For he had, any time this ten years full,
Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and the Bull:
And surely Death could never have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now his journey's end was come,
And that he had ta'en up his latest inn;
In the kind office of a chamberlain

[night,

Show'd him his room where he must lodge that

Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light;

If any ask for him, it shall be said,

Hobson has supp'd, and's newly gone to bed.

ANOTHER ON THE SAME.

HERE lieth one, who did most truly prove
That he could never die while he could move;
So hung his destiny, never to rot

While he might still jog on and keep his trot,
Made of sphere-metal, never to decay
Until his revolution was at stay.

Time numbers motion; yet, without a crime
'Gainst old truth, motion number'd out his time;
And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight.
His principles being ceased, he ended straight.
Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath;
Nor were it contradiction to affirm,
Too long vacation hasten'd on his term.

Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd, [en'd;
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quick-

Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd,
If I
may n't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd, [ers,
But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hear-
For one carrier put down to make six bearers.
Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,
He died for heaviness that his cart went light:
His leisure told him that his time was come,
And lack of load made his life burdensome,
That ev'n to his last breath, there be that say 't,
As he were press'd to death, he cried, More weight
But, had his doings lasted as they were,
He had been an immortal carrier.
Obedient to the moon, he spent his date
In course reciprocal, and had his fate
Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas;

Yet strange to think, his wain was his increase:
His letters are deliver'd all and gone;

Only remains this superscription.

ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE, UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT.

BECAUSE you have thrown off your prelate lord, And with stiff vows renounced his liturgy, To seize the widow'd whore Plurality

From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorr'd; Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword

To force our consciences that Christ set free, And ride us with a classic hierarchy Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherford? Men, whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent Would have been held in high esteem with Paul,

Must now be named and printed heretics By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d' ye call: But we do hope to find out all your tricks, Your plots and packing, worse than those of

Trent;

That so the parliament

May, with their wholesome and preventive shears, Clip your phylacteries, though balk your ears, And succour our just fears,

When they shall read this clearly in your charge, New Presbyter is but Old Priest writ large.

END OF MISCELLANIES.

TRANSLATIONS.

THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I. WHAT slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours, Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? O, how oft shall he
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas
Rough with black winds, and storms

Unwonted shall admire!

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,
Who always vacant, always amiable

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful. Hapless they,

[vow'd

To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in my
Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung
My dank and dropping weeds

To the stern god of sea.

FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.

BRUTUS thus addresses DIANA in the country of Leogecia: GODDESS of shades, and huntress, who at will [deep; Walk'st on the rowling spheres, and through the

On thy third reign, the earth, look now, and tell
What land, what seat of rest, thou bidd'st me seek,
What certain seat, where I may worship thee
For aye, with temples vow'd and virgin quires.

To whom, sleeping before the altar, DIANA answers in a vision the same night:

Brutus, far to the west, in the ocean wide,
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies,
Sea-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old;
Now void, it fits thy people: thither bend
Thy course; there shalt thou find a lasting seat;
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise,
And kings be born of thee, whose dreadful might
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold.

FROM DANTE.

АH, Constantine! of how much ill was cause,
Not thy conversion, but those rich domains
That the first wealthy pope received of thee!

FROM DANTE.

FOUNDED in chaste and humble poverty,

[horn,

'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy
Impudent whore? where hast thou placed thy
In thy adulterers, or thy ill-got wealth?
Another Constantine comes not in haste.

FROM ARIOSTO.

[hope?

THEN pass'd he to a flowery mountain green, Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously: