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Thou kind, well-natur'd tyranny!

And thou in pity didst apply Thou chaste committer of a rape!

The kind and only remedy: Thou voluntary destiny,

The cause absolves the crime; since me Which no man can, or would escape!

So mighty force did move, so mighty goodness So gentle, and so glad to spare,

thee. So wondrous good, and wondrous fair,

She. Curse on thine arts! methinks I hate the (We know) ev'n the destroying-angels are.

And yet I'm sure I love thee too!

I'm angry; but iny wrath will prove DIALOGUE.

More innocent than did thy love. Ske. What have we done? what cruel passion

Thon bast this day undone me quite; mov'd thee,

Yet wilt undome more should'st tbuu not come
Thus to ruin her that lov'd thee?

at night.
Me thou’ast robb'd; but what art thou
Thyself the richer now?
Shame succeeds the short-liv'd pleasure;

VERSES LOST UPON A V4GCR. So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-götten | As soon hereafter will I wagers lay treasure!

'Gainst what an oracle shall say; He. We hare done no harm; nor was it theft in

Fool that I was, to venture to deny

A tongue so usid to victory!
But noblest charity in thee.

A tongue so blest by Nature and by Art,
I'll the well.gotten pleasure

That nerer yet it spoke but gain'dan heart :
Safe in my memory treasure:

'Though what you said had not been true, What though the flower itself do waste,

If spoke by any else but you ; The essence from it drawn does loug and And Fate will change rather than you should lye.

Ycur speech will govern Destiny, sweeter last. She. No: I'm undone; my honour thou hast slain,

'Tis true, if human Reason were the guide,

Reason, methinks, was on my sile ;
And nothing can restore 't again.

But that 's a guide, alas ! we must resign,
Art and labour to bestow,

When th' authority's divine.
Upon the carcase of it now,

She said, she said herself it would be so;
Is but t'embalm a borly dead;

And I, bold unbeliever! answer'ı no:
The figure may remain, the life and beauty's

Never so justly, sure, before,

Errour the name of blindness bore;
He. Never, my dear, was Honour yet undone For whatso'er the question be,
By Love, but Indiscretion.

There 's no man that has eyes would bct for me.
To th' wise it all things does allow;

If Truth itself (as other angels do
And cares not what we do, but how.

When they descend to human view)
Like tapers shut in ancient urns,

In a material form would deigo to shine,
Unless it let in air, for ever shines and burns.

"Twould imitate or borrow thine: She. Thou first, perhaps, who didst the fault So dazzling bright, yet so transparent clear, commit,

So well-proportion'd would the parts appear ! Wilt make thy wicked boast of it;

Happy the eye wbich Truth could sce
For men, with Roman pride, above

Cloath'd in a shape like thee;
The conquest do the triumph love;

Dut happier far the eye
Nor think a perfect victory gainil, Which could thy shape naked like Truth esoy.
Unless they through the streets their captive Yet this lost wager costs me nothing more
lead enchain'd.

Than what I ow'd to thee before :
He. Whoe'er his secret joys has open laid, Who would not venture for that debt to play,

The bawd to his own wife is made; Which he were bound huwe'er tv pay?
Beside, what boast is left for me,

If Nature gave me power to write in verse,
Whose whole wealth's a gift from thee? She gave it me thy praises to rehearse:
'Tis you the conqueror are, 'tis you

Thy wondrous beauty and thy wit Who have not only ta'en, but bound and Has such a sorereign richtio it, gagg'd me too.

That no man's Muse for public vent is free, She. Though public punishment we escape, the Till she has paid her customs first to thee.

Will rack and torture us within: (sin
Guilt and sin our bosom bears;
And, though fair yet the fruit appears,

BATHING IN THE RIVER. That worm which now the core does The fish around her crowded, as they do waste,

To the false light that treacherons fishers shew, When long 't has gnaw'd within,will break the And all with as much ease might taken be, skin at last.

As she at first took me;
He. That thirsty drink, that hungry food, I For ne'er did light so clear

Among the waves appear,
That wounded balm is all my fault ; Though every night the Sun himself set there,
Why to mute fish should thou thyself discover, Alas! what comfort is 't that I am grow
And not to me thy no less silent lover ?

