  
He can be Lord-Chief Justice, Counsellor,  
Can grace the Pulpit, and adorn the Bar,  
And foil the greatest Rook at Westminster.  
He with nice art the choicest Verse can writ,  
Can baffle D— and the men of Wit:  
The Matchless C—ly, and Great W—er seem  
Rude, and unpolisht, when compared to him.  
If you have Wealth you may do what you please,  
The Judge, or Priest your awful Nod obeys,  
All straight your skill, and mighty learning own  
And you're a St— t, or Pemberton.  
All things obey your Gold, and you may have  
What e'er your wanton thoughts, or wishes crave.  
You of all power, and Grandeur are possessed,  
Have Heaven, and Jove himself too in your Chest.     

VERSES on several Occasions.  

Love in a Trance.  
SONG.  

I.  
BEneath a dark and lonely shade,  
In a remote, and silent Grove,  
(A secret place by Nature made  
For Novices to practice Love:)  
Young Corydon brought Cloris here  
To walk with him, and take the Air.  
Chorus. The God of Love stood by, and saw,  
And smiling laughed out Ha-Ha-Ha.   

II.  
But as they walked the Shepherd said  
Shall I request one thing of you,  
Tell me (dear Cloris! charming Maid)  
Ah! tell me if you love me now;  
If you say not, than know that I  
Your faithful Corydon will dye.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

III.  
Quick blushes on her Cheeks did rise,  
Tumultuous joys heaved up her Breast,  
Her flaming Soul flashed thro' her Eyes,  
And she in smiles her love confessed;  
Says she so may you still prove true,  
As I love you, and only you.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

iv  
The Youth thus rap't in hopes of bliss,  
Did gently squeeze her hand, and than  
He gave the willing Maid a Kiss,  
Which kindly she restored again;  
Than hand in hand they walked along,  
And sung with mutual strife this Song.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

V  
Corydon.  
O my dear Cloris, far more fair,  
Than Virgin Lilies newly blown,  
Moore sweet than flowery Meadows are,  
And softer than young Swans first Down;  
Moore bright, more smooth than any Glass,  
Thou dost all Womankind surpass.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

VI  
Cloris.  
Strong as you ' Mountain thou art found,  
As high, and lofty is thy head,  
And like the Wood, with which 'tis crowned,  
Thy Hair does round about it spread:  
Yet soft, and gentle is thy Mind,  
And thou surpassest all Mankind.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

VII.  
Corydon.  
My Cloris is the joy of Swains,  
Her Sex's Envy, and its pride,  
The prize, and contest of the Plains,  
And wonder of the Towns beside:  
Was fair O Enone here again,  
And loved me now, she'd love in vain.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

VIII.  
Cloris.  
Young Corydon is sleek, and gay,  
Yet makes the sturdiest She pherds quake,  
Corydon's Lord of every May,  
And wins the Garland every Wake;  
Nor would I leave my charming Boy  
For Shepherd Paris, and his Troy.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

IX.  
Corydon.  
I, my fair Cloris, have for you  
A pretty Lamb-kin in my Fold,  
Ripe Apples, Plums, and Chestnuts too,  
And Grapes, with Purple streaked, and Gold,  
With Curds, and New-milk from the Cow;  
And I have kept it all for you.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

X.  
Cloris.  
I have a Pipe that's neatly made,  
Which out of Six more was my choice,  
On which sweet Lays Menalcas played,  
But not so sweet as is your voice;  
This, and a Crook, the Swain gave me  
But 've preserved them both for thee.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XI.  
Scarce this the Shepherdess had said,  
But the Swain clasped her round the Waste;  
Kisses sweet interruptions made,  
Whilst they in eager arms embraced,  
And their Lips to each others fixed  
Ten Thousand, Thousand Kisses mixed,  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XII.  
Than down they sat upon the Grass,  
Where Boughs did meet so thick above,  
The Sun's Rays could not thro' them pass,  
Nor with one gleam molest their love;  
And here they toyed, whilst Cloris made  
A Chaplet for her Lover's head.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XIII.  
Thus, like the two first Lovers they,  
(Yet free from guilt or an offence)  
On odorous Banks of Flowers lay  
In their first state of Innocence,  
But Love the subtle Serpent played,  
And both their Innocence betrayed.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XIV.  
Their Lips still joined, like billing Doves,  
With ardent breathe of desire,  
They secretly inflamed their love,  
And set each others heart on fire.  
Their passion's such, that you would swear  
Like Doves too they'd engender there.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XV.  
Shepherd (says she) what would you do?  
Ah! what a cruel kindness this is,  
O Cory-Corydon I vow  
You'll stifle me anon with Kisses;  
O fie let go, O fie (says she)  
By Pan I think you'll murder me.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XVI.  
Cease or I'll scratch, and tear your hair,  
've bit my Lip you naughty Swain,  
One balmy Kiss (says he) my Dear  
Will healed, and make it well again;  
With that he pressed her Lips once more,  
And cured the wound he made before.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XVII.  
Cupid at this well pleased, crept nigher,  
And whispering in his Ear, he said,  
‛ With equal flames I'll both inspire,  
‛ Be valiant, and attack the Maid,  
And as they talked of future joy,  
He grew more bold, and she lesle coy.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XVIII.  
But struggling long the Nymph by chance,  
Or else by mighty love o'repow'red,  
Upon the place fell in a Trance,  
Where greedy he his Prey devoured;  
And now his wanton hand does rove  
Thro hidden Labyrinths of Love.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XIX.  
At last, he love's soft Altar seized,  
The Mine where endless treasures grow,  
‛ Where Rage is tamed, and Anger pleased,  
Whence Tides of living Pleasures flow;  
And whilst by Love entranced she lies  
The youth performs the Sacrifice.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XX.  
When Sense returned again (says she)  
In what a Heaven of bliss 've been,  
What raptures did attend on me!  
What Visionary joys 've seen!  
Heaven cannot with those joys compare,  
For methoughts Corydon was there.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XXI.  
They had not ceased from Duty long,  
But they with fiercer flames did burn;  
Their rising passion grew more strong,  
And violent Fits of Love return;  
And as their heaving Breasts they swell,  
Into a Trance again she fell.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XXII.  
Thus rap't in joys, and Ecstasy,  
Thrice did they raise each others Charms,  
Thrice did they languish, thrice did die,  
Circled in one another's Arms:  
And thrice more was the Nymph inclined  
Had he been stout as she was kind.  
Cho. The God of Love, etc.   

XXIII.  
But as back to their Flock they went,  
A Purple Blush her Cheeks did die,  
Yet both were pleased, she innocent,  
For though she blushed, she knew not why,  
Than at Love's Shrine they vowed to pay  
Such joyful Offerings every day.  
Chorus. The God of Love stood by, and Jaw,  
And smiling laughed out Ha-Ha-Ha.    

The VIOLET.  

I.  
HAil! infant Flower! heavens chiefest care,  
Darling of all the Groves, and Woods,  
Moore Beautiful, more sweet, more fair  
Than all their gaudy Flowers, and Buds.  
Thou spring's soft joy, mankind's delight,  
Clothed in gay Purple Robes of light.  
On whom (as Phoebus does his Progress take,  
And all the Earth one painted Landscape make,  
His Pencil does nice strokes impart  
Of double care, and double art;  
And on thee nobler Colours does bestow,  
Than those with which he paints his heavenly Bow.   

II.  
Hail thou the Springs first Purple Morn,  
Thou Bright Aurora of its East,  
That dost the rising year adorn,  
In thy rich Princely Honours dressed;  
And when thy teeming Mother Earth,  
Gives thee her little Infant Birth,  
She feels no Pangs though labouring all the while,  
But at the sight of thee gins to smile:  
She smiles, and all the Trees around,  
And Earth with Buds, and Grass are crowned,  
Brooks murmur out their joy, the Birds they sing  
To welcome thee, the Goddess of the Spring.   

III.  
Now Western Gales begin to sport,  
And am'rously about thee move,  
And thee with tender voice they Court,  
And in soft sighs they whisper love,  
Than, as they Kiss in wanton play,  
Increasing Sweets they bring away;  
Which thence upon their downy Wings they bear,  
And all along perfume the circling Air.  
And when with their sweet prize they come  
On joyful Wings, in Triumph, home,  
Young, new-fledged Winds, lured with those sweets, fly out,  
And with them, to embrace thee, roam about.   

iv  
Whence! Nature's Pregnant wonder whence!  
Hadst thou these various Treasures! tell;  
That thus thou shouldst delight each sense,  
The taste, the touch, the sight, and smell.  
What would not Monarches give to be  
Changed to the Happy shape of thee?  
When thee each Grace, and every Nypmh does wear  
In Chaplets bound about their Fragrant Hair.  
Fair Maids (and sure there's naught so gay  
Besides thy Beauteous self, as they)  
Treasure thee in their Breasts, and think they are  
Never so charming, as when thou art there.   

V  
Nor is it wonder this kind Flower  
Should to the fair propitious prove,  
That it should have a Soureign power  
O'er Woman's Beauty, and our love:  
For when kind Venus strove to shield  
Her Son Aeneas in the Field,  
She from a Grecian Spear received a wound;  
And as the Purple shower dropped on the ground,  
Immediately the precious Juice  
This pretty Infant did produce;  
And ever since upon this Flower remains,  
The Noble Die she gave it from her Veins.   

VI  
And as all Beauty, and each Grace;  
In all their Strength, and Charms are seen  
In Cytheraea's lovely Face,  
And justly style her Beauty's Queen;  
So in this Flower alone does meet  
All that's lovely, fair, or sweet.  
When Jess'mine, and the Woodbine near thee grows,  
They all their Sweets, and all their Beauties lose:  
That they to thee may Homage pay,  
They breathe their Fragrant Souls away.  
All Flowers to thee, all Sweets, and Perfumes yield,  
The little Purple Monarch of the Field.    

Resolved to Obtain.  

DEar, I have suffered much, 'tis true,  
Yet I will suffer more for you;  
For what would not a Lover bear,  
For one so good, so young, so fair.  
Jacob served seven Years Slavery  
For one lesle Beautiful than thee;  
And after all his Bondage past,  
Leah was his Reward at last:  
I twice seven Years will be a Slave,  
May I with him my Rachel have,  
Often have I born (my Soul) you know  
The Thunder of your angry Brow;  
And ah! how often 've made me dye,  
With the fierce Lightning of your Eye.  
‛ Which like a Porcupine does dart  
HE Thousand Shafts from every part.  
You often, to augment my pain,  
Have looked on me with cold disdain,  
Nor would you my Addresses hear.  
But bade me languish in despair,  
But than you straight unlocked your Charms,  
And took my Rival to your Arms,  
And this too well you knew would be  
Ten Thousand Thousand deaths to me.  
If all the wracks which I have born,  
If all your disrespect, and scorn,  
If all I've felt be not enough,  
To make me yet deserve your love;  
Dear Madam, if you can invent  
Some greater witty'r punishment;  
Command me what you please to do,  
All wracks and plagues to undergo,  
And I will suffer all for you.  
Love above Sense or Reason flies,  
Knows no Impossibilities.  
Perhaps some dull Fools there may be,  
Who could call this mere Tyranny,  
Who Nature's Salic Law maintain,  
And speak against a Woman's Reign,  
And ask me how I can endure  
To fry thus in Love's Calenture.  
Ignorant Fools! they little guests  
This is the way to Happiness.  
Thus suffering Saints to Heaven come  
Thro Tortures, Flames and Martyrdom.  
And thus that Indian Prince is known  
Best to deserve the dear bought Crown,  
Who at his Tort'rings flinches least,  
And bears his cruel sufferings best:  
Thus I at length, in spite of Fate,  
And all my Rivals will be great,  
And the triumphant Monarch prove  
Of the rich Empire of your Love.     

Several ELEGIES out of the First and Third Book of Ovid's AMOUR'S Imitated, and Paraphrased.  

ELEGY the 9 th', BOOK the 1st.  
To ATTICUS: that a Lover and a Soldier aught not be Idle.  

