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In vain the Barns expe&t their promis'd Load,
Nor Barns at home, nor Reeks are heap'd abroad.
In vain the Hinds the Threfhing-floor prepare,
And exercise their Arms in empty Air.
With Olives ever green the Ground is ftrew'd,
And Grapes ungather'd fhed their gen'rous Blood.
Amid the Fold he rages, nor the Sheep

(Dryd. Ovid.
Their Shepherds, nor their Grooms their Bulls can keep.
Forth from the Thicket rush'd another Boar,
So large, he seem'd the Tyrant of the Woods,
With all his dreadful Briftles rais'd up high,
They feem'd a Grove of Spears upon his Back.
Foaming he came at me, where I was pofted,
Whetting his huge long Tusks, and gaping wide,
As he already had me for his Prey:

Till brandishing my well-pois'd Jav'lin high,
With this cold executing Arm I ftruck

The ugly brindled Monster to the Heart.

Otw. Orph.

So when fierce Dogs and clam'rous Swains furround

A mighty Boar, in neighb'ring Mountains found:
His Briftles high erected on his Back,

The raging Beaft withstands the Foes Attack;
He whets his dreadful Tusks, and from afar
He foams, and flourishes the Iv'ry War:
The cautious Huntsmen at a Distance rage,
Caft all their Darts, but dares not close engage.

So when furrounding Huntsmen caft a Show'r
Of hiffing Spears against some mighty Boar;
The griefly Beaft, provok'd with ev'ry Wound,
Rages, and cafts his threat'ning Looks around.
High on his Back his furious Briftles rise,
And Lightning flashes from his raging Eyes:
He toffes Clouds of Foam amidst the Air;
And, brandishing his Fangs, invites the War.
BOASTING.

My Arms a nobler Victory never gain'd,
And I am prouder to have pafs'd that Stream,
Than that I drove a Million o'er the Plain.
Can none remember? Yes! I know all muft,
When Glory, like the dazling Eagle, ftood,
Perch'd on my Beaver, in the Granick Flood;
When Fortune's felf my Standard trembling bore,
And the pale Fates ftood frighted on the Shore.
When the Immortals on the Billows rode,
And I my felf appear'd the leading God.

Send Danger from the Eaft unto the Weft,
So Honour crofs in from the North to South,

Blac.

Blac

Lee Alex.

And

And let 'em grapple: The Blood more ftirs
To rowze a Lyon than to start a Hare.

By Heav'n, methinks it were an eafy Leap,
To pluck bright Honour from the pale-fac'd Moon,
Or dive into the Bottom of the Deep,

Where Fathom-line could never touch the Ground,

And pluck up drowned Honour by the Locks.Shak.Hen.4. Parti, BOW. See Archers and Arrow.

Well-skill'd to throw

The flying Dart, and draw the far-deceiving Bow. Dryd. Virg.
She faid, and from her Quiver chofe with speed
The winged Shaft, predeftin'd for the Deed:
Then to the ftubborn Eugh her Strength apply'd,
Till the far-diftant Horns approach'd on either Side:
The Bow-ftring touch'd her Breaft; so ftrong fhe drew!
Whizzing in Air, the fatal Arrow flew:

At once the twanging Bow, and founding Dart, (Dryd. Virgà
The Traitor heard, and felt the Point within his Heart.
He fell,

Pierc'd with an Arrow from the distant War;
Fix'd in his Throat the flying Weapon ftood,

And stop'd his Breath, and drank the vital Blood. Dryd. Virgi
BOWER.

A Sylvan Lodge, that like Pomona's Arbour fmil'd, With Flowrets deck'd, and fragrant Smells. The Roof

Of thickest Covert was inwoven Shade,

Lawrel and Mirtle; and what higher grew

Of firm and fragrant Leaf: On either fide,
Acanthus, and each od'rous bufhy Shrub,

Fenc'd up the verdant Wall: Each beauteous Flower,

Iris, Allhues, Rofes and Jeffamin,

Rear'd high their flourish'd Heads between, and wrought

Mofaick Under foot the Violet,

Crocus, and Hyacinth, with rich Inlay

Broider'd the Ground; more colour'd than with Stone

Of coftlieft Emblem. In fhady Bower,

More facred, or fequefter'd, tho' but feign'd,
Pan or Sylvanus never flept, nor Nymph,
Nor Faunus haunted.

་་

BOWL. See Drinking.
Make me a Bowl, a mighty Bowl!
Large as my capacious Soul!
Vaft as my Thirft is! Let it have
Depth enough to be my Grave!
I mean, the Grave of all my Care,
For I intend to bury't there.
Let it of Silver fashion'd be,

Miltà

Worthy of Wine, worthy of me;

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Yet draw no Shapes of Armour there,
No Cask, nor Shield, nor Sword, nor Spear :
Nor Wars of Thebes, nor Wars of Troy;
Nor any other martial Toy :

For what do I vain Armour prize,
Who mind not fuch rough Exercise ?
But gentler Sieges, fofter Wars;
Fights that caufe no Wounds nor Scars.
I'll have no Battles on my Plate,
Left Sight of them should Broils create :
Left that provoke to Quarrels too,
Which Wine it felf enough can do.
Draw me no Constellations there;
No Ram, nor Bull, nor Dog, nor Bear;
Nor any of that monftrous Fry
Of Animals that flock the Sky:
For what are Stars to my Defign?
Stars, which I, when drunk, outshine.
I lack no Pole-ftar on the Brink,
To guide in the wide Sea of Drink;
But would for ever there be toft,
And with no Heaven, feek no Coast.
Yet, gentle Artist, if thou'lt try
Thy Skill; then draw me, (let me fee)
Draw me firft a fpreading Vine,
Make its Arms the Bowl entwine
With kind Embraces, fuch as I
Twift about my loving She.
Let its Boughs o'erfpread above

Scenes of Drinking, Scenes of Love.