Secure of being again o'erthrown?
As some froni men their buried gold commit

Şince such an enemy needs not fear
To ghosts, that have no use of it;

Lest any else should quarter there,
Half their rich treasures so

Who has not only sack’d, but quite burnt down,
Maids bury: and, for aught we know,

the town. (Poor ignorants !) they're mermaids a'l below. The amorous waves would fain about her stay,

THE FORCE OF LOVE. But still new amorous waves drive them away,

PRESERVED FROM AN OLD MANUSCRIPT. And with swift current to those joys they haste, Turow

an apple up an hill,
That do as swiftly waste :

Down the apple tumbles still;
I laugh'd the wanton play to view; Roll it down, it never stops
But’tis, alas ! at land so too,

Till within the vale it drops :
And still old lovers yield the place to new.

So are all things prone to Love, Kiss her, and as you part, you amorous waves,

All below, and all above. (My happier rivals, and my fellow-slaves)

Down the mountain flows the stream,
Point to your flowery banks, and to her shew

Up ascends the lambent flame;
The good your bounties do ;

Smoke and vapour mount the skies;
Then tell her what your pride doth cost,

All preserve their unities;
And how your use and beauty's lost,

Nought below, and nought above,
When rigorous Winter binds you up with frost.

Seems averse, but prone to Love. Tell her, her beauties and her youth, like thee,

Stop the meteor in its flight, Haste without stop to a devouring sea;

Or the orient rays of light; Where they will mix'd and undistinguish'd lie

Bid Dan Phæbus not to shine,
With all the meanest things that die;

Bid the planets not incline;
As in the ocean thou

'Tis as vain, below, above,
No privilege dost know

To impede the course of Love.
Above th' impurest streams that thither flow.

Salamanders live in fire,
Tell ber, kind Flood! when this has made her sad, Eagles to the skies aspire,
Tell her there's yet one remedy to be had: [find Diamonds in their quarries lie;
Show her how thou, though long since past, dost Rivers do the sea supply:
Thyself yet still behind:

Thus appears, below, above,
Marriage (say to her) will bring

A propensity to Love.
About the self-same thing.
But she, fond maid, shuts and seals up the spring. Metals grow within the mine,


grapes upon the vine ;

Still the needle marks the pole;

Parts are equal to the whole:
It is enough ; enough of time and pain

'Tis a truth as clear, that Love
Hast thou consum'd in vain;

Quickens all, below, above.
Leave, wretched Cowley ! leave

Man is born to live and die,
Thyself with shadows to deceive;

Snakes to creep, and birds to fly;
Think that already lust which thou must never Fishes in the waters swim,

Doves are mild, and lions grim :
Three of thy lustiest and thy freshest years, Nature thus, below, above,
(Toss'd in storms of hopes and fears)

Pushes all things on to Love.
Like helpless ships that be

Does the cedar love the mountain?
Set on fire i'th' midst oʻthe sea,

Or the thirsty deer the fountain ? Have all been burnt in love, and all been drown'd Does the shepherd love his crook ? in tears.

Or the willow court the brook?
Resolve then on it, and by force or art

Thus by nature all things move,
Free thy unlucky heart;

Like a running stream, to Love.
Since Fate does disapprove

Is the valiant hero bold ?
Th’ambition of thy love,

Does the miser doat on gold?
And not one star in Heaven offers to take thy part. Seek the birds in spring to pair?
If e'er I clear my heart of this desire,

Breathes the rose-bud scented r
If e'er it home to its breast retire,

Should you this deny, you'll prove
It ne'er shall wander more about,

Nature is averse to Love.
Though thousand beauties call it out: As the wencher lores a lass,
A lover burnt like me for ever dreads the fire. As the toper loves his glass,
The pox, the plague, and every small disease

As the friar loves his cowl,
May come as oft as ill-fate please ;

Or the miller loves the toll,
But Death and Love are never found

So do all, below, above,
To give a second wound :

Fly precipitate to Love.
We're by those serpents bit; but we're devour'd When young maidens courtship shuti
by these.

When the Moon out-shines the Stany

When the tigers lambs beget,
When the snow is black as jet,
When the planets cease to move,
Then shall Nature cease to love.

a production of Cowley ; and was spoken at the Westminster-School election, on the following subject :

Nullis amor est medicabilis herbis.