BElieve me Friend, all Lovers Soldiers are,  
For Cupid has his Tents, and Lovers War.  
The self same age is fit for War, and Love,  
Youth does the Warrior, and Gallant approve.  
The Soldier with the fumbling Lover grows,  
When age comes on, alike ridiculous,  
The vigorous youth, the strength, and sprightly fire  
In a stout Soldier Captains would require,  
A Lady does in her Gallant desire:  
An equal place of rest to both is found,  
Their cold uneasy Bed is on the ground;  
Both rise up early, and both sit up late,  
Both stand as Sentinels by equal Fate,  
This at his Captain's Tent, that at his Lady's Gate.  
The Soldier, if his Leader but commands,  
With toil does march to the remotest Lands:  
And when a Mistress from her Lover's gone,  
He'll take his journey for her with the Sun;  
Sad and unwearied still he'll roam about,  
Till he has found his dearest Treasure out.  
A Lover, like Hannibal, will cut his way  
Thro Mountains, Alps of Snow, and deepest Sea,  
Thomas storms of Rain, and Wind swell up the Waves,  
And all the Billows seem so many Graves;  
When he a Voyage makes to see his Dear,  
He does no Wind, nor Sea, nor Planet fear,  
Dauntless he fights thro' all, though Billows rage,  
Thomas Heaven, Sea, Wind against him all engage.  
Lovers and Soldiers only with delight  
Can bear the Tyranny of piercing night,  
And carelessly with pleasure undergo  
Fierce storms of Hail, of Thunder, Rain and Snow.  
The Soldier slily scouts about to spy  
The Wiles, and Projects of the Enemy;  
With quick-eyed jealousy the Lover too  
Does still his Rival, as a Foe, pursue:  
This lays a Siege before a strong fenced Town,  
That armed with Flames, Love's Fireworks, lies down  
Before the Threshold of his cruel Fair,  
And shoots out wishes, sighs and tears at her.  
This makes 'gainst City Gates his Canon roar;  
With 
* An Engine.  Bettys that assaults his Lady's door.  
When a deep Sleep an Army does surprise,  
Disarms their Hands, and closes up their Eyes;  
'Tis thought a Stratagem to stop their breath,  
And change its image Sleep, to real Death.  
Thus did Ulysses Rhesu's Troops destroy,  
He took their Fatal Steeds, and Lives away,  
And by this means alone he conquered Troy.  
Thus to their sleeping Foes bold Lovers come,  
They kill the Cuckold, and supply his room.  
The wretched Lover, and the Soldier goes,  
Where thickest Troops of dangers do oppose,  
Thro midnight Watches, strongest Guards they pass,  
Thro barricadoed Gates, and Walls of Brass.  
Venus, and Mars alike uncertain are,  
And the Intriqus of Love with those of War;  
As conquered Slaves the Victory often regain,  
And Conqueror's fall 'midst all their Pomp and Train;  
So the brisk Spark that does at once subdue  
His Lady's heart, and injured Rival too;  
May be cashiered of all his hopes of Love,  
And the disbanded Slave the Favourite prove,  
Thus he may rise again in her esteem,  
And, in his turn, may triumph over him.  
Now he that calls a Lover idle, lies;  
He is a man laborious, bold, and wise;  
And he that for the War, or Love is fit,  
Must be a man of courage, sense, and wit:  
Fierce flames of Love scorched great Achilles' Breast,  
When of his Mistress he was dispossessed;  
He and his courage did to Beauty yield,  
It made him leave his Arms, and quit the Field.  
Now Trojans to the Spoil, and Plunder fall,  
For Love has foiled Greece in their General.  
Hector from his Wives soft Embrace arose,  
From thence he went to Combat with his Foes;  
Early he left the Pleasures of her Bed,  
And her hand placed the Helmet on his head.  
Cassandra to Atrides seemed so fair;  
Thomas in disordered looks, and flowing hair;  
That, at her form amazed, he did adore  
The wretched Captive he subdued before.  
Mars did with Venus' melting joys repeat;  
When Vulcan closed 'em in his curious Net;  
All Heaven saw them in amorous Folds embrace,  
And every God, and Goddess wished their place.  
Nature did by my make seem to express,  
That I was born to sloth, and idleness;  
Cool shades, and Beds of Down could only please,  
I lived debauched in luxury and ease;  
Till body, courage, strength, and all began,  
To soften, and degenerate from man;  
A beauteous Girl spurred up my lazy mind,  
And loves brisk flame my drossy Soul refined.  
Love gave command, forthwith I did obey;  
The sweet of bliss, and pleasure were the pay,  
Which made me fight in Love's Tents night, and day.  
Hence I was taught to watch, and labour too,  
Love made me bravely fight, and boldly woe.  
At Love's command thro' midnight broils I strove.  
The man that wants employment, let him love.    

Book the First, ELEGY Tenth.  
To a Girl dehorting her from ask Money for her Love.  

ONce I confess I doted on that face,  
And thought you fair as ever Helen was,  
Whom Paris in his Trojan Navy brought  
With the rich prize of all her Beauties fraught,  
Whose sparkling Eyes did rival flames inspire,  
Made Nations War, and set all Troy on fire:  
Or Leda fair; to whom the thunderer came,  
And in a Swan's soft Feathers hid his flame,  
Whom he did cousin in a borrowed shape,  
And in feigned innocence did steal a Rape.  
Strong jealous fears did than torment my Breast,  
And my suspicions with my love increased.  
Than every Bull, and Eagle I did see,  
I fond thought 'twas sent from Heaven for thee;  
And all those shapes I feared, that amorous Jove  
Was ever Metamorphosed to by love.  
But now those fears are vanished all away,  
And all my former flames of Love decay;  
Nor can that Face, which once did charm me so,  
Delight my wondering eyes with pleasure now.  
If you ask, why I'm changed, 'tis quickly known,  
It is because you're Mercenary grown;  
And this sole cause does raise my hatred more,  
Than all thy charms could do my love before.  
While thy unbiast mind was simply true,  
I loved thy very Soul, and Body too:  
But since thy Soul's debauched, methinks I found  
Thy Body grow deformed like thy Mind.  
Cupid's a naked Boy, and scorns the vice  
Of sordid Gain, and griping Avarice,  
An old man's dear beloved Paradise.  
He wears no garment, intimating by't  
Love should be open, and without deceit.  
Why do you thus the God of Love profane?  
And make him turn a Prostitute for Gain?  
What should he do with Gold? he's all undressed,  
And cannot treasureed in his naked.  
The Common-Whore for Gain does beaten the Streets,  
And strikes a Bargain with the next she meets;  
She wearies Nature, rambles up and down,  
For the poor recompense of Half-a-Crown:  
Yet she too curses the imperious Bawd,  
Who Avarice still makes her ply the Trade;  
And what the Bawds command compels her to,  
You of your own accord ignobly do.  
Let Beast themselves your great example be,  
Learn from unthinking Brutus' Civility;  
'Twill be a base, a shameful thing to found  
The Beasts more generous than Womankind.  
The Mare from the brave Horse no gift receives,  
But all the Charms of Love she frankly gives;  
The Heifer asks no Present, but does court  
The Bull with amorous Lowing to the sport;  
Nor does the Ram the gentle Ewe decoy  
With rich alluring Presents to the joy:  
Base Woman triumphs in the spoils alone,  
And Trophies of the Men she has undone;  
'Tis she, and she alone does Gold require,  
That sells Delight, and sets herself to hire;  
She vends those pleasures which both jointly crave,  
Those melting joys that either long to have;  
And as she does the amorous Fight renew,  
She has the pleasure, and the profit too.  
Since the bliss does to both ' like charming prove;  
And flows to both in equal Tides of Love,  
Tell me (cursed Gilt) the reason? Tell me why,  
One should the pleasure cell, another buy?  
Why should the luscious Sweets of Venus be  
To you a profit, and a loss to me?  
For if you in fierce bounds give up the joy,  
I push my love on and meet yours half way.  
How impious is that Mercenary 'Squire.  
That trades in Perjury and swears for hire?  
Or the corrupted Judge, whose slavish mind  
Is to the itch of Bribery inclined;  
How base that Counsellor, whose purchased breath  
Rescues a Traitor, or a Thief from death?  
Who from the Custom of the Judgement Seat,  
Rises from nothing to a vast Estate,  
And prostitutes his Conscience to be great.  
Your crime's as great, who, by mere interest led,  
Increase your Portion from the Gilting trade,  
And the Revenues of an Harlot's Bed,  
Who cell each look (by powerful Guine'a swayed)  
While your own beauties Bawds t' your lusts are made.  
Out of mere Gratitude our thanks are due  
For Favours freely we receive from you;  
But when by hire, or sale you're made my own,  
Pray tell me where's the Obligation?  
Who hires his Wench pays down his Cash, and he  
Even from the lest return of thanks is free  
For her damned kindness, and Civility.  
For shame leave of ye charming, beauteous train,  
To bargain for Night's Joys for cursed Gain;  
No good Event such Richeses can attend,  
They make ye but more wretched in the end.  
Great were the Sabins Bribes, yet not so great  
Tarpy for them should purchase her own Fate,  
Or that she from their weighty Arms should have  
At once her certain Murder, and her Grave.  
Alcmaeon ripped up his own Mother's Womb,  
Those Bowels from which he himself did come;  
Because that she her Husband did betray,  
And for a Necklace gave his Life away.  
Yet Gold from rich Gallants you may require;  
His Gold can purchase what you can desire.  
From Vineyards gather Grapes, where on each Vine  
Thick clust'ring Bunches hung, swollen big with Wine;  
Alcinous' Orchards Apples can bestow,  
Where tempting Fruit hangs on each labouring Bough.  
A poor man pay attendance, service, faith,  
Each Lover gives his Mistress all he hath.  
My Talon is gloriously to rehearse  
The kind deserving Ladies in my Verse;  
Whom e'er I please, by my great Art shall be  
Sung like my Verse to all Eternity.  
Those Rings, this dress, those gems that shine so gay,  
Will crumble into Dust and fade away;  
But that ne'er dying Fame, the Muses give,  
Shall be immortal, and for ever live.  
Nor do I grudge to give; but I abhor  
A Wench that asks me like a Common-Whore.  
Cease but those impudent demands, and I  
Will give you, what I did before deny.    

ELEGY the 11th Book the First.  
To the Waiting-Maid, that she would convey his Letter to his Mistress.  

KInd Jinny, who art tightly read  
In the soft arts to dress thy Lady's head;  
Too good, and too obliging, and too fair  
The servile name of Waiting-Maid to bear,  
Obsequious, known to all my gay delight,  
And useful to the stolen joys of Night;  
Who often by signs dost wittily impart  
The wanton wishes of your Lady's heart:  
Thou who dost often kind advice bestow,  
And tempts Corinna to me when she's slow;  
Who still to me dost true, and faithful prove,  
When my Breast travels with fierce pangs of Love:  
Here, here, take this, fly swift as thought away,  
And to my Mistress these soft Lines convey,  
With care prevent the dangers of delay.  
In your kind Breast no Flint, nor Iron grows,  
That gentle Land with Milk and Honey flows;  
Moore simple truth, and faith is found in thee,  
Than anyone of your mean quality,  
've reason to believe your tender heart  
Has felt the wound of Love's tyrannic Dart:  
For you defend Love's Standard; which I bear,  
Those Royal Ensigns, under which you war.  
If she ask, how I do, this answer give,  
‛ Say, I in hopes of one Night's Blessing live:  
Tell her but this, my Letter speaks the rest,  
My flame is there in dying words expressed.  
But whilst I speak, deceiving time posts on,  
Go bear this to my Mistress, fly, be gone:  
Time well your message, give it her, when she  
Is from disturbing thoughts of business free.  
But see she read it straight, that she may know,  
What tortures I in absence undergo:  
But as she reads, I charge you, all the while,  
Observe each amorous glance, each frown and smile;  
From bright, or lowering Aspects you may guests  
My future ills, or future happiness:  
Desire her, when she has read it o'er, to sand  
A speedy answer to her dying Friend:  
Let it be thronged with words, I hate to see  
A Letter naught but space, and vacancy:  
Let it detain my Eyes with pleasure still,  
Where crowded Lines the utmost Margin fill.   

Yet 'tis superfluous, what need is there,  
With toils of writing much to weary her;  
Let but in all the Letters spacious room  
Be only written this kind answer: COME.  
Forthwith I will, when the glad Conquest's won,  
Deck it with a triumphant Laurel Crown:  
And than I'll place this Relic, so divine,  
In mighty Venus' most sacred Shrine;  
And for its service done, besides the wreath,  
It shall contain this Motto underneath.   

Naso this Letter to his Flame so true,  
Kind Venus, humbly dedicates to You.   

What though it lately from the Dunghill came,  
Thus honoured now, it may Devotion claim.    

ELEGY the 6 th', BOOK the First.  
To the Porter.  

