But if a trumpet take the blast,
It lifts it high, and makes it last:
So in your airs our numbers dreft,
Make a fhrill fally from the breaft
Of nymphs, who finging what we pen'd,
Our paffions to themselves commend;
While Love, victorious with thy art,
Governs at once their voice and heart.

You, by the help of tune and time,
Can make that Song, which was but rhyme:
Noy pleading, no man doubts the cause;
Or questions verfes fet by Lawes.

As a church-window, thick with paint,
Lets in a light but dim and faint;
So others, with divifion, hide
The light of fenfe, the Poet's pride:
But you alone may truly boaft
That not a fyllable is loft:

The writer's and the fetter's skill
At once the ravifh'd cars do fill.
Let thofe which only warble long,
And gargle in their throats a fong,
Content themfelves with Ut, Re, Mi:
Let words and sense be set by thee.

Her native wood, when ftorms and winter come;
Purfuing conftantly the chearful spring,
To foreign groves does her old mufic bring.

The drooping Hebrews' banish'd harps,
ftrung,

un

At Babylon, upon the willows hung: Yours founds aloud, and tells us you excel No lefs in courage, than in finging well; While, unconcern'd, you let your country know, They have impoverith'd themselves, not you; Who, with the Mufe's help, can mock thofe fates Which threaten kingdoms, and disorder states. So Ovid, when from Cæfar's rage he fled, The Roman Mufe to Pontus with him led; Where he fo fung, that we, through pity's glass, Sce Nero milder than Auguftus was. Hereafter fuch, in thy behalf, fhall be Th' indulgent cenfure of pofterity. To banish those who with fuch art can fing, Is a rude crime, which its own curfe doth bring: Ages to come shall ne'er know how they fought, Nor how to love their present youth be taught. This to thyfelf.-Now to thy matchlefs book, Wherein those few that can with judgment look, May find old love in pure fresh language told, Like new-ftamp'd coin, made out of Angel-gold: Such truth in love as th' antique world did know, In such a style as Courts may boast of now:

* The Attorney-General.

Which no bold tales of Gods or monsters fwell;
But human paffions, such as with us dwell.
Man is thy theme; his virtue, or his rage,
Drawn to the life in each elaborate page.
Mars, nor Bellona, are not named here;
But fuch a Gondibert as both might fear:
Venus had here, and Hebe, been outfhin'd,
By thy bright Birtha, and thy Rhodalind.
Such is thy happy skill, and fuch the odds,
Betwixt thy Worthies, and the Grecian Gods!
Whofe Deities in vain had here come down,
Where mortal beauty wears the fovereign crown:
Such as, of flesh compos'd, by flesh and blood,
Though not refifted, may be understood.

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. WASE, THE TRANSLATOR OF GRATIUS.

ΤΗ

HUS, by the mufic, we may know When noble wits a hunting go, Through groves that on Parnaffus grow.

The Mufes all the chace adorn;
My friend on Pegasus is borne,
And young Apollo winds the horn.

Having old Gratius in the wind,
No pack of critics e'er could find,
Or he know more of his own mind.

Here huntsmen with delight may read
And how to change and mend the breed:
How to chufe dogs, for fcent or speed;

What armis to use, or nets to frame,
Wild beafts to combat, or to tame;
With all the mysteries of that game.

But, worthy friend! the face of war In ancient times doth differ far, From what our fiery battles are.

Nor is it like, fince powder known, That man, fo cruel to his own, Should fpare the race of beafts alone.

No quarter now: but with the gun Men wait in trees, from fun to fun; And all is in a moment done.

And therefore we expect your next Should be no comment, but a text; To tell how modern beafts are vext.

Thus would I further yet engage
Your gentle Mafe to court the age
With somewhat of your proper rage;

Since none doth more to Phabus owe,
Or in more languages can show
Thofe arts, which you so early know.

UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF LUCRETIUS.