Draw next the Patron of that Tree;

Draw Bacchus, and soft Cupid by:

Draw them both in toping Shapes,

Their Temples crown'd with cluster'd Grapes:

Make them lean against the Cup,

As 'twere to keep their Figures up:

And when their reeling Forms I view,

I'll think them drunk, and be fo too.
Vulcan contrive me fuch a Cup,.

As Nefter us'd of old;

Shew all thy Care to trim it up,

Damask it round with Gold:

Make it fo large, that, fill'd with Sack

Up to the fwelling Brim,

Vaft Toafts on the delicious Lake,

Like Ships at Sea may swim:

olds.

And

And carve thereon a spreading Vine,
Then add Two lovely Boys;
Their Limbs in am'rous Folds entwine,
The Type of future Joys.
Cupid and Bacchus my Saints are,
May Love and Drink ftill reign:
With Wine I wash away my Care,
And then to Love again.

Two Bowls I have, well-turn'd of beachen Wood:
The Lids are Ivy: Grapes in Clusters lurk
Beneath the Carving of the curious Work :
Two Figures on the Sides embofs'd appear,
Conon, and what's his Name who made the Sphere,
And fhew'd the Seasons of the sliding Year:
The Kembo-Handles feem with Bears-foot carv'd:
Where Orpheus on his Lyre laments his Love,
With Beasts encompass'd, and a dancing Grove.

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BOXING.

Roch.

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Dryd. Virg.

Dogs with their Tongues their Wounds do heal,
But Men with Hands, as thou fhalt feel.

At firft both Parties in Reproaches jar,

And make their Tongues the Trumpets of the War.

Hud

They clutch their horny Fifts, exchange with furious Blows,

Scarce one efcapes with more than half

Nofe.

Some ftand their Ground with half their Visage gone,

But with the Remnant of a Face fight on.
One Eye remaining for the other fpies,
Which now on Earth a trampled Jelly lies.

Not tho' his Teeth are beaten out, his Eyes
Hang by a String, in Bumps his Forehead rife,
Shall he prefume to mention his Disgrace,
Or beg Amends for his demolish'd Face.

Thus often at the Temple-Stairs we've seen
Two Tritons of a rough Athletick Mien,
Sourly difpute fome Quarrel of the Flood

With Knuckles bruis'd, and Face befmear'd in Blood;
But at the firft Appearance of a Fare,

Both quit the Fray, and to their Oars repair.

BRAVE. See Courage.

The Brave do never fhun the Light,

Tat. Juu.

Dryd. Juv.

Juft are their Thoughts, and open are their Tempers.

Freely without Disguise they love and hate:

Still are they found in the fair Face of Day,

Gar

And Heav'n and Men are Judges of their Actions. Row.FairPen.

BREASTS.

With what rich Globes did her foft Bofom fwell?

Plump

Plump as ripe Clufters rofe each glowing Breaft,
Courting the Hand, and fuing to be prefs'd.
The yielding Marble of her fnowy Breast.
Thy little Breafts with foft Compaffion fwell'd,

Duke.

Wall.

Shov'd up and down, and heav'd like dying Birds. Otw. Orph.

BRIDE.

The Virgin Bride, who fwoons with deadly Fear,
To fee the End of all her Wishes near :

When, blushing, from the Light and publick Eyes
To the kind Covert of the Night she flies,

With equal Fires to meet the Bridegroom moves ;

Melts in his Arms, and with a Loofe fhe loves. Row. Fair Pen.
What strange Disorders youthful Brides exprefs;
Impatient Longings for the Happiness:
Approaching Joys will fo difturb the Soul,
As Needles always tremble near the Pole.

Otw. Don Carl.

Stream:

BROOK. See Country-Life, River,
See gentle Brooks, how quietly they glide,
Kiffing the rugged Banks on either Side:
While in their cryftal Streams at once they fhow,
And with them feed the Flow'rs which they bestow:
Tho' rudely throng'd by a too near Embrace,

In gentle Murmurs they keep on their Race
To the lov'd Sea; for Streams have their Defires,
Cool as they are, they feel Love's pow'rful Fires :
And with fuch Paffion, that if any Force,
Stop or moleft them in their am'rous Course,

They fwell, break down with Rage, and ravage o'er
The Banks they kifs'd, and Flow'rs they fed before.

BRUTUS. See Liberty.

Excellent Brutus of all human Race

The beft, till Nature was improv'd by Grace:

From thy ftrict Rule, fome think that thou didst fwerve, (Mistaken honeft Men,) in Cefar's Blood.

What Mercy could the Tyrant's Life deferve

From him, who kill'd himself rather than ferve
Th'Heroick Exaltations of Good?

Are fo far from understood.

We count them Vice: Alas! our Sight's so ill,
That things which fwifteft move, feem to ftand still,
We look not upon Virtue in her Height,

On her fupreme Idea, brave and bright,

In th'original Light;

But as her Beams reflected pafs

Thro' our own Nature, or ill Cuftom's Glafs

And 'tis no Wonder fo

If with dejected Eye,

In ftanding Pools we feek the Sky,

Denk.

That

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