KInd Porter, who unworthily dost bear  
Those servile Chains that meanest Vassals wear,  
Open this Gate, and kindly thus remove  
All difficulties that oppose my love.  
If you grant what I ask, I'm, ever blest,  
And mine's a small and reasonable request:  
Let but the Gate so small an entrance give,  
As may my body side-ways just receive:  
Long cares have gnawed me quite to Skin and Bone,  
My Love has made me a mere Skeleton;  
For such intrigues my Limbs are made so thin.  
I almost like a Spirit can enter in.  
Love is my guard and conduct through the Street,  
He picks my way and safely guides my feet;  
Experienced Love instructs me too, how I  
May through the Midnight Watch myself convey:  
But Whimsies formerly did me affright,  
I wondered men could ramble in the Night:  
For Fabu'lous Ghosts I feared, that foolish train  
Of Phantomes, rising from man's sickly brain.  
When Love knew this, he smiled, and gently said,  
Not more shall cow'rdly fears thy breast invade,  
Thy valour with thy love shall be increased,  
And thou shalt be with dauntless courage blest:  
Love entered straight, and put base fear to flight,  
Not more I dread pale Ghosts that fly by night;  
Nor the assaults of a lewd murdering Lord,  
Nor cow'rdly stabs of blustering Bully's Sword:  
'Tis you I fear, who too too slow do prove,  
Ah! too, too slow for my impatient love:  
To thee alone I stoop, I sue to thee,  
Thou hast the Thunder, that can murder me!  
Open for Pity's sake this cruel Gate,  
And see how with my tears 'tis all made wet.  
When you, for your offence, the other day  
Naked before the lash, and trembling lay,  
I to your Lady earnestly did sue,  
And did prevail with her to pardon you;  
But all those gentle words, which not long since  
Did pled so strongly out in your defence,  
Alas! woe's me! are useless now and vain,  
For me they cannot the lest favour gain:  
My kindness with a kindness than repay,  
Your wish is to be grateful, and you may;  
Unlock the Gate, my love brooks no delay;  
Unlock the Gate, night swiftly posts away:   

So may'st thou from those Chains be ever free,  
Drink Wine and taste the Sweets of Liberty.  
Hardhearted cruel slave, thou dost not hear,  
All my soft Prayers rebound from thy deaf Ear;  
Thy Gates too with vast Oaks supported are,  
And strongly barred, as tho' you dreaded War.  
When Cities are besieged with Arms and men,  
Strong Barracado's Gates are useful than;  
In calms of Peace why dost thou vainly fear  
Fierce storms of War, and clashing Armies near?  
How wouldst thou treat an Enemy, when thou  
Shut'st out thy Friend, and Lady's Lover too?  
Unlock the Gate, my love brooks no delay;  
Unlock the Gate, night swiftly posts away:   

I come not with armed Troops of Foot and Horse  
To storm these Walls, and make you yield by force.  
If from my Breast these raging Flames were gone,  
Was Love not with me, I should be alone;  
And if I would, from Love I cannot part,  
For that is fixed, and grows up with my heart:  
Thou you this Body Limb from Limb should tear,  
And stab this Heart, yet Love would still be there;  
Than Love's with me, and Wine, that upward flies  
With moderate fumes, which still new love supplies;  
And a neat Garland with fresh Roses made,  
Which lately fell from mine anointed head:  
What man is there, would be a afraid to meet  
These lovely Arms, so innocent and sweet.  
Unlock the Gate, my love brooks no delay;  
Unlock the Gate, night swiftly posts away.  
Art thou thus slow, is it unkind delay,  
That takes my hopes of love and life away?  
Or does Sleep beaten my words back from thine Ear,  
And make 'em vanish in the fleeting Air?  
Once I remember, when in shades of Night  
I strove to hid me from thy hated sight,  
Than (with a Pox) you watched with pimping Eyes,  
Till Midnight Stars did spangle o'er the Skies.   

But yet perhaps you may be faultless too,  
Perhaps your Mistress is in Bed with you,  
And you glut on Love's Sweets; if so alas!  
How far does your blessed fortune mine surpass.  
I'll be a Porter, Scullion, Groom, or Slave,  
And wear thy Chains, let me thy Blessings have:  
Unlock the Gate, my love brooks no delay,  
Unlock the Gate, Night swiftly posts away.  
Hark;— I'm deceived, or else I heard the sound  
Of the Gates Hinges softly turning round;  
With a hoarse noise the Gate sure gave the sign  
For me and welcome Love to enter in:  
Curse on my Fate;— I am deceived I found,  
'Twas only shaken by strong blasts of Wind;  
Woe's me! that Wind does all my hopes betray,  
And ah! how far it has born those hopes away?  
The City's hushed, dead silence seizes all,  
And Pearls of Dew in gentle moistures fall:  
The Watchmen sleep, and no one now can see  
The desperate attempts designed by me.  
Unlock the Gate, my love brooks no delay,  
Unlock the Gate, Night swiftly posts away.  
Unlock it, or by heavens I'll make you know,  
What a chafed injured Lover dares to do;  
I now more dreadful, and more powerful grown  
Than fire and Sword will burn these proud walls down;  
I in the house will make this Flambeux fly,  
By Jove the House shall burn as well as I.  
Love and brisk Wine, encouraged by the Night,  
To all Extravagancies now invite;  
For as those banish fear, so night does shame,  
By Jove I'll enter now with Sword and Flame:  
Ah! Threats and Prayers alike successless prove,  
In thee they can nor fear nor pity move;  
For thou still cruel and relentless art,  
Thy Gate is lesle obdurate than thy heart:  
Thou art unworthy of the noble Fate,  
To stand before a beauteous Lady's Gate:  
Surely a slave, so base, and so unkind,  
Was for the Turn-Key of some Goal designed.  
See, now bright Lucifer adorns the Skies,  
The Cocks they crow, and bid poor Mortals rise,  
And call, them to their daily drudgeries.  
Than thou gay Crown, pulled from my pensive head,  
Be thou all night on my Dears Threshold laid;  
When in the morning she shall see thee thrown  
Before her Gate, and all thy Beauties gone.  
To her thou  a silent witness prove  
Of time ill spent, in vain pursuit of Love.  
Now, Porter, Fare-thee-well, such as thou art,  
Yet hear the love I bear thee  I part;  
Thou thou admitt'st me not, I love thee still,  
Base as thou art, I must bid thee Farewell;  
And Farewell Gate, thou Author of my woe,  
Ah! Farewell cruel Gate, and Porter too.    

ELEGY the 3d, BOOK the First.  
To his Mistress.  

YE Powers, my Prayer both just and equal is,  
And cruel Love can ne'er deny me this.  
Grant that my Mistress, whose bright conquering Eye  
Late brought my Soul into Captivity,  
May ever love me, or that I my taste  
Joys that may make my love for ever last.  
Ah me! too much 've asked by praying thus,  
My wished-for Blessing's turned into a Curse,  
Love cruelly at last my Prayers has heard,  
And plagued me with a happiness I feared:  
For she requites my passion with disdain,  
I love and love, but am not loved again,  
Accept me, Madam, Vassalage I crave,  
I beg the liberty to be your Slave;  
Accept your faithful Slave, whose constant flame  
Shall ever last, and ever be the same,  
One that will ever serve you, one whose Breast  
Is all with love and generous faith possess't.  
If my Birth, which I from a Knight derive,  
Or Blood which from his Veins I did receive,  
Or Ancestors (who I confess ne'er were  
Allied to Duke, Prince, King or Emperor;  
If neither my endowments, or Estate  
(Which is sufficient tho' it be not great)  
Or if my virtuous Parents frugal care,  
And temperance (which provide for me their Heir.  
If all these cannot so inviting prove,  
As to make me seem worthy of thy love;  
Yet Wit and Wine (the Gods that I adore)  
The Muses, and a Thousand causes more,  
Almighty love, which keeps me still your Slave,  
The Virtue, Honour, and the Faith I have,  
My Godlike Manners, and my naked Truth,  
My Modesty, and inoffensive Youth;  
All these conspire, and jointly all agreed  
To make me dare to say I'm worthy thou.  
You (Madam) you shall be my care alone,  
I never change, I never love but one.  
I will (if there be Faith in Man) prove true  
And I will ever love, and only you.  
May I for those few years the Fates shall give  
With thee (my Dearest) tho' in torments live,  
And may those cares kill me that make thee grieve.  
Let but my Muse your wondrous Praise rehearse,  
And you shall shine more glorious in my Verse;  
Inspired by your great Name, I shall produce  
Wit worthy you and worthy such a Muse.  
By my Verse Io is immortal made,  
Her everlasting Fame can never fade;  
Nor can the fair Europa mortal prove,  
She's Canhonized by Poetry and Love;  
Nor shall our Names thus celebrated dye,  
But on Fame's Wings they shall for ever fly,  
The World our Praises shall together join  
And yours shall spread abroad as far as mine.    

ELEGY the 7 th', BOOK the 1st.  
To Pacify his Mistress whom in his Passion he had beaten.  

WHat have I done? if any Friend be nigh,  
Let him be kind, and show his cruelty:  
Bind, bind these hands (they have deserved the Chain,)  
Before the Fit of Madness come again.  
With headlong Fury drunk, these Arms I moved  
Against the only Mistress that I loved.  
Wounded by me, my Dearest grieves, and sighs,  
And weeps with Tears as fair as others Eyes.  
But when they did in a Fanatic rage  
My Royal Mistress cowardly engage;  
They than would have ripped their Mother's Womb,  
Cut their own Father's Throat, and robbed his Tomb;  
Or wrested Thunder from Jove's vanquished hand,  
And Gods themselves with impious blows profaned.  
But did not Ajax, Lord o'fh '  shield,  
With a distractive rage, and madness filled,  
Chase trembling Flocks, for Trojans, o'er the Plain,  
Groaning beneath the burden of the slain?  
And did not mad Orestes do yet more,  
Staining his hands in his own Mother's gore?  
Did he not murder her that gave him breath,  
barbarously to revenge his Father's death?  
Did he not challenge Hell, and boldly call  
For Arms to sight the Furies, devil, and all?  
I followed where these damned Examples went,  
Ruffi'us and Madmen were my precedent.  
For my bright Mistress braided Locks I tore,  
Yet still she looked as lovely as before.  
The beauteous Atalanta looked like you  
When she in Maenalus did Beasts pursue,  
And caught the droves of men that came to view.  
Aria'dnes Hair was all dishevelled so,  
When she beheld her perjured Theseus go;  
She wept and called aloud to make him stay,  
" The Wind bore him and her soft words away.  
Like you the fair Cassandra did appear,  
But that a sacred Fillet bound her hair;  
Yet such strong charms from her sweet face did rove,  
As struck the surly Ajax mad with love;  
He in the Temple seized her as his prize,  
And offered there a wanton Sacrifice.  
Who has not called me Turk, Barbarian, Jew?  
For these I did in cruelty outdo.  
Yet she did no opprobious word express,  
Fear fettered up her Tongue, and made it cease;  
But yet her looks her angry Soul betrayed,  
There I a Thousand Murderers might read;  
And all those silent showers of Tears she spilt,  
Spoke loudly my rough cruelty and guilt.  
Would God these Arms had dropped of, e'er they'd been  
Guilty of such a base, unmanly Sin.  
With lesle concern I any Limb could spare,  
And would I had e'er I had wronged my Dear.  
Why is my cursed Strength a plague to me?  
Dearest, I wound myself in wounding thee.  
Ye bloody Executioners, be gone;  
've no more barbarous Murders to be done.  
Go Sacrilegious Hands in Chains, 'tis just  
The Irons galled, and eat you of with rust.  
Cursed Arms! they dare not strike the meanest Slave;  
Shall they more privilege o'er my Mistress have?  
The cruel, damned Tydides' left behind  
The worst Examples of an hellish mind;  
He smote a Goddess, and I wounded you  
A fairer Goddess, and a greater too:  
But he is much more innocent than I  
I far surpass him in impiety;  
For he against a Foe did cruel prove,  
But I to whom I vowed eternal love.  
Go, mighty Conqueror, in Triumph go,  
Prepare the Royal Pomp, and Solemn Show,  
Put on your Laurel Crown, and let it spread  
In branching Honour round your sacred head,  
Let Clouds of Incense from your Altars rise,  
Pay Jove, for your success, his Sacrifice,  
Let shoals of people round your Chariot crowd,  
All roaring out your mighty Triumph loud,  
Let it with boasting shouts of joy be said,  
Lo this brave Hero did subdue a Maid.  
First let your Captive go in flowing hair,  
But for her battered Cheeks, all over fair,  
'Twas fit sure, and it had been kinder far,  
Had I in amorous conflicts wounded her,  
Or bruised her balmy Lips in height of bliss,  
With the impression of a furious Kiss,  
Or had my Teeth such kind impressions made  
Upon her Neck, I there my love my read,  
But yet, tho' raging Tempests shook my Breast,  
Hurrying me on like Streams by Floods increased,  
And tho' blind Passion did my reason sway,  
And made my Soul, and all its powers its prey;  
Sure 'twas enough to chide my trembling Dear,  
To thunder out my Oaths, and threats at her,  
And thus ingloriously to tear her Gown,  
And all those sacred Robes that she had on.  
All this I did, all this— and ten times more,  
Her precious Hair, those threads of Gold, I tore,  
And with my Nails ploughed up her beauteous Face,  
My Fingers have profaned that sacred place.  
Yet she stood fixed, pale as a Marble Stone,  
Or some sad Statue Carvers make to moan,  
Which o'er a Tomb stands weeping for the dead,  
Speaking its Grief in Tears it seems to shed.  
Her Blood flew from her Face to guard her Heart,  
Short death, and tremble ran o'er every part;  
So a soft gentle Western Wind does make  
With numerous motions, Aspen Leaves to quake;  
So shake the Reeds, fanned by a breeze of Air,  
The Reeds that seem to shake for very fear;  
So tremble Rivers, on whose curling brow  
With gentle gales the South-Winds softly blow.  
Her Tears long doubting, where to fall or not,  
At last did down her Cheeks so gently flow,  
You'd swear 'twas water dropped from melting Snow,  
Than first my conscience checked me for my sin,  
Sighs issuing out told sorrow was within.  
The Floods of Tears, that o'er her visage streamed,  
Drops of my Blood, or something dearer seemed.  
Thrice did I offer at her Feet to lie,  
And there become her humble Votary,  
Thrice held I up my folded hands to pray,  
And thrice she put those dreadful hands away.  
Dearest come on armed with revengeful rage,  
That will your sufferings and your grief assuage,  
Come harrow with your Nails this Face, and tear  
Each hated Limb of mine, and every hair;  
Make every Member your just Sacrifice,  
Tear out each Eye; for if it might suffice  
" I'd weep my blood for tears, from wounds, for eyes.  
Let Passion raise your courage, Passion can  
Give you, though weak, the vigorous strength of man.  
But lest these tokens of my Crimes remain,  
For Heaven's sake go dress your Head again.    

BOOK the First, ELEGY 13 th'.  
To the Morning that she would not rise to soon.  

AVrora now, with Rosy blushes read,  
Lifting above the Eastern waves her head,  
‛ Rose from the beauteous Morning's Purple Bed.  
Stay gentle Morn, said I, your hasty flight,  
You'd be more beautiful were you lesle bright;  
Stay, gentle Morning, stay, so may you see  
On every year that winged Progeny,  
Which Phoenixlike from Memnon's ashes came,  
Taking new life from his last Funeral flame,  
With solemn Rites of blood and slaughter come,  
And pay their Sacrifices at his Tomb.  
Stay, gentle Morn, if you would have me blest;  
See now my Mistress hugs me to her Breast,  
Struggling with joys that cannot be expressed.  
And if Corinna ever did bestow.  
A Blessing on me, certainly 'tis now.  
See, lazy Sleep sits heavy on our Eyes,  
The Air is cold and we are loathe to rise;  
The little Birds a pretty warbling keep,  
And court us with soft harmony to sleep.  
Curb in the winged hours, with all your might,  
Nor plague the world with your officious light.  
When you with your unwelcome rays appear,  
Youths blush with shame, & Maids grow chaste for fear.  
Why do you hurry thus your Chariot on?  
Ah, gentle Morning, for Love's sake be gone.  
Before you down the Mariner can stand,  
And by the Polestar better far command,  
His certain Voyage to the wish't-for Land,  
By this he steers his steady course, tho' he  
Floats in the midst of all the boundless Sea.  
When you with light embroider o'er the Skies,  
The weary Traveller gins to rise,  
Thou every limb and bone be sore,  
With the long journey of the day before.  
The Country Hind now flies his dear repast,  
Yokes his slow Oxen, and to the Blow does haste.  
And School Boys scarce awake yet rise to feel  
The cruel lash of Busbie or of Gill.  
The spark just drawn i'th' Matrimonial noose,  
Who to his loss for his Wife's Portion sues,  
Rises up early from her sweet Embrace,  
To fee his Counsellor to know his case,  
Or that he may untangle some damned flaw,  
Some Quibble, Querk, or some nice point of Law,  
By break of day, when you peep from the East,  
The Counsellor is knocked up from his rest.  
The Lawyer too, to Westminster must trudge,  
To bawl out some new Cause before the Judge.  
Thus you to both are more disturbing far,  
Than all their restless tides of Clients are.  
The watchful Huswife rises up with you,  
And she, with thine, her labours does renew;  
She sings to pass the time away, the while,  
She draws a thread as endless as her toil;  
Yet all these pains, and ten times greater too,  
I could with ease and pleasure undergo.  
But Gods! to rise thus from my dearest Dear,  
What Stoic, what dull man, on earth can bear!  
None sure but he, whom Heaven ne'er did bless  
With such a Paradise of Happiness  
Often have I wished (but now I see 'twas vain)  
Cynthia might over you a Conquest gain.  
That she, with all her gaudy Troops of Light,  
Might chase thee to the Negro Womb of night;  
Or some great Tempest, might your Chariot shake,  
And all its Golden Wheels in pieces break,  
Or stuck in some deep Bog your Steeds might stay,  
Or in some misty Cloud might lose their way.  
Cursed Morning stay, nor with thy envious Face  
Frighten me from my Mistress' soft Embrace.  
I guests from thy Son's Aethiopian Skin,  
Thy poisoned Heart is blacker far within.  
There envy big with mischiefs brooding lies,  
And numerous plagues to all the world conveys,  
Had no adulterous flames scorched up your breast,  
When by your Shafalus it was possessed;  
Yet your wise Goddess-ship can never hid  
Your Thousand amorous Intrigues beside.  
I would to Heaven, for my revenge that I  
Might to old Tithon, all your faults descry:  
Not Punk that gained Heaven by debauchery,  
No Whetstone Whore in Sweating-Tub should be  
So base, so vile, so loathed a thing as thee.  
Thou fliest his dry Trunk, sapless grown with age,  
Unfit in amorous conflicts to engage;  
And, as thou envy'dst us our blessed design,  
Dost early in malicious glory shine;  
Should you enjoy your Gallants melting charms,  
Whilst he lay panting in your wanton Arms,  
Than would you cry, kind Stars, glide gently on,  
And than you'd wish that night might ne'er be done.  
Why should I suffer plagues and punishment,  
Because your Fumbler is grown impotent?  
Did I procurer turn, or did I spread  
Baits to decoy you, to his loathsome Bed?  
See, how the Queen of Night does kindly steep  
Her loved Endymion's Eyes in dewy sleep;  
Glorious as you, she shines in her bright Sphere,  
When dazzling in full Orb of Beauty there;  
Even Jove himself Father of Gods above,  
When he would take a full swinge of his love,  
Commanded two Nights into one to join,  
'Cause he so often would not see thee shine  
With that damned painted Harlot's Face of thine.  
My railing done, I soon perceived she heard,  
For glowing blushes on her Cheeks appeared,  
Yet still she posted with swift haste away,  
And at her usual time called forth the day.    

BOOK the 3 d. ELEGY the 3 d.  
Of his Mistress that had perjured herself.  

ARE there than Gods? Gods! I'll believe't not more,  
She's perjured, yet as beauteous as before.  
Her shining locks are still as long, and fair,  
Since she has shamm'd the Gods, as e'er they were.  
On her white Cheeks, were blushing colours spread,  
Like Lilies died with Rosy streaks of Read;  
And all those colours, which her Cheeks did grace,  
Still shine in their old lustre in her face:  
Her little Foot was neat, and cleanly made,  
It has exactly the same shape it had;  
Her slender Waste was comely to the view,  
'Tis still as slender, and as comely too.  
She had sparkling Eyes, whose every glance could kill,  
Like two bright Stars; her fair Eyes glitter still,  
By which the perjured, false perfidious she,  
Has often sworn Ten Thousand lies to me.  
Beauty commands the Gods, and Heaven allows  
Women to lie, swear false, and break their vows.  
Lately she swore by her bright Eyes, and mine,  
And mine were tortured straight with shooting pain.  
Say, unjust Gods, was't not enough that she,  
Has called your Powers, to vouch her Perjury,  
And yet unpunished has escaped, and free?  
But ye must make me too (tho' innocent)  
For her black crimes to suffer punishment?  
Is't not suffic'ent that she drew you in  
To be but bore Spectators of her sin,  
And by no Lightning blasted, laughs to see  
How she has bubled both the Gods and me?  
But injured I her guilt must undergo,  
And suffer by her crime, and for it too?  
Tell me, ye Gods, when she has done the wrong,  
How can the punishment to me belong?  
Or God's mere empty Names and Phantoms are,  
Whom abject dastard Spirits vainly fear;  
Who the gross vulgar easily do move  
With rash belief of unseen Powers above;  
Or if a God there be, his Godhead sure  
Dotes on fair Nymphs, and gives them too much power:  
Men are exposed to all the Bolts of War,  
To Mars his Fatal Sword, and Pallas Spear,  
'Gainst us Apollo's threatening Bow is bend,  
On us the Thunder from Jove's hand is sent.  
But the Gods dread fair Females, they ne'er durst  
Displease that Sex, altho' they're injured first;  
With awful fear they worship, tho' they,  
Dauntlesly both the Gods and Heaven defy.  
At woods and groves Jove's Thunderbolts are thrown,  
They batter mighty towers, and Castles down;  
But Perjured Women, who heavens rage provoke,  
Still live secure and feel no Thunders stroke.  
When many women's faults did justly call  
For Vengeance, Semele alone did fall,  
And burned a wretched Sacrifice for all.  
And cruelty was the best thanks that Jove  
Returned for all her kindness, and her love.  
But why thus against Heaven do I complain?  
Reproach the Gods? and impiously profane?  
The Gods have sense of love, they too have hearts  
That have been pierced by Love's impartial Darts.  
Were I myself a God I'd freely give  
Fair Ladies power my Godhead to deceive,  
Let them swear what they pleased I would believe,  
And I would swear whate'er they swore was true,  
And to clear them I would be perjured too.  
Thus I, of all the Gods in Heaven, would be  
The kindest, most obliging deity.  
Yet, happy Maid, fair favourite of Heaven,  
Moore gently use that power the Gods have given,  
Nor swear more by mine Eyes ah! be more kind,  
Lest when you swear again you strike me blind.    

Book the 3d, ELEGY the 11 th'.  
The Poet grieves that his Mistress grew so noted by his Verses, that he procured himself many Rivals.  

WHat day of all my life, what hour was there,  
In which some winged ill Omens of the Air  
Did not with hideous croaks, and chatt'rings prove,  
The sad events of my successless love?  
Against what adverse Gods shall I complain,  
Against what Planets inauspicious reign?  
Corinna, who but now was all mine own,  
Whom I at first did love, and I alone,  
Will be the common Mistress of the Town.  
Was she not by my Verse thus famous made?  
By me encouraged she sets up the trade:  
And rightly served— for I the Hawker was,  
That cried about the Beauties of her Face:  
I was her Pander, gave her Sparks a view;  
Opened her doors, and introduced 'em too.  
By me she first was to the world disclosed,  
And by my folly was to Sale exposed.  
What good 've reaped from Verse I cannot tell,  
But that it has injured me I know too well.  
My Rivals it procured, and to my cost  
By Verse my property in her I lost.  
When Troy's, when Theban Wars, and Caesar's fame,  
The just assistance of my Pen did claim,  
Corinna's Praise, her Name alone did shine  
Like a bright Gem in every Page of mine.  
Would God Apollo, when those Lines I made,  
And every Muse had than denied their aid!  
Would my dull resty Muse had jaded been,  
And left unfinished what she did begin.  
The world to Poets ne'er did credit give,  
There's no one our mad Fictions will believe;  
And I could wish my Rivals might be brought  
To disbelieve those hated truths I wrote.  
Of Cerberus, and his three Heads we tell,  
And make him Porter to the Gates of Hell,  
And all his Body o'er, instead of hair,  
A monstrous Coat of curling Serpents wear;  
A Thousand Arms we give Enceladon,  
And make an Army up of him alone,  
Against all Heaven we boldly make him dare,  
And Hosts of thundering Gods maintain a War;  
Of Niobe we sing, who, whilst she mourned,  
By grief was to a Marble Statute turned,  
Which sweeting still with tears seems to relent,  
And thus we make her her own Monument;  
Of Bulls we writ, from whose sierce Nostrils came  
Torrents of sire, and rapid streams of flame;  
Of Orpheus too, why by his Mystic Song  
Made Woods to follow and Stones dance along.  
These, and whole Millions of Romantic Lies,  
Of Monsters, and Impossibilities,  
Of Metamorphosed forms, and prodigies,  
The fruitful Licence of a Poet's wit,  
Daily brings forth, and still does new beget.  
No man's obliged to credit us at all,  
His Faith needs not be here Historical:  
Nor should you think her Praises more to be  
Than wild fantastic tales devised by me,  
I'm ruin'd now by your credulity.    

ELEGY the 7 th', BOOK the 3 d.  
The Poet grieves that he is rejected by his Mistress.  