LUCRETIUS (with a ftork-like fate,

Born and tranflated in a state)
Comes to proclaim in English verfe,
No monarch rules the universe:
But chance and atoms make this ALL
In order democratical;

Where bodies freely run their course,
Without defign, or fate, or force.
And this in such a strain he fings,

As if his Mufe, with Angel's wings,
Had foar'd beyond our utmost sphere,
And other worlds difcover'd there.
For his immortal, boundless wit,
To nature does no bounds permit;
But boldly has remov'd those bars

Of heaven, and earth, and feas, and stars,
By which they were before fuppos'd,
By narrow wits, to be incios'd;

Till his free Mufe threw down the pale,
And did at once difpark them all.

So vaft this argument did feem,
That the wife author did esteem
The Roman language (which was spread
O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
A tongue too narrow to unfold

The wonders which he would have told.
This fpeaks thy glory, noble friend!
And British language does commend:
For here, Lucretius whole we find,
His words, his mufic, and his mind.
Thy art has to our country brought
All that he writ, and all he thought.
Ovid translated, Virgil too,

hew'd long fince what our tongue could do Nor Lucan we, nor Horace fpar'd; Only Lucretius was too hard. ucretius, like a fort, did stand Intouch'd; till your victorious hand Did from his head this garland bear, Which now upon your own you wear. A garland! made of fuch new bays, And fought in fuch untrodden ways; As no man's temples e'er did crown.. ave this great author's, and your own.

Mov'd with a fuller and a nobler gale.

Thus, while your Mufe fpreads the Venetian story, You make all Europe emulate her glory:

You make them blufh, weak Venice should defend The cause of heaven, while they for words contend;

Shed Chriftian blood, and populous cities rafe, Because they're taught to ufe fome different phrase. If, liftening to your charms, we could our jars Compose, and on the Turk discharge these wars, Our British arms the facred tomb might wrest From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the east: And then you might our own high deeds recite, And with great Taffo celebrate the fight.

WHEN trove;

With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove;
Pallas and Mars ftood by their fovereign's fide,
And their bright arms in his defence employ'd:
While the wife Phoebus, Hermes, and the rest,
Who joy in peace, and love the Muses beft,
Defcending from their fo distemper'd feat,
Our groves and meadows chofe for their retreat.
There first Apollo try'd the various use
Of herbs, and learn'd the virtues of their juice,
And fram'd that art, to which who can pretend
A jufter title than our noble Friend;
Whom the like tempeft drives from his abode,
And like employment entertains abroad?
This crowns him here; and in the bays fo earn'd,
His country's honour is no lefs concern'd;
Since it appears not all the English rave,
To ruin bent: fome study how to fave:
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His facred art, whole cities to amend ;

So we, brave Friend, suppose that thy great skill,
Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will,
At thy return, reclaim our frantic ifle,
Thy fpirits calm, and peace again shall smile.
EDM. WALLER, Anglus.

†This little Poem (first inserted among Waller's Works in 1772) was printed, together with feve ral others on the fame occafion, by Dr. Rogers, along with his Inaugural Exercife at Padua; and afterwards in the fame manner re-published by him at London, together with his Harveian Oration before the College of Phyficians, in the year 1682, while Mr. Waller was yet living. Though the above verfes were firft printed in 1664, they feem to have been written before the Restoration, as appears from the lines towards the conclufior.

STOCKDALE.

CON.

Fruition adds no new wealth, but deftroys;
And while it pleaseth much, yet fill it cloys.
Who thinks be bould be happier made for thats
As reafonably might hope be might grow fat
By eating to a furfeit: this once pafi,
What relifbes? ev'n kisses lose their taste.
PRO.'

Bleffings may be repeated, while they cloy:
But fhall we starve, 'caufe furfeitings deftroy?
And if fruition did the tafte impair
Of kiffes, why Ihould yonder happy pair,
Whofe joys juft Hymen warrants all the night,
Confume the day too in this lefs delight?

CON.

Urge not 'tis necessary; alas! we know
The homelieft thing that mankind does, is fo.
The world is of a large extent we fee,
And must be peopled, children there must be.—
So muft bread too: but fince there are enough
Born to that drudgery, what need we plough?

