图书图片
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

In vulgar breafts no royal virtues dwell;
Such deeds as these his high extraction tell:
And give a fecret joy to him that reigns,
To see his blood triumph in MONMOUTH's veins:
To fee a Leader whom he got, and chose,
Firm to his friends, and fatal to his foes.

But seeing envy, like the fun, does beat,

With scorching rays, on all that's high, and great:
This, ill-requited MONMOUTH! is the bough
The MUSES fend, to fhade thy conqu'ring brow.
Lampoons, like fquibs, may make a present blaze;
But time, and thunder, pay refpect to bays.
ACHILLE S' arms dazle our present view;
Kept by the Muse as radiant, and as new,
As from the forge of VULCAN first they came:
Thousands of years are past, and they the fame.
Such care she takes, to pay defert with fame!
Than which, no Monarch, for his crown's defence,
Knows how to give a nobler recompence.

}

To a Friend of the Author, a Perfon of Honor, who lately writ a Religious Book, intitled, Hiftorical Applications, and Occafional Meditations upon feveral Subjects.

B

OLD is the man that dares engage

For piety, in fuch an age!

Who can prefume to find a guard

From fcorn, when heav'n's fo little fpar'd?

*K. Charles II.

H 5

Divines

Divines are pardon'd; they defend
Altars on which their lives depend:
But the profane impatient are,
When nobler pens make this their care:
For why should these let in a beam
Of divine light, to trouble them;
And call in doubt their pleafing thought,
That none believes what we are taught?
High birth, and fortune, warrant give
That fuch Men write what they believe:
And, feeling first what they indite,
New credit give to antient light.
Amongst these few, our Author brings
His well known Pedigree, from Kings.
This book, the image of his mind,
Will make his name not hard to find:
I wish the throng of Great, and Good,
Made it less eas❜ly understood!

To a Perfon of Honor, upon his incomparable,
incomprehenfible Poem,
Poem, intitled THE
BRITISH PRINCE S..

[ocr errors]

IR! you've oblig'd the BRITISH nation more,
Than all their Bards could ever do before;
And, at your own charge, monuments as hard
As brafs, or marble, to your fame, have rear'd..
For, as all warlike nations take delight
To hear how their brave ancestors could fight;
You have advanc'd to wonder their Renown,
And no less virtuously improv'd your own:

That

That 'twill be doubtful, whether you do write,
Or they have acted, at a nobler height.
You, of your antient Princes, have retriev'd
More, than the ages knew in which they liv'd:
Explain'd their customs, and their rights a-new,
Better than all their Druids ever knew:
Unriddled those dark oracles, as well

As thofe, that made them, could themselves foretell.
For, as the BRITONS long have hop'd in vain,
ARTHUR Would come to govern them again:
You have fulfill'd that prophefy alone,

And in your Poem plac'd him on his throne.
Such magic pow'r has your prodigious pen,
To raise the dead, and give new Life to men ;
Make Rival-Princes meet in arms, and love,
Whom diftant ages did fo far remove.
For, as eternity has neither past,

Nor future, authors fay, nor firit, nor last;
But is all inftant; your eternal Muse
All ages can to any one reduce.

Then, why fhould you, whofe miracles of art
Can life at pleasure to the dead impart,
Trouble in vain your better-bufied head,

T'observe what times they liv'd in, or were dead?
For, fince you have fuch arbitrary pow'r,.

It were defect in judgment to go low'r;
Or ftoop to things fo pitifully lewd,
As ufe to take the vulgar latitude.

For, no man's fit to read what you have writ,
That holds not fome proportion with your Wit,
As light can no way but by light appear:
He must bring fenfe, that understands it here.

To

To Mr. CREECH, on his Tranflation of LUCRETI U S.

W

HAT all men wish'd, tho' few could hope to fee, We are now bleft with, and oblig'd by thee. Thou, from the antient learned LATIN ftore, Giv'ft us one author, and we hope for more. 'May they enjoy thy thoughts!

Let not the Stage

The idleft moment of thy hours engage.

Each year that place fome wond'rous monfter breeds,
And the Wits' garden is o'er-run with weeds.
There, Farce is Comedy; bombaft call'd strong;
Soft words, with nothing in them, make a Song.
"Tis hard to fay they steal them now-a-days;
For fure the antients never wrote fuch Plays.
These scribbling infects have what they deserve,
Not plenty, nor the glory for to starve.
That SPENSER knew, that TAS SO felt before;
And death found furly BEN exceeding poor.
Heav'n turn the omen from their image here!
May he with joy the well-plac'd laurel wear!
Great VIRGIL's happier fortune may he find,
And be our CASAR, like AUGUSTUS, kind!
But let not this disturb thy tuneful head;

Thou writ'ft for thy delight, and not for bread:
Thou art not curft to write thy verse with care;
But art above what other Poets fear.

What may we not expect from fuch a hand,
That has, with books, himself at free command?
Thou know'ft in youth, what age has fought in vain;
And bring'ft forth fons without a mother's pain.

So

So eafy is thy fenfe, thy verse so sweet,

Thy words fo proper, and thy phrase fo fit;

We read, and read again: and still admire

Whence came this youth, and whence this wondrous fire!
Pardon this rapture, SIR! But who can be
Cold, and unmov'd, yet have his thoughts on thee?
Thy goodness may my feveral faults forgive,

And by your help these wretched lines may live.
But if, when view'd by your feverer fight,
They feem unworthy to behold the light;

Let them with speed in deserv'd flames be thrown!
They'll fend no fighs, nor murmur out a groan;
But, dying filently, your juftice own.

W

The TRIPLE COMBAT.

}

'HEN thro' the world fair MAZARINE had run,
Bright as her fellow-traveller, the fun;

Hither at length the ROMAN eagle flies,
As the laft triumph of her conqu'ring eyes.
As heir to JULIUS, fhe may pretend

A fecond time to make this land bend.

But PORTSMOUTH, Springing from the antient race
Of BRITONS, which the SAXON S here did chase;
As they great C SAR did oppofe, makes head,
And does against this new invader lead.
That goodly Nympth, the taller of the two,
Careless, and fearless, to the field does go.
Becoming blushes on the other wait,
And her young look excufes want of height.

Beauty

« 上一页继续 »