WILL any Fop yet wed the liberal arts,  
Or vainly set up for an Ass of Parts?  
Or think a gifted excellence, to be  
In the smooth strokes of ravishing Poetry?  
Wit above Gold was valued heretofore,  
But now he's ignorant alone, that's poor:  
When she reads o'er my Poems with delight,  
Kindly applauds each line, each word I writ;  
Thou my more happy Verses please her so,  
Where they're embraced, the Author dares not go:  
Thus I whom she applauded so before,  
Am shut out from her, or kicked out of door;  
And tho' confessed a Wit, to her disgrace,  
With love distracted rave from place to place.  
A wealth upstart Ruffian, who of late,  
By cutting Throats, has purchased an Estate,  
Is thought my better; 'cause i'th' Field he stood,  
And Knighthood gained by sucking guiltless Blood:  
Than can you (foolish Woman) without fear,  
Embrace this Honourable Murderer?  
Can you to him yield up your melting Charms,  
Or wanton all Night in his dreadful Arms?  
I'd have you know that once this Head of mine,  
Did gaily with a crested Helmet shine;  
And this Thigh (which in Love's wars serves you now)  
Was armed with a Fatal Weapon too;  
His left hand (which a 
* Worn by Romat Knights.  Ring did late adorn,  
And ill becomes him now, a Shield has born;  
His right too, has been cruelly smeared o'er  
With impious stains of dead man's clotted gore.  
And can you touch that hand, so often imbrued  
In gaping wounds, and murdered wretches blood.  
Where's now the softness on your Soul impressed,  
The tenderness that reigns in Woman's Breast?  
View, in his mangled Face, dishonest Scars,  
The servile Monuments of former Wars;  
A Plundering Soldier he of Fortune was,  
And gained by hacks and wounds whate'er he has:  
Perhaps himself will boast of those he has killed,  
How often he has stabbed, & how much blood he has spilled.  
And can you touch those hands in hopes of Pelf,  
Without the fear of being stabbed yourself?  
Even I, the Muses and Apollo's Priest,  
With sacred Wit, and Innocency blest,  
In vain Love-Verses sing before your Gate,  
Since, cruel Mistress, you're as deaf as that.  
Young men if you are wise be ruled by me,  
Learn not our fruitless Arts of Poetry:  
But to the skill in Arms and Wars attain,  
Go Reformadoes in the next Campaign,  
Instead of rhimeing well, get to be made  
Captains, or Colonels, and fierce Armies lead:  
With gaudy Plumes, and Scarves before 'em stand,  
Thus you may Troops of Ladies too command.  
Jove advertized us, and by Heaven we're told,  
Nothing can be more powerful than Gold;  
Himself turned to a bribe, the guards disarms,  
And Danaë yields now to his potent Charms:  
 he descended in this precious shower,  
She was immured within a Brazen Tower;  
Her Father did inexorable prove,  
And she herself withstood the Siege of Love:  
But when wise Jove, taught by Love's chemic art,  
Into bright Gold his Godhead did convert,  
She kindly in her Bosom did receive  
The welcome Present, and consent did give:  
She could not this Almighty shower withstand,  
But by her Fathers, heavens, and Golds command,  
She yields the virgin-fort up to the conquerors hand.  
But when old Saturn did heavens Sceptre sway,  
Deep in Earth's darksome Womb all Metals lay;  
Than Silver, Iron, bewitching Gold, and Brass,  
And every Mine in Hell's rich Kingdoms was:  
Not Bullion yet was found, till Man did cell  
His Peace for Gold, and fetched it even from Hell:  
On every Oak distilling sweets were found,  
And every Leaf dropped Honey on the ground;  
The Trees unpruned than better Fruits did bear,  
And earth brought forth without the Plowman's care,  
No Spot of ground as yet was hedged about,  
Nor men's Estates by piece meal parcell'd out;  
No Ditch was cut no Landmark Stones were laid,  
But all the world was one vast Common made.  
No Oar yet clavae the Sea, no Ship did sweep  
The yielding Waters of the troubled deep.  
On shore (his utmost Voyage) man did stand,  
And was contented to be safe at Land.  
Thy subtle Nature (wretched man) has still  
Been too ingenious to contrive thine ill.  
Why dost thou time and richeses lavish out,  
To fence thy Towns with Walls, and towers about?  
What needest thou Broils created, or Wars increase,  
When thou may'st live in safety and in peace?  
Or new-sought dangers on the Sea explore?  
Thou ought'st to be contented with the shore.  
Why dost thou not of Jove his Heaven require,  
To fill the boundless gulf of thy desire!  
Should thy Ambition urge thee to obtain  
These Heavenly Kingdoms too, 'twould be in vain;  
For Caesar, Bacchus, and great Hercules  
Those sacred Quires in Triumph now possess.  
We dig deep Ours, and vex Earth's Womb for store;  
Instead of Fruits we seek for cursed Ore.  
The Soldier now long-sought-for Richeses gains  
With the dear Blood that issues from his Veins:  
For he that's poor can no admittance get  
At Guildhall, or at, Counsel-board to set:  
The wealth fools are in all places thrust  
Of credit, honour, profit, and of trust;  
Hence a dull Alderman that cannot writ  
Is chosen Burgess, and is dubbed a Knight:  
Vile Canters of the Law are Judges made.  
In reverend Folly, and in Ermine clad.  
The Laws and Soldiery their power confess,  
The worlds their Slave, and they all things possess,  
They are the Engines both of War, and Peace.  
Heaven grant that they may not so greedy prove  
As to engross the profit of my love  
Let them permission give to one that's poor  
T' enjoy his Mistress, and I ask not more.  
But now tho' she untractable appear,  
And difficult as Sabine Matrons were;  
Yet a rich Lover shall admittance have,  
And rule her like his Captive, or a Slave.  
Her Keeper thwarts my Love, she too does fear  
Her Husband will surprise us when I'm there.  
If I bring Cash those Bugbear tricks are done,  
The necessary Rascals both are gone,  
My way is clear, the house is all mine own.  
If any God neglected Lovers hears,  
That dares revenge their wrong, & grant their prayers;  
O may he her illgotten wealth destroy,  
And may she ne'er one Guinea's use enjoy;  
May it, like Gold enchanted, just appear,  
But vanish at the touch away from her.    

ELEGY the Fifteenth, BOOK the First Imitated.  
To detracting Censurers, that the Fame of Poets is Eternal.  

Ill-natured Censurer desist for shame  
With thy malicious Tongue to stab my Fame  
How dared thou think I live dissolved in ease  
Or call brave Verse the effects of Idleness?  
Or why dost thou object with feeble hate,  
I from my Ancestors degenerate?  
That I, (unlike them armed with warlike rage)  
Whilst in full strength and flower of my age,  
Do not in blood and dust my foes engage?  
Or that I pled not at the wrangling Bar,  
And out-bawl W—ton at Westminster?  
And to gain Gold, damnation, and renown,  
Turn a mere Prostitute to all the Town;  
With Mercenary breath cant out the Laws,  
And take men's Money to betray their Cause?  
But all these servile things must with us dye,  
The Fame, I seek, shall know Eternity:  
My Wit a lasting Monument shall raise,  
And all the world shall loudly sing my Praise.  
Chaucer shall live, whilst this our British Land,  
Or the vast Cornwall-Mount in it shall stand:  
Or whilst (almost a Sea itself) the Thames  
To th'Ocean rowls his tributary Streams.  
Sidneys great Name shall last, whilst there are Swains,  
That feed their Flocks on the Arcadian Plains;  
Each Nymph shall tune his Praises on her Reed,  
Whilst Beasts, to hear their Songs, for get to feed:  
Echoing Groves aloud their joys shall tell,  
And praise that Swain that sung their Praise so well.  
The Majesty of mighty Cowley's name,  
Shall travel through the farthest Coasts of Fame;  
His noble works for ever shall impart,  
The height of judgement, Nature, Wit, and Art.  
Dryden, great King of Verse, shall ever live,  
Judicious Dryden shall himself survive:  
Whilst in this Town there's a procuring Bawd,  
Or a smooth flattering Whore, that plies the trade,  
A wily Servant, cruel Father known,  
The Laurel shall the matchless Johnson Crown.  
Shake'spear, though rude, yet his immortal Wit  
Shall never to the stroke of time submit,  
And the loud thundering flights of lofty Lee;  
Shall strike the Ears of all Posterity.  
Creeches Sublimest Verse in Godlike State,  
Shall soar above the reach of humble Fate;  
Nor shall he dye till the World's mighty Ball  
Shall be dissolved, and to a Chaos fall.  
Spencer's Heroic Lines no death shall fear,  
His Fairy Queen, and Shepherd's Calendar,  
Shall be admired, whilst to our new 
* London.  Room  
The Vassal Isle to pay their Tribute come.  
As long as Flames last, Torch's, Bows, and Darts,  
(Love's great Artillery to conquer Hearts)  
Shall witty Strephon's wanton Verse be read  
By many a melting Youth, and yielding Maid.  
From East to West Sucklings soft Muse shall run,  
Swift as the Light, and glorious as the Sun;  
Each Pole shall echo his Eternal Fame,  
And the bright Mistress, he vouchsafes to name.  
When solid Ir'n shall be eat up with rust,  
And Marble Statues crumbled into dust,  
To Deathless Verse times spite shall do no wrong,  
For that must ever last, be ever young.  
Kings, and their Triumphs, all the Pomp the boast,  
In dark Oblivion would be quickly lost,  
Did not blest Poet the vast loss repair,  
Making them Deathless, as his Numbers are.  
Tagus to Verse must yield altho' it rolled  
In Floods of Treasure, and a Tide of Gold.  
Let the ignoble Rout vile things admire,  
Let Love and Poetry my Breast inspire,  
Let me Apollo, and the Muses quaff,  
In full-charged Bowls, Castalian Rivers of:  
The sacred Heliconian Streams shall be  
A Tagus, and a Ganges both to me;  
Our life feeds all the envy we shall have,  
With us it sleeps in quiet in the Grave:  
When dead, the Honours we from Verse receive  
Shall guard us, and that Fame our Merits give.  
So that when Nature shall dissolve this Frame,  
And turn me to that Dust, from whence I came;  
Even than o'er Death I shall a Triumph gain,  
And the best part of me shall still remain.     

PROLOGUE to PERSEU'S SATYRS Imitated.  

I don't pretend (as some of late 've seen)  
To've e'er been drunk with th' Muses Hippocrene;  
Nor on Parnassus' Top to've laid me down,  
And there dreamt Laurels should my Temple's crown  
And waking found myself a Poet grown.  
I'm none of those; I leave the Muse's Seats,  
And silent Groves, those shady blessed Retreats,  
To th' happier Laureates of the Age, whose Fame  
Obscures the Glory of my meaner Name.  
Yet tho' a rude, unpolished Muse I have,  
A place among the rest I humbly crave.  
What is't that makes the chattering Parrot learn  
His Master's name, and when he calls discern?  
Want makes Mute Birds an human Accent get;  
And Poets writ in spite of Sense and Wit.  
From Want the best supplies of Fancy grow,  
To her the invention of most Arts we owe.  
Should Birds but once the use of Money found,  
(Money the adored hope of frail mankind!)  
Than Crows and Pies would learn to coarse a Muse  
They'd learn to dedicated and to abuse,  
And all the Tricks that flattering Poets use.    

MARTIAL. Epigr. 3 d. of 8 th'. Book Imitated.  

LEave of for shame; thy scribbling itch give o'er  
The world hath seen enough of thine before,  
Never think to vent the gaudy Trifles more.  
Nor think by writing more to raise thy Name,  
Already all the world hath heard thy Fame!  
Nay even when those vast Marbles shall decay,  
On which fond men a vain Foundation lay  
For future fame; when these rich Piles shall be  
Crumbled to common dust and slighted lie;  
Yet than shall happy I remain alone  
Admired, beloved, and read by every one  
I said.— Genius  
" When straight my Rhriming thus replied.  
Canst thou (ungrateful) leave that pleasing fire  
That doth with such sweet Lays thy Breast inspire?  
Tell me, what's sweeter than, when happy Ease  
From business, gives the wearied Soul release,  
To recreate the mind, and to compose  
And in sweet Verse serener thoughts disclose?  
Or doth the loftier Epic Strain more please?  
To writ the Toils of War than Calms of Peace?  
Or th' Acts of fight Heroes to display  
In Verse as turbulent and rough as they?  
That swelling Pedagogue with croaking noise  
Should bawl thee out to gaping wondering Boys?  
Or that the Tragic Story thou hast writ,  
Should force some puling Damsel into th' Fit?  
Let poring, grave, dull Sots writ so, whose Sense,  
Hatched by Night Study's doth at length commence  
A pompous Nonsense, far lesle pure, and bright  
Than th' gloomy, smoking flame by which they writ.  
Do thou with gentle poignant satire writ,  
Such as may please, and heal, as well as by't;  
And yet so Keen, that he that reads may know  
His Vices touched, and blush, and mend them too.  
Thus, though thy Measures soft and humble be,  
Yet even Heroic Verse shall stoop to thee,    

A Rural complaint of the Approach of Winter.  
Written in the Country. Oct. 28 th'. 1684.  