PRO.

I need not plough, fince what the ftooping him
Gets of my pregnant land, must all be mine:
But in this nobler tillage, 'tis not fo;

For when Anchifes did fair Venus know,
What intereft had poor Vulcan in the boy,
Famous Æneas, or the prefent joy?

CON.

Are like Romances read, or scenes once feem: Women enjoy'd, whate'er before they've been, Fruition dulls, or spoils the Play, much mort Than if one read, or knew, the plot before.

PRO.

Plays and Romances, read and feen, do fall
In our opinions: yet, not feen at all,
Whom would they pleafe? To an heroic take
Would you not liften, left it should grow fa
CON.

nd n: There the

'Tis expectation makes a blefing dear; Heaven were not heaven, if we knew what it wou

PRO.

If 'twere not heaven if we knew what it wers "Twould not be heaven to those that now there.

CÒN.

And as in profpects we are there pleas'd moft, Where fomething keeps the eye from being left, And leaves us room to guefs: fo bere, reftraint Holds up delight, that with excefs would faint.

PRO.

Restraint preferves the pleasure we have goi
But he ne'er has it, that enjoys it not.
in goodly prospects who contracts the space,
Or takes not all the beauty of the place?

e wish remov'd what ftandeth in our light, d nature blame for limiting our fight: here you ftand wifely winking, that the view the fair profpect may be always new.

CON.

ey, who know all the wealth they have, are poor; only rich that cannot tell bis flore.

PRO.

t he that knows the wealth he has, is poor; Bhe that dares not touch, nor use his ftore.

TO A FRIEND,

THE DIFFERENT SUCCESS OF THEIR LOVES.

THRICE happy Pair! of whom we cannot

know

Which first began to love, or loves most now: air courfe of paffion, where two lovers start, nd run togethe, heart still yok'd with heart:

To man, that was in th' evening made,
Stars gave the first delight;
Admiring, in the gloomy shade,
Thofe little drops of light:
Then, at Aurora, whose fair hand
Remov'd them from the skies,
He gazing toward the east did stand,
She entertain'd his eyes.

But when the bright fun did appear,
All thofe he 'gan defpife;

His wonder was determin'd there,
And could no higher rife:

He neither might, nor wifh'd to know
A more refulgent light:
For that (as mine your beauties now)
Employ'd his utmost fight.'

TO ZELINDA.

obe victorious, in the firft effay.

are love 's an art best practis'd at first, nd where th' experienced ftill prosper worst! with a different fate, pursued in vain he haughty Calia; till my just disdain f her neglect, above that paffion borne, id pride to pride oppofe, and fcorn to fcorn. ow the relents; but all too late, to move heart directed to a nobler love:

he fcales are turn'd, her kindnefs weighs no more ow, than my vows and service did before. , in fome well-wrought hangings, you may fee ow Hector leads, and how the Grecians flee: ere, the fierce Mars his courage fo infpires, hat with bold hands the Argive fleet he fires: ut there, from Heaven the blue-ey'd virgin falls,

nd frighted Troy retires within her walls : hey that are foremost in that bloody race, arn head anon, and give the conquerors chase. like the chances are of love and war, hat they alone in this diftinguish'd are; love, the victors from the vanquish'd fly: hey fly that wound, and they purfue that die.

Urge not thus your haughty birth: The power, which you have o'er us, lies Not in your race, but in your eyes. None put a prince !-alas! that voice Confines you to a narrow choice. Should you no honey vow to taste, But what the mafter-bees have plac'd In compass of their cells, how fmall A portion of your fhare would fall! Nor all appear among those few, Worthy the ftock from whence they grew: The fap, which at the root is bred, In trees, through all the boughs is fpread; But virtues, which in parents fhine, Make not like progrefs through the line. 'Tis not from whom, but where, we live: The place does oft thofe graces give. Great Julius, on the mountains bred, A flock perhaps, or herd, had led :

He that the world fubdued, had been But the best wrestler on the green. 'Tis art, and knowledge, which draw forth The hidden feeds of native worth: They blow those sparks, and make them rife Into fuch flames as touch the fkies: To the old Heroes hence was given A pedigree, which reach'd to heaven: Of mortal feed they were not held, Which other mortals fo excell'd. And beauty too, in fuch excefs As yours, Zelinda! claims no lefs: Smile but on me, and you fhall scorn Henceforth to be of Princes born. I can defcribe the fhady grove, Where your lov'd mother flept with Jove: And yet excufe the faultlefs dame, Caught with her spouse's fhape and name: Thy matchlefs form will credit bring To all the wonders I fhall fing.

5 [F]

† Alexander.

To the fair Villars we Dalkeith prefer;
And faireft Morton now as much to her:
So like the fun's advance your titles fhow,
Which as he rifes, does the warmer grow.

But thus to ftyle you fair, your fex's praise,
Gives you but myrtle, who may challenge bays;
From armed foes to bring a Royal prize,
Shews your brave heart victorious as your eyes.
If Judith, marching with the General's head,
Can give us paffion when her story's read;
What may the living do, which brought away
Though a lefs bloody, yet a nobler prey?
Who from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand,
Snatch'd her fair charge, the Princefs, like a
brand:

A brand! preferv'd to warm fome Prince's heart; And make whole kingdoms take her † Brother's

way.

As the brave eagle does with forrow fee
The foreft wafted; and that lofty tree
Which holds her neft about to be o'erthrown,
Before the feathers of her young are grown;
She will not leave them, nor fhe cannot stay,
But bears them boldly on her wings away:
So fled the dame, and o'er the ocean bore
Her princely burthen to the Gallic fhore.
Born in the ftorms of war, this Royal Fair,
Produc'd like lightning in tempeftuous air,
Though now the flies her native ifle (less kind,
Lefs fafe for her than either sea or wind!)
Shall, when the blossom of her beauty's blown,
See her great Brother on the British throne:
Where peace shall smile, and no difpute arife,
But which rules moft, his fceptre, or her eyes.

TO A FAIR LADY,

PLAYING WITH A SNAKE.

TRANGE! that fuch horror, and fuch griet,
Should dwell together in one place;

A Fury's arm, an Angel's face!

In Chloris' fancy fuch mistakes,
'Tis innocence, and youth, which makes

To start at love, and play with fnakes.

By this, and by her coldness, barr'd,
Her fervants have a talk too hard:
The tyrant has a double guard!

Thrice happy fnake! that in her fleeve
May boldly creep; we dare not give
Our thoughts fo unconfin'd a leave.

Contented in that neft of snow

He lies, as he his blifs did know;
And to the wood no more would go.

Take heed, fair Eve! you do not make
Another tem ter of this snake;
A marble one, fo warm'd, would speak.

THE NIGHT-PIECE

OR, A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARE.

ARKNESS, which faireft nymphs difarms

DARKNESS,

Mira can lay her beauty by,
Take no advantage of the eye;
Quit all that Lely's art can take,
And yet a thoufand captives make.

Her fpeech is grac'd with fweeter found,
Than in another's fong is found:
And all her well-plac'd words are darts,
Which need no light to reach our hearts.

As the bright stars, and Milky Way, Shew'd by the night, are hid by day: So we, in that accomplish'd mind, Help'd by the night, new graces find, Which by the fplendor of her view, Dazzled before, we never knew.

While we converse with her, we mark
No want of day, nor think it dark:
Her fhining image is a light
Fixt in our hearts, and conquers night.
Like jewels to advantage fet,
Her beauty by the shade does get:
There, blushes, frowns, and cold difdain,
All that our paffion might reftrain,
Is hid, and our indulgent mind
Prefents the fair idea kind.

Yet, friended by the night, we dare
Only in whispers tell our care:
He that on her his bold hand lays
With Cupid's pointed arrows plays;
They with a touch (they are fo keen!)
Wound us unshot, and the unfeen.

All near approaches threaten death,
We may be hipwreck'd by her breath :