Fame is at beft but an inconftant good,
Vain are the boasted titles of our blood;
We fooneft loft what we most highly prize,
And with our youth our short-liv'd beauty dies;
In vain our fields and flocks increase our flore,
If our abundance makes us with for more;
How happy is the harmless country-maid,
Who, rich by nature, fcorns fuperfluous aid!
Whofe modeft cloaths no wanton eyes invite,
But like her foul preferves the native white;
Whofe little store her well-taught mind does please,
Nor pinch'd with want, nor cloy'd with wanton
cafe,

Who, free from storms, which on the great-ones
fall,

Makes but few wifhes, and enjoys them all;
No care but love can difcompofe her breast,
Love, of all cares, the sweetest and the best:
While on sweet grafs her bleating charge does lie,
Our happy lover feeds upon her eye;
Not one on whom or Gods or men impose,
But one whom love has for this lover chofe,
Under fome favourite myrtle's fhady boughs,
They fpeak their paffions in repeated vows,
And whilft a blufh confeffes how the burns,
His faithful heart makes as fincere returns;
Thus in the arms of love and peace they lie,
And while they live, their flames can never die.

the pale tyrant, who to horrid graves
Condemus to many t ufand helpleis flaves,
Ungrateful we do gentle fleep compare,
Who, though his victories as numerous are,
Yet from his flaves no tribute docs he take,
But woeful cares that load men while they wake.
When his foft charms had eas'd my weary fight
Of all the baleful troubles of the light,
Dorinda came, divested of the fcorn
Which the unequal'd maid fo long had worn;
How oft, in vain, had Love's great God effay'd
To tame the ftubborn heart of that bright maid!
Yet, fpite of all the pride that fwells her mind,
The humble God of Sleep can make her kind.
A rifing blufh increas'd the native store
Of charms, that but too fatal were before.
Once more prefent the vision to my view,
The fweet illufion, gentle Pate, renew!
How kind, how lovely fhe, how ravish'd I!.
Shew me, bleft God of Sleep, and let me die.

THE GHOST

I feel (but, oh! too late) that no disease
Is like a furfeit of luxurious eafe:
And of all others, the most tempting things
Are too much wealth, and too indulgent kings.
None ever was fuperlatively ill,

But by degrees, with industry and skill:
And fome whofe meaning hath at first been fair,
Grow knaves by ufe, and rebels by despair.
My time is paft, and yours will foon begin,
Keep the first bloffoms from the blaft of fin;
And by the fate of my tumultuous ways,
Preferve yourselves, and bring fetener days.
The busy, subtle serpents of the law,
Did firft my mind from true obedience draw;
While I did limits to the king prescribe,
And took for oracles that canting tribe,
I chang'd true freedom for the name of free,
And grew feditious for variety:
All that oppos'd me were to be accus'd,
And by the laws illegally abus'd;
The robe was fummon'd, Maynard in the head,
In legal murder none fo deeply read;

I brought him to the bar, where once he flood,
Stain'd with the (yet unexpiated) blood
Of the brave Strafford, when three kingd

rung

With his accumulative hackney-tongue;
Prisoners and witneffes were waiting by,
Thefe had been taught to fwear, and thole te
die,

And to expect their arbitrary fates,
Some for ill faces, fome for good estates.
To fright the people, and alarm the town,
Bedloe and Oates employ'd the reverend gown.
But while the triple mitre bore the blame,
The king's three crowns were their rebellion

aim:

I feem'd (and did but seem) to fear the guards,
And took for mine the Bethels and the Wards:
Anti-monarchic Heretics of state,
Immoral Atheists, rich and reprobate :
But above all I got a little guide,
Who every ford of villainy had try'd:
None knew fo well the old pernicious way,
To ruin fubjects, and make kings obey;
And my fmail Jehu, at a furious rate,
Was driving Eighty back to Forty-eight.
This the king knew, and was refolv'd to bear,
But I mistook his patience for his fear.
All that this happy island could afford,
Was facrific'd to my voluptuous board.
In his whole paradife, one only tree
He had excepted by a ftrict decree;
A facred tree, which royal fruit did bear,
Yet it in pieces I confpir'd to tear;
Beware, my child! divinity is there.

OF THE OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS, This fo undid all I had done before,

TO THE NEW ONE, APPOINTED TO MEET AT

I could attempt, and he endure no more;
My unprepar'd, and unrepenting breath,
Was fnatch'd away by the fwift hand of death;
And I, with all my fins about me, hurl'd
To th' utter darkness of the lower world:
A dreadful place! which you too foon will ke
If you believe feducers more than me.

י ד

THOU

ON THE

DE A T H

OF

A LADY'S DO G.

HOU, happy creature, art fecure
From all the torments we endure;
Defpair, ambition, jealousy,

Loft friends, nor love, difquiet thee;
A fullen prudence drew thee hence
From noife, fraud, and impertinence.
Though life effay'd the surest wile,
Gilding itself with Laura's fmile;

How didft thou fcorn life's meaner charms,

Thou who could'ft break from Laura's arms!

Poor Cynic! ftill methinks I hear
Thy awful murmurs in my ear;
As when on Laura's lap you lay,
Chiding the worthless crowd away.
How fondly human passions turn!
What we then envy'd, now we mourn!

YOU

've seen to-night the glory of the East,
The man, who all the then known world
poffeft,

That kings in chains did fon of Ammon call,
And kingdoms thought divine, by treason fall.
Him Fortune only favour'd for her sport:
And when his conduct wanted her fupport,
His empire, courage, and his boafted line,
Were all prov'd mortal by a flave's defign.
Great Charles, whofe birth has promis'd milder
fway,

Whofe awful nod all nations must obey,
Secur'd by higher powers, exalted stands
Above the reach of facrilegious hands;
Thofe miracles that guard his crowns, declare
That heaven has form'd a monarch worth their

care;

Born to advance the loyal, and depofe
His own, his brother's, and his father's foes.
Faction, that once made diadems her prey,
And ftopt our prince in his triumphant way,
Fled like a mist before this radiant day.
So when, in heaven, the mighty rebels rose,
Proud, and refolv'd that empire to depofe,
Angels fought firit, but unsuccessful prov'd,
God kept the conqueft for his best belov'd:
At fight of fuch omnipotence they fly,
Like leaves before autumnal winds, and die.
All who before him did afcend the throne,
Labour'd to draw three reftive nations on.

He boldly drives them forward without pain,
They hear his voice, and straight obey the rein,
Such terror fpeaks him deftin'd to command;
We worship Jove with thunder in his hand;
But when his mercy without power appears,
We flight his altars, and neglect our prayers.
How weak in arms did civil difcord fhew!
Like Saul, fhe ftruck with fury at her foe,
When an immortal hand did ward the blow.
Her offspring, made the royal hero's scorn,
Like fons of earth, all fell as foon as born:
Yet let us boaft, for fure it is our pride,
When with their blood our neighbour lands were
dy'd,

Ireland's untainted loyalty remain'd,

Her people guiltless, and her fields unstain’d.

And with an early hand they form the temper'd THE gods were pleas'd to chufe the conquering

HORACE'S

ART O F

F POET. R Y*.

I

"Scribendi rectè, fapere eft & principium & fons."

HAVE feldom known a trick fucceed, and will put none upon the reader; but tell him plainly that I think it could never be more feasonable than now to lay down fuch rules, as, if they be observed, will make men write more correctly, and judge more difcreetly: but Horace must be read seriously, or not at all, for elfe the reader won't be the better for him, and I fhall have loft my labour. I have kept as clofe as I could, both to the meaning and the words of the author, and done nothing but what I believe he would forgive if he were alive; and I have often asked myself that queftion. I know this is a field,

“ Per quem magnus equos Aurunca flexit Alumnus.”

But with all the respect due to the name of Ben Jonfon, to which no man pays more veneration than 1; it cannot be denied, that the constraint of rhyme, and a literal translation (to which Horace in this book declares himself an enemy), has made him want a comment in many places.

My chief care has been to write intelligibly; and where the Latin was obfcure, I have added a line or two to explain it.

I am below the envy of the critics; but, if I durft, I would beg them to remem ber, that Horace owed his favour and his fortune to the character given of him by Virgil and Varius, that Fundanius and Pollio are ftill valued by what Horace fays of them, and that, in their golden age, there was a good understanding among the ingenious, and those who were the most efteemed were the best natured.

Or a man's head upon a horfe's neck,
Or limbs of beafts of the most different kinds,
Cover'd with feathers of all forts of birds,
Would you not laugh, and think the painter mad!
Trust me, that book is as ridiculous,
Whofe incoherent ftyle (like fick men's dreams)
Varies all shapes, and mixes all extremes.
Painters and Poets have been still allow'd
Their pencils, and their fancies unconfin'd.
This privilege we freely give and take;
But Nature, and the common laws of fenfe,
Forbid to reconcile Antipathies,

Or make a fnake engender with a dove,
And hungry tigers court the tender lambs,

Some, that at firft have promis'd mighty things,
Applaud themfelves, when a few florid lines
Shine through the infipid dulnefs of the reft;
Here they defcribe a temple, or a wood,
Or streams that through delightful meadows rus,
And there the rainbow, or the rapid Rhine;
But they misplace them all, and croud them in,
And are as much to feek in other things,
As he that only can defign a tree,
Would be to draw a fhipwreck or a form.
When you begin with fo much pomp and show,
Why is the end fo little and fo low?
Be what you will, fo you be ftill the fame.

* Printed from Dr. Rawlinson's copy, corre ed by the Earl of Rofcommon's own hand,