A Lass he's gone!— farewel beloved Light!  
Adieu blessed Sun! nothing (alas) but Night,  
Naught but corroding Cold, and gloomy Shade  
Succeeds the mournful Exit thou hast made!  
All Nature's frame exhausts its self in sighs,  
And clothed in Sable mourns thy Obsequies  
Careless our gay attire away we throw,  
And silent sorrow rests on every Brow,  
Now no fair Nymphsith ' Verdant Meadows play,  
And by their presence make a brighter day;  
No active Shepherds bathe their pliant Limbs,  
No Boats of pleasure grace the smiling Streams,  
There's not one seen upon the very Thames.  
Nor is it Men alone their sorrows vent;  
Beasts groan their griefs, and as they can lament.  
But Plants, (tho' the Learned Sense deny,)  
Yet they the greatest grief do testify,  
They do not barely Mourn, but also Dye.  
This they most do; but if by chance there's one  
Whose Stock of moisture don't decay so soon,  
Who above the common Fate erects his head,  
And's bravely green when th' weaker Plants are dead,  
Some cold North Wind blasts his aspiring Top,  
Cr in a Grave of Snow he's swallowed up;  
So forced to shrink into his warmer Urn,  
There lies expecting thy long wished return.  
But than as soon as thy refreshing Rays,  
Warm our cold Climate and renew our days;  
With joyful leaps it rends the parting ground,  
And than more verdant than before is found.  
But e'er that happy time approach again  
Winter will show a long and tedious Scene;  
Winter the years old age, old age's death,  
That chills all pleasure with its freezing breath!  
But fond complaints, and fruitless sighs are vain,  
In spite of all, the Plague must still remain;  
And to bewail what can't a voided be  
Is to increase, not ease the Malady;  
Than to dull Age lets pining care bequeath,  
And sorrow to the fancied Ghosts beneath;  
Let all but Mirth be banished quite from us,  
We'll swim in pleasures, and with joys carouse,  
Each day shall sprightly Wine our brains inspire,  
That shall supply the want of Phoebus' fire,  
That raise the fancy, kindle brisk desire;  
Than every night we'll taste the Fruits of Love,  
Through all its secret ravishing Labyrinths rove;  
And melting in the Arms of some kind she,  
We'll lie quite buried in Felicity.  
Where eager Kisses, and a close Embrace  
Shall Winters cursed Idea quite deface.    

CLAUDIAN. EPIGR. de Sphaerâ Archimedis. Imitated.  

ONce as Jove traversed o'er his usual rounds,  
To view the world's vast face and utmost bounds;  
By chance he spied, where Archimedes stood  
With thought full Brain to make his Project good;  
He saw his piercing, curious Eye observe  
Jest any motion from his course should swerve;  
But all was right; this Jove admired, and straight  
Returned to Heaven, there mounts his lofty Seat,  
And smiling thus the encircling Gods doth treat.  
To what vast heights is human Art now grown?  
They scorn to copy Earthly things alone,  
But with bold Wing far above these they're flown,  
And even at my hard task they bravely aim,  
And cast in Glass the great Creation's Frame.  
For in a small, and brittle Globe we see  
(That which before none ever knew but We;)  
The several Motions of the Stars and Spheres,  
And all the Laws of Fate to human Eyes appear.  
The hidden Spring doth a sure motion give  
To all the Orbs who move, and seem to live.  
Here, the bright Sun his dazzling Beams displays  
And guilds a feigned Zodiac with his Rays:  
Whilst the pale Mistress of the guilty Night  
Seems to receive from him her borrowed Light.  
Nay here so lively all the Motions are  
You'd think the World's Epitome it were.  
The affrightned World shall now not more admire  
Salmoneus feigned Thunder, or his Fire.  
So small an attempts beneath his nobler Soul,  
His Fancy knows no limits but the Whole.    

Upon the slighting of his Friends Love.  

LOve guides my hand, and shows me what to writ,  
That (thou) mayst know 'tis she that doth Indite.  
When Love's concerned to make her language known,  
She doth by Numbers soft, and sweet, bemoan  
(Thy silence) enough to make her sigh, and groan.  
She fears that thy sweet nature's winged away,  
Because not touched, by its enlivening Ray:  
She doubts some Veil has overspread its Light,  
Which threatens more than an Egyptian Night;  
Wherein naught but sad mournful Clouds appear,  
Enough to strike thee into endless fear.  
When she on every side doth cast an Eye,  
To see (perhaps) if once she might descry  
Her pleasing, looked for Object passing by.  
There's naught appears, her Vigilance in vain;  
Her careful Eye is recompensed with pain.  
Than down she sinks, bereaved of her sweet breath  
The only sign, that now she's seized with Death.  
Weep now ye Heavens; and let each pearly tear  
Accompany mounting grief, and trembling fear.  
For since Love's dead, the Beauty of our Isle,  
It's more than madness to attempt a smile;  
This rather would become some pompous, nuptial train,  
Than him, whose Heart feels griefs insulting pain.  
When once a Jewel's lost, how careful is each Eye,  
In prying out this Author of our misery?  
Not lesle is he deprived of courting rest  
When Love has left a drooping, panting Breast.  
Cursed be that Person, who has chased thee hence,  
Heaven, with this black crime, can ne'er dispense!  
Cursed be that time, that e'er she fixed on thee,  
The Mother of such unheard of Cruelty.  
Cursed be that place, in which she did impart.  
Her amorous smiles, her most alluring Art.  
In fine, a Curse all Curses else above  
On her, that dared to stab our darling Love!  
May never once Love's Charms attend thee more,  
Till thou atones for what is done before.  
What have I said! this, this, can never be  
Done by the hands of basest Treachery.  
Not, not: we must the Gods above implore,  
Who only can the dead, to life restore.  
Be propitious than, ye ruling Powers above,  
And sand us back our hence departed Love.  
That we may see her raise a towering frame,  
Adorned with lustre from her radiant flame  
Too great to be expressed by empty name.  
Bless us but in this, and than shall we  
In reverence bow, a lowly, thankful Knee,  
Before the Throne of your own sacred Deity.  
Our words, like well tuned Instruments shall be,  
Breathing forth naught but grateful Harmony.  
Our Actions, they shall pay you Tribute too,  
For all is yours, when once we are blest by you.    

Some ELEGIES out of OVID's AMOURS Imitated.  

BOOK the 1st. ELEGY the 3 d.  
To his Mistress.  

THou Charming kindler of my new born fires  
(Just are my Prayers and modest my desires)  
I do not ask precisely you would love  
Give only cause that I may ne'er remove.  
Is this to much? but bear to be adored;  
This sure the greatest Goddess might afford.  
Receive a Slave devoted still to you  
That will be constant and that can be true;  
Not ushered in by Titles or Estate  
The bold Encouragers of th' saucy Great  
My Fate in both at best's but moderate.  
But yet in Wits abundantly supplied  
What in those gaudy Trifles is denied;  
My Manners too for my fond passion move,  
Modest Sincerity doth my Pleader prove,  
And sure 'tis something also that I love,  
I'm not of that Fantastic rambling race,  
Whom each a while, and no one long can please,  
Debauched from truth by every fresher Face;  
You shall all my Amorous thoughts employ,  
Be still my only care, my only joy,  
With you I'd always live, with you I'd gladly dye:  
Vouchsafe yourself a subject for my Pen,  
I'll make my Verse as Glorious as my Theme;  
And Verse to Beauty lasting Fame can give,  
By Verse fair Io doth herself survive,  
By Verse Europa yet, and Leda live.  
Thus also we will share the like renown,  
Through all the world both equally be known,  
My Muse shall make your name as lasting as my own.    

OVID Book the 3d, ELEGY the 7 th'.  

WOuld any still neglected Arts adore?  
Or fond think that Verse has any power?  
True; Wit was prized as sacred heretofore,  
And held more precious than the shining Oar,  
But now 'tis downright Nonsense to be poor:  
Without success my Books my fair one please,  
Whilst I the freedom want, she grants to these,  
She praises, yet excludes th' applauded man,  
Poor witty I rove up and down in vain.  
A wealth upstart she to me prefers,  
Raised by his wounds, and thus enriched with Scars:  
Fool! canst with him in fond Embraces join,  
Receive his Dalliance or afford him thine?  
The Head thou dandlest hath a Helmet bore,  
The side that serves thee wore a Sword before,  
That Hand whose Rings now such a prospect yield,  
' Stead of this Gold wore once the base Shield;  
And touch but t'other that has been embrued  
In some poor slaughtered Enemies reeking Blood:  
Canst thou than suffer such a hand as this?  
Ah where's thy former wonter Tenderness?  
Behold his Scars those marks of Battles fought,  
What e'er he has he with his Body bought;  
Perhaps he'll brag himself what Foes he has slain  
Can he tell this? and can he than obtain?  
Can you be such a Slave to sordid Gain?  
Whilst I the Votary of deserving Wit  
(Why should Wits Sons to those of Wars submit?)  
With fruitless Numbers, unavailing Powers  
Sing slighted Verses at obdurate doors.  
Learn who are wise, some thriving art of Gain,  
Not that which Idle we admire in vain  
But that of Fights, of War, and a Campaign.  
Instead of scribbling Verses lead a Troop,  
This, Homer might, this should have been thy Scope.  
Jove well advised of Golds Almightiness,  
Transformed himself to what he knew would please,  
Turned Bribe, and so subdued his greedy Miss.  
Till than the Father bore a jealous Eye,  
Each door was barred, and even the Nymph was coy  
But when the Golden Lover wisely came,  
Lesle nice, she kindly entertained his flame.  
Not so in peacesul Saturn's Government,  
When close each Metal in Earth's Prison penned,  
Heaven gave no Wealth, but better Blessings sent;  
Corn freely springing from the teeming ground,  
Fruits and i'th' sturdy Oak sweet Honey found.  
None strove with pains to make the soil more kind,  
No fence particular Estates confined.  
The quiet Ocean knew no cleaving Oars  
Whilst all were bounded by their utmost Shores.  
Subtly vain man did 'gainst himself device,  
To his own hurt too witty and too wise.  
What did it prosit Cities to enclose,  
Weapons to frame, and thus decide by blows?  
How foolish was that curiosity,  
That egged us first to try the pathless Sea!  
Land had sufficed a modest just desire,  
But we proud things must stretch our knowledge higher,  
'Tis strange we don't to Heaven itself aspire.  
We do as far, as in our power lies;  
Thence grew the numerous pack of Deities,  
Heroes made Gods and Seated in the Skies.  
From Earth's dark Womb we massy Treasures tear,  
Which found the daring, plundering Soldiers share.  
No place falls to the poor; 'tis an Estate  
Preferment gets; the rich prove only Great.  
Let 'em be so, thus may they still increase,  
Transact th' Affairs of War, th' Employs of Peace;  
But let 'em not invade Love's property;  
Let even the poor enjoy his Mistress free.  
But now howe'er in Virtue she excel,  
She's taken Captive at the rich man's william.  
For me she dreads her Husband's jealousy,  
For me suspects a Guardians prying Eye,  
Let me but give, and both shall humbly fly.  
Revenge, ye Gods, for sure Revenge is just;  
Consume this Wealth with everlasting rust,  
And turn so ill used Treasure to its native Dust.    

BOOK the 3 d. ELEGY the 10 th'.  
To his false Mistress, from whose Love he cannot get free.  

MUch I've endured, my patience long oppressed,  
Tired with ill usage is o'ercome at last;  
Begun fond Love, and leave my wearied Breast.  
Freed from my Chain, I blush to think I bore,  
What without shame I underwent before.  
Conqueror I proudly spurn poor vanquished Love,  
Thou long first, I at last such power prove.  
Go on, persist, you'll ne'er the pains repent;  
The bitterest Physic's often convenient.  
And have I than so often repulsed, refused,  
The cold hard Ground for my sad Pillow used?  
Have I, whilst you some Rival blest within,  
Without a waiting, slavish Servant been!  
Have I seen more the happy man pass by,  
Feeble with Love, and overtoyled with joy?  
What's worse, has he seen me too in that place?  
Gods, may my worst of Foes prove such disgrace.  
Han't I obsequiously through all the Town,  
Gallanted, treated, Coached you up and down?  
Loved for my sake, whilst in my company,  
Others you pleased because adored b●ver●  
What should I add your perjured Treacheries,  
Mock Vows, shame Promises, and jilting Lies?  
Yours and your Lovers silent stolen commerce,  
By purposed nods, known signs, and amorous tweers,  
When my loathed presence barred a free discourse?  
'Twas said, she's sick; with eager hast I flew,  
And found she was not to my Rival so.  
This and much else thus long 've tamely bore;  
Get some new Fool; for I'll drudge on no more.  
My Ship at last has gained the happy Port,  
And hears now safe the roaring Waves with sport.  
Cease your vain wheedles, they'll not longer pass;  
I'm not the fond, believing Fool I was.  
Yet, ah! two thwarting passions strongly move  
My doubtful Breast; hate one way, t'other Love;  
And Love, I fear, at last will Victor prove.  
I'll hate you if I can, if not, at lest  
I'll love unwillingly; The Captive Beast  
Likes not his Yoke, and yet is with it pressed.  
Fly I your Crimes? your stronger Charms restrain;  
Those I do hate, but those I would in vain.  
Thus can I nor without, nor with thee live,  
And scarce I know, what I myself would have.  
O, that you were lesle false, or else lesle fair!  
Such faults, su●…●eauty too, too different are.  
Your Gild claims ●…te, your Face does Love entreat,  
Ah me! This still more prevalent is than that.  
Spare, than by all the ties of former joy,  
By all those Gods so often ye are perjured by;  
And by my Deity, that face of thine,  
By those bright Eyes, with Love have made me blind '  
whate'er you are, you shall be ever mine.  
Consider only which ye had rather have,  
A willing Servant, or a murmuring Slave.  
Not, let me wisely improve Necessity,  
Add Sails, and with the powerful Winds comply,  
Since they'll drive me to Love, in spite of me.     

The Golden Age.  

FAir Golden Age, not because Rivers purled  
With Streams of Milk to feed the newborn world,  
And Virgin Honey dropped from every Tree,  
Natures own Hive for the industrious Bee;  
When the Earth untilled her Plenty freely gave,  
And all the labour was to wish and have;  
When stingless Snakes for love not fear did stray  
And in the Woods securely lost there way:  
Nor did above one hover Cloud appear,  
But undivided Heaven and Earth were near,  
And if the Gods make Heaven, than Heaven was here:  
'twas always Spring, and always like to hold,  
And younger grew as Time, and years grew old,  
No Storm had raised those Seas that lay beneath,  
The Infant Winds as yet could hardly breath,  
Too weak to fill a Sail, or conduct home  
Or war or wealth, which more than War has over come,  
Fair Golden Age but not alone for these  
From something greater grew thy happiness!  
Happy alone because that empty name  
That airy Nothing, built on lighter Fame,  
That Title without substance, senseless thing  
The World's great Idol, and the Courtier's King  
Falsely call d Honour (our worst Enemy)  
Had not imbittered Love with Cruelty.  
Nor bounded with harsh Laws those Amorous fires  
Which die and languish in consigned desires.  
When Laws were Golden as the Age, and free  
As Nature's self, Love where best pleases thee.  
'twas than that to the bubbling of a spring  
Love first composed his voice and learned to sing,  
Love that was so all o'er, and did not know  
Himself, the use either of Torch or Bow.  
Swains of themselves, and Nymphs untought did love,  
And in a Thousand ways their passion prove,  
Mixing with every word a softer smile,  
And whispers longer Kisses did beguile.  
Virgins blushed not to show their newblown Rose,  
And all their Beauties did unasked disclose,  
The unripe Apples of their breast, which now  
Are hid with leaves, and ripe but for one grow.  
Passionate Lovers by the fountains played,  
Quenching those flames there which their glances made.  
Thou Honour first of all didst hid that Spring  
Increasts the fire, yet didst not Water bring,  
None to assuage the Thirst which inward turns  
And on itself for want of fuel burns;  
Thou first gavest Laws tothth' motion of the Eye  
Toughtst it to frown, disdain, and Cruelty,  
Didst in a hood imprison that bright hair  
Which was before so courted by the Air,  
And hast such Reinss on all our Passions laid  
That Words nay Looks are of thy Laws afraid;  
From thee it is, O Honour, that we prove  
Thiefs to procure, what was the gift of Love,  
●nd all that we by thy Achievements gain  
Is that we may with greater sense complain.  
But say great Power who every where dost sway  
Whom Love, and Nature, as we them obey,  
Ruler of Kings, why waits thy greatness here  
Where Pride and Luxury dare not appear?  
Alas these Huts thy Lustre cannot hold  
There's Love, no honour in the Shepherd's fold;  
Go rather and disturb some Gallants breast  
Go break the Soldiers or the Courtier's rest,  
And leave us to ourselves, who choose to be  
As little minded by as we mind thee.  
A poor neglected rout, who would retrieve  
The Golden Age, and by their Pattern live!  
Let's love, for Life and Years have no long truce,  
Since one hour Thousand changes can produce!  
Let's love: the Sun that every evening dies  
And all night buried in the Ocean lies,  
Revives next Morn. with an Illustrious Ray  
And first, renews his Age and than the Day:  
But when our cloudy day of Life is done  
Eternal Sleep and Night succeeds our Sun.   
H. W   

To SYLVIA.  

I Know not whether all these miseries  
Which Lovers prove, their fears, their jealousies,  
Their constant Love, their Services and Prayers,  
Their Sighs, their Tears, their Hopes and their Despairs  
Can ever fully recompensed be  
Should they obtain their wished felicity;  
Or that a Woman when she loves at best,  
Cures half the Wounds she made i'th' Lover's breast.  
But though't be true, that the best comes at last  
And that sweets, with some bitter, sweeter taste,  
That happiness by waiting does improve,  
And frowns and sightings make us dearer love;  
Yet give not me this greater Happiness  
O Love I'll be contented with a lesle;  
That on some more deserving soul bestow,  
Who would its worth by former miseries know.  
Rather let me my Love obtain  
With little service and lesle pain,  
There need no sighs, there need no tears,  
Nor to increase our Love rude fears,  
Let it alone such seas'ning have  
As help the gust but not deprave:  
A sweet Repulse or two for trial,  
A little Coyness, no Denial,  
An amorous War that may produce  
In Hearts agreed or peace or truce.   
H. W.   

To LOVE.  

O Love, in what school are thy Precepts taught,  
Who has thy Art into a Method brought?  
Or could hmself so great a Master prove  
To give sure rules for so uncertain Love?  
Or trace the mind, when with thy wings it flies,  
And hides its soaring head above the skies?  
This learned Athens never could declare,  
Nor Aristotle's School when he taught there:  
Apollo in Parnassus reads not love,  
Like one that hast by instinct from above;  
He speaks but coldly, has no voice of fire,  
As those whom Love himself deigns to inspire,  
Nor can his elevated Fancy rise  
Equal to th' height of thy grand mysteries.  
'Tis Thou, O Love, Thine only Master art,  
Thou only thy own Precepts canst impart,  
Teaching unlettered souls in a fair eye  
To read what thou wrot'st there, their Destiny.  
'tis thou unty'st their tongues, and makest them break  
Not silence only, but in Numbers speak;  
And, what's more strange, (O hidden Eloquence  
Of Love, and its more powerful influence!)  
Mak'st an half and unspoken word do more  
Than softest strains of Rhetoric could before,  
And with a sigh canst greater passion move  
Than a set speech from one that knows not love.  
For silence has its voice, and can beseech  
Coming from Love: Silence itself's a Speech.  
Than let who's will turn o'er Philosophy,  
And search for love where love did never lie,  
I'll learn by rote in some fair Lady's eye:  
And though my Rural Muse cannot rehearse  
Like them who cloth the Loves in lofty verse,  
Yet the most losty verse shall to my strains  
Stand up like barren hills to fruitful plains;  
For though they're only carved on some rough-tree,  
Yet growing like my love my Verse shall be.   
H. W.   

LOVE'S Religion.  

I.  
WHat fools are all we Lovers, thus to own  
Thy strange unnatural Religion?  
That makes us all a Sacrifice  
(For 'twould be Heresy not to die,)  
To some fair Idol She:  
Nay we are Martyrs too for this,  
And must endure the fire,  
Yet to our Heaven, alas, are ne'er the nigher!   

II.  
For lo! my She dislikes whatever I say,  
And chides me so, as if't were sin to pray:  
Go than some milder tenants teach  
Thy lovely Priesthood Womankind;  
Ah, gently change their mind!  
Ah! do but Repentance preach,  
And thou shalt quickly see  
The wiser world turn Proselytes for Thee.   

III.  
Me thinks thy Saint should be compassionate,  
To pity wrongs, and to prevent our fate:  
Yet such are beauteous Women grown,  
Whom all their Lovers canonize,  
Or style their Deities.  
But when I make my Mistress one.  
With them I disagree,  
And only say, that She is very She.   
F. W.   

The UNION.  

I.  
LEt dull Philosophers the ignorant tell  
That Souls are indivisible;  
We found their rules do not prove always true  
'tis but one Soul informs us two;  
So by one Loadstone touched, as We by Love,  
Two distant Needles to the same point move.   

II.  
Go now, and ask thy jealous kindred, why  
They thee to love thy self deny.  
For 'tis just so, our Love's a Phoenix grown,  
And we are eminently one;  
Such Miracles our Sympathy can do,  
That I not longer am myself, but you.   

III.  
Than let's not talk, But Kindred disagree;  
Prithee what's That to Thee and Me?  
Our Love's the worm, 've tried so often to kill  
By separating us, yet still  
Mistaken fools! we mock your subtle art,  
This, though divided, lives in every part.   
F. W.   

TO HIS much Honoured Friend and Relation Mr. FRANCIS WILLIS Merchant at GREENWICH, Upon his discovery of a Weed in Virginia, which is a present Remedy against the venom of the RATTLE-SNAKES there.  

AS, when Apollo with his artful hand  
The Python slew, and cleared th' infected Land;  
The joyful Muses crowded round their King,  
And every Poet did the mighty Triumph sing:  
So, as her duty, SIR, my grateful Muse  
Does such a Subject, such a Conquest choose  
To celebrated: For (till you sailed away,  
And to those coasts your Learning did convey,  
Where Savage Nature long unquestioned lay,  
Proud of those ills, which at her dire command  
Infectious Serpents scattered through the Land.)  
Ten thousand Deaths in armour did appear,  
As if the Fates quartered their Legions there  
To kill, and tyrannize; whilst none could be  
Secure from the bold glittering Enemy.  
But soon at your approach these Ills did cease,  
And health regained an universal peace.  
For you well-versed in arts had quickly spied  
What Medicines in this little Plant lay hid;  
What Sovereign virtues in this Weed did devil,  
Like Princes forstered in a Shepherd's Cell:  
Which on the Snakes imposed a rigid Law,  
Constrained their rage, and kept the Fates in awe.  
So that if after this they venom threw,  
'Twas out of pride to be ore-powered by You.  
For this (Great SIR) such praises you may claim  
As none can pay, nor shall your sacred Name  
Be next to Raleighs in the book of Fame;  
Raleigh, who only Honour here pursued,  
And the wild people, not their foes, subdued  
By force of Arms; but to save lives is more,  
Than 'twas to conquer the whole Land before.   
By FRAN. WILLIS, Fellow of NEW-COLL.   

HORACE, Book the First,  
ODE the 21. Paraphrased.  

I.  
BEgin, begin Diana's praise,  
Ye lovely Nymphs in soft Harmonious Lays,  
Soft as your Sex, and charming as your eyes;  
And all ye blooming Youths combine  
To make the beauteous Choir:  
Tune, tune the speaking Lyre,  
And young Apollo with Diana join:  
Next let your Hymns, that kindle Gods above,  
Latona's fame declare,  
Latona's, Heaven's peculiar care,  
The joy, and darling of Almighty JOVE.   

II.  
Diana sing, ye Nymphs, Diana loves  
The Crystal streams, and shady groves;  
She loves the pleasant woods that grow,  
And hung o'er Algidum's cool brow;  
She in green Cragus doth delight,  
Or where thick Forests spread  
Around dark Erymanthus head,  
That yields us safe retreats from day, and pleasant scenes of Night.   

III.  
Ye Noble youths with equal strife rehearse,  
How on green Tempe, Phoebus' flowery seat,  
Eternal Springs do wait:  
Or in immortal verse  
Fair Delos Isle applaud,  
Delos the cradle of the God,  
Whose shoulder's all divine,  
Graced with a golden Harp, and golden Quiver shine.   

iv  
He, He moved by your charming prayers,  
(For what God can regardless lie,  
When Youth and Beauty courts, or can their suit deny?)  
Will banish far from Caesar's peaceful seat  
The dismal noise of Wars;  
Will make the famine, and the plague retreat,  
The haughty Persians' to oppose,  
To tyrannize and triumph o'er our foes,  
And do the work of Caesar's sword, the mighty work of Fate.   
F. W.   

SENECA's Hercules Furens. Act. 1. Chorus.  

FEw are the Lights we now in Heaven can view,  
And even those few are faint and dying too.  
The Night o'ercome calls in each wand'ring star,  
And lagging Lucifer brings up the rear.  
The Constellation, that ne'er knew the Sea,  
Turns but its Chariot, and calls up the Day.  
The Sun just rising o'er the mountains, guilds  
With scattered rays of light the joyful fields,  
And for a while the Moon departing yields.  
Loathed Labour wakes, and rouses drowsy cares,  
Unlocks each breast, and every house unbars.  
The Sheep unfolded from their hurdles pass,  
And on the dewy mountains straggling graze.  
The soft young Heifer plays upon the Plain,  
And emptied Dams recruit their Tets again.  
The wanton Kid runs o'er the pleasant Meads,  
And wildly wand'ring sports by turns, and feeds.  
The chirping Birds on boughs their joy express,  
And in each Note the welcome Day confess.  
The daring Seaman boldly hoists up Sail,  
And trusts a promising Sky, a gentle Gale;  
Uncertain yet what after may befall.  
The greedy Fisher lies upon the Cheat,  
Often balked he still pursues the false deceit,  
And still renews the unsuccessful bait.  
Lucky sometimes he gazes at his prey,  
Wondering at th' fortune of the happy day,  
Whilst trembling Lines the nibbling Fish betray.  
These are th' Employments of the harmless life,  
Blest in sost ease, and undisturbed with strife;  
Where a small house with a few fruitful fields,  
The sweetest content to its glad Owner yields.  
Not so in Cities; the tumultuous Cares,  
Uncertain Hopes, jealous, tormenting Fears,  
Still whisk, like whirlwinds, every where about,  
And found each private, secret corner out,  
Here one with some Petition to his Grace  
Submissive waits two hours for access,  
And ten to one his aim at last may miss.  
There a rich Miser's striving to attain  
To greater wealth, and knows no end of Gain;  
Never contented, he still aims at more,  
Is ever heaping, and is ever poor.  
Here a fond Ass swells bloated up with Praise,  
Which the vain, empty, fickle people raise;  
Values himself upon't, and straight grows proud  
To be the ageant of th' unthinking Crowd.  
And there each Term for hire great pleading Boys  
Let out their Tongues to jangling, strife, and noise.  
But few, ah! few are They, who care or strive  
To gain true quiet, and to happy live;  
Who from a sense of Time's great preciousness,  
Catch at the fleeting minutes as they pass,  
And wisely to themselves secure that Now,  
Which ne'er returns, if idly once let go.  
Haste than and live, no pleasing Joys delay,  
But timely seize on pleasures whilst you may.  
Life hurries o'er its short, soon finished race,  
And hasty years whirl on with eager pace.  
The diligent Fates still our life's thread spin on,  
They ne'er undo what they have once begun,  
Nor idly  the fatal work prolong,  
Yet heedless we still search new dangers out,  
Seek ways to bring an early Death about,  
And our unfinished Thread by our own rashness cut.  
Headlong half way our Destiny we meet,  
Forestall our ruin, and prevent our Fate.  
Too much the Hero to his end does haste,  
Which of itself approaches but too fast.  
The regular Fated at their due seasons come,  
Each in his order must receive his doom.  
None e'er, when called, behind may lagging stay,  
None may prolong his set, appointed day;  
When once we're summoned, we must all obey.  
Let others than endeavour after Fame,  
And strive to purchase an eternal Name;  
Let others in triumphant Chariots ride,  
With gaudy Honours, and with empty Pride;  
Humbly may I, free from all being Great,  
Enjoy a safe, and an obscure retreat  
So I grey hairs and old age may attain,  
Things which the busy, restless, seldom gain,  
Unless before their times they come with cares and pain.  
Thus still, though homely, the low Fortune's sure,  
Whilst splendid Greatness never is secure.    

SENECA's Agamemnon. Act. 1. Chorus.  

FOrtune, thou Grand Impostor, what a cheat  
Is 〈◊〉 that good, thou seem'st to give the Great,  
●…cious show for real substance caught!  
How steep's the Hight, how false on which they stand,  
And yet how few the pleasures they command!  
Soft, easy, quiet, sits not on a Throne,  
Nor can a Monarch call one day his Own,  
Care after care still harrasses his mind;  
One storm blown o'er, another's still behind.  
Not the wild Waters of the wanding Tide  
Are half such various, such unsteady Things,  
As are th' uneven Fates of restless Kings.  
They Dread at once, and to be Feared,  
Even most, with what they most desire, scared.  
The Night itself gives them no safe Retreat,  
Business and Danger still attend the Great.  
Even Sleep, the general refuge of all cares,  
Calms not their Troubles, nor dispels their Fears.  
Besides, What States have been so powerful known,  
That have not been by cruel Wars o'rethown,  
And by ambitious Monarches strifes undone?  
Faith, Justice, Shame, Truth, Honour, Chastity,  
And even the lest regard of any Tie,  
Avoid all Courts, from every Palace fly.  
Pride, Jars, and Factions in their stead appear,  
And Fury, Envy, in each Breast dwells there.  
These still remain, still threaten ruin nigh,  
And surely still, where e'er they are, destroy.  
Yet should both Wars and private Treason cease,  
This won't secure poor Monarch's happiness.  
Each Great thing's even oppressed by its own weight;  
The mighty Load's too vast for feeble Fate.  
Thus when full Sails swell with a prosperous wind,  
We fear the Gale because it is too kind.  
The Tower, that proudly does to Heaven aspire,  
Finds but thereby the rainy Tempests nigher.  
And in those Groves, where thickest shades are cast,  
Lightning the tallest Oaks does soon blast.  
The loftiest Mountains feel he Thunder most,  
And those Gross bodies, that most bulk do boast,  
Are even by that, to Sickness more exposed.  
The largest Oxen we for slaughter choose,  
Whilst the small Herd we let to pasture lose.  
What Fate exalts, it will again undo,  
And lifts but up that it may overthrew.  
Whilst things are low, more mean, and moderate,  
Enjoy a lasting and enduring Date.  
Happy than He, who pleased with his own chance,  
Seeks not too far his Fortune to advance,  
Trusts not his Vessel to the faithless Deep,  
But nigh the shore does more securely keep.    

SONG.  

I.  
I Cannot sigh and wish alone,  
Thomas to speak may be in vain;  
I ne'er can be afraid to own  
A Passion, I must entertain.  
If than this Address accuse,  
Blame the faulty Charms, not Me;  
'Tis but just they should excuse,  
Since they caused this Liberty.   

II.  
A moderate Passion unrevealed  
Smothered in my Breast had been,  
As dying Emberss may concealed  
Burn a while, and not be seen,  
But when Wit and Beauty join,  
Such a fire as mine to raise,  
Who can its fierce rage confine?  
It must needs burst forth, and blaze.    

The Baffled SWAIN.  

THE Muse's Darling, Pride of all the Plains,  
Daphnis the soft the sweetest of the Swains  
Long reigned in Love, for every Nymph he viewed  
He caught, he only looked and he subdued:  
But now the melancholy Youth retires  
Thro shady Groves and wanders thro' the Briars  
Sad and alone: at last beneath a Shade  
Of spreading Elm and Beech supinely laid  
He sighed, he shook his head, and thus he said:  
When I so long, so faithfully did woe  
And did what Constancy and Truth could do,  
Why is my Suit refused, my Prayers in vain.  
And warm Endeavours damned by cold disdain?  
Must Slights the lean rewards of Virtue prove!  
Unhappy Daphnis fatal in thy Love!  
Long drought the flowers and storms the labouring Bee,  
And unsuccessful Love hath ruin'd Thee.  
This Heaven (had I observed the Omen well)  
As conscious of my Fate did often foretell;  
It showed my flattering hope should disappear,  
And waste like Vapours tossed in flitting Air;  
Last night when careful of my Flocks I went  
To see my Lambs were fed, and Folds were penned,  
A Flame shone round my head, but soon the Light  
Decayed, and all around stood deepest Night.  
But is Urania so averse to Love!  
Can none of all the Rival Shepherds move?  
Ah Aegon how I envy thy success!  
Thy Fortune greater, though thy Charms were lesle:  
Without a long Fatigue, and tedious Suit  
The Door was opened, and you reached the Fruit:  
O how I pine at thy surprising joys!  
Dye Daphnis, she is partial in her choice.  
Yet once I hoped (what cannot Love persuade?)  
Moore kind returns from the obliging Maid:  
Her Looks were soft, smiles on her Cheeks did lie,  
No cloudy frowns obscured the pleasing Sky:  
Nor could I think that e'er the time would come  
When constant Love should prove the Lover's doom  
The Flowers I plucked, the Garlands which I wove  
She took and wore as Badges of my Love:  
She heard my Songs, nor did m● Art contemn,  
And sometimes she would stoop to be my Theme:  
Damaetas envied, Colin tuned my Lays,  
Whilst she sat by, and gladly heard her praise:  
Sooner shall Dolphins o'er the Mountains swim,  
Does graze on Floods, and Bees forget their thime,  
Than I that day when with a smile she led  
The joyful Aegon to her promised Bed,  
With what a high disdain he marched along,  
And proudly looked on the despairing throng!  
Yet he ne'er fed the Flocks, ne'er penned the Fold,  
Nor bore the Summer's heat, nor Winter's cold;  
But he had Wealth, and that alone betrayed  
The heedless mind of the unthinking Maid,  
Cursed be the wretch that first did Gold dispense,  
And robbed the happy Plains of Innocence!  
Am I refused because my Suit was plain,  
The artless Courtship of an humble Swain?  
You know me not, nor yet the pains I took  
Whilst Aegon slept to feed the weary Flock,  
How often have the Nymphs beheld me sweated  
Beneath the fury of the Summer's heat,  
How often seen the Frost bind up my hair,  
And cried, ah Daphnis worn with too much care!  
But what avails my care, what boots my pain,  
But only yields a larger Subject to complain.    

To SYLVIA.  

NAY prithee Sylvia be not coy,  
My Dear, my Life, my greatest Joy;  
A Thousand Kisses dearest Heart,  
Unto thy Votary impart:  
But yet not such as Infants give,  
When they begin to love, and live:  
Not like a Sister's sapless Kiss,  
Which has no taste of future bliss:  
But such, my Dearest, such alone  
As in the Marriagebed are known;  
Oh! may they have as great a gust  
As e'er th' Almighty power of Lust  
Can give. At lest such may they be  
As those the young fair wanton She  
Gives her beloved, when first a flame  
(For which as yet she wants a Name)  
She feels thro' every joint to run,  
And inwardly does melt and burn;  
Like Veins of Metals, Earth, and Stone,  
With Subterran'ous fires unseen, unknown.  
How sweet, how close do Virgins kiss,  
At th' dawning of some greater bliss!  
Come now begin.— Nay don't delay,  
In kissing let us spend the Day;  
And when the tell-tale Day-light's in  
Afresh we will our Joys begin.  
The Pimping Night alone shall know  
What you, and I, my Dear, than do.  
Some silly Fools I know there are  
Who only love the Girl that's fair,  
Are pleased with Pictures senseless Toys,  
As ignorant as they of joys;  
And have they one dry Kiss obtained  
They think they have all the world gained:  
I love an Airy, lively Lass:  
'Tis Life, and Action gives a Grace,  
Beyond the brightness of an Angel's face.  
'Tis such a Lass alone can move  
My Passion, she only make me love,  
Who Kiss for Kiss, will love for love return,  
And with a flame as pure as mine will burn;  
Who when into my Arms she's come.  
Makes wanton Sallies with her Tongue;  
Her Passion thus, like harmless Doves,  
In pleasing sighs and murmurs proves;  
And when moist Kisses make my flame  
Wax dim, make me look pale and wan;  
Her dying sighs will Life inspire,  
And fan th' almost extinguished Fire  
Increase its heat and raise it high.  
If thus, my Sylvia, thus you'll prove,  
Make such requitals of my Love;  
And let me gently squeeze your Breast,  
Now sport, now on those Hillocks rest:  
And if by chance I loose my way  
You will be kind and let me stray  
Through those by Paths which Love shall show,  
Unto the happy Land below.  
Not greater Blessings will I crave,  
(Nor can I greater, would I greater have;)  
Lesle than a King I can not be,  
With such a boundless Liberty.  
Kings and their Gold I will despise,  
And all their gaudy Vanities,  
And only Thee dear Sylvia will I prise.   
FINIS.    

A Catalogue of Books Printed for, and Sold by Anthony Stephen's Bookseller in Oxford.  

Books in Octavo. 

LVcretius in six Books, done into English by Mr. Creech Fellow of All-Souls Coll. in Oxford, the Third Edition.  
The Idylliums' of Theocritus done out of Greek into English by Mr. Creech  
Odes, Satyrs, and Epistles of Horace, done into English by Mr. Creech.  
Mr. Oldhams Works Comp.  
The Anatomy of Human Bodies Epitomised, the Second Edition.  
An Account of the Divine Right, or Original of Government.  
Wit against Wisdom, or a Panegyric upon Folly.  
Anacreon done out of Greek into English, by Mr. Willis Fellow of New Coll.  
Contra Historiam Aristeae de LXX. Interpretibus, per H. Hody A. M. Coll. Wadhami Oxon.  
Dr. Tullii Enchiridion.  
Cor. Nepos. done into English by several Hands in the University of Oxford.  
The Elements of Euclid Explained in a plain but most easy method, Together with the use of every Proposition throughout the Mathematics.    
In Quarto. 

A Brief Introduction to Geography.  
Cluverius Geog. cum fig. Amst.  
Stierii Philosophiae.    
In Duodecimo. 

Anthologia sex Selecta quaedam Poemata Italorum qui Latine Scripserunt.  
H. Grotius de veritate Relig. Christ. Am.