Sor Daphne sees, and seeing her admires, ON THE POWER OF LOVE.

Which adds new flames to his celestial fires :

Had any remedy for Love been known, M. B. This is delivered down by tradition as the god of physic, sure, had cur’d his own,

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Ir a man should undertake to translate Pindar , almost without any thing else, makes an excel. word for word, it would be thought, that one mad- lent poet; for though the grammarians and critics man had translated another; as may appear, have laboured to reduce his verses into regular when he that understands not the original, reads feet and measures (as they have also those of the verbal traduction of him into Latin prose, the Greek and Latin comedies) yet in effect they than which nothing seems more raving. And are little better than prose to our ears. And I sure, rhyme, without the addition of wit, and would gladly know what applause our best pieces the spirit of poetry, (quod nequeo monstrare & of English poesy could expect from a Frenchsentio tantum) would but make it ten times man or Italian, if converted faithfully, and word more distracted than it is in prose. We must for word, into French or Italian prose. And consider in Pindar the great difference of time when we have considered all this, we must needs betwixt his age and ours, which changes, as in confess, that, after all these losses sustained by pictures, at least the colours of poetry; the no Pindar, all we can add to him by our wit or inless difference betwixt the religions and customs vention (not deserting still bis subject) is not of our countries; and a thousand particularities like to make him a richer man than he was in his of places, persons, and manners, which do but own country, This is in some measure to be confusedly appear to our eyes at so great a dis- applied to all translations ; and the not observing tance. And lastly (which were enough alone of it, the cause that all which ever I yet saw for my purpose) we must consider, that our are so much inferior to their originals. The cars are strangers to the music of his numbers, like happens too in pictures, from the same root whiçb, sometimes (especially in songs and odes) of exact imitation; which, being a vile and un. worthy kind of servitude, is ir capable of pro- own Muse; for that is a liberty which this ducing any thing good or noble.

I have seen

kind of poetry can hardly live without. originals, both in painting and poesy, much more 1 cautiful than their natural objects; but I never saw a copy better than the original: which in Queen of all harmonious things, deed cannot be otherwise; for men resolving in no case to shoot beyond the mark, it is a thousand

Dancing words, and speaking strings ! to one if they shoot not short of it. It does not

What god, what hero, wilt thou sing? at all trouble me, that tie grammarians, per

What happy man to equal glories bring?

Begin, begin thy poble choice, haps, will not suffer this libertine way of render

(voice. ing foreign authors to be called translation; for And let the hills around reticet the image of thy

Pisa does to Jove belong; I am not so much enamoured of the name translator, as not to. ish rather to be something bel. The fair first-fruits of war, thi Olympic games,

Jove and Pisa claim thy song. ter, though it want yet a name. I speak not 80 much all this, in defence of my manner of

Alcids offer’d-up to Jove;

Aicid's too thy strings may move: (prove! translating, or imitating, (or what other title they please) the two eusuing Odes of Pindar; Join Theron boldly to their sacred names;

But, oh! what man to join with these can worthy for that would not descive half these words; as

Theron the next honour claims: by this occasion to rectify the opinion of divers

Theron to no man gives place, men upon this matter. The Psalms of David (which I believe to have been in their original, Is first in Pisa’s and in Virtue's race ! to the Hebrews of his time, though not to our

Therun there, and he alone,

Ev'n his own swift forefathers has outgone, Hebrews of Buxtorfius's making, the inost exalted pieces of poesy) are a great example of They through rough ways, o'er many stops they what I have said; all the translators of which, past, (even Mr. Sandys himself; for in despite of po

Till on the fatal bank at last palar errour, I will be bold not to except bim) | They Agrigentum built, the beauteous eye for this very reason, that they have not sought

Of fair-fac'd Sicily ; to supply the lost excellences of another lan- | Which does itself i' th' river by guage with new one in their own, are so far from With pride and joy espy. doing bonour, or at least justice, to that divive Then cheurful notes their painted years did sing, poet, that rethinks they revile him worse than And Wealth was one, and Honour th other, Shimei. And buchanan himself (though much

wing; the best of them all, and indeed a great person) | Their genuine virtues did more sweet and clear, comes in my opinion no less short of David, than In Fortune's graceful dress, appear. his country does of Judca. Upon this ground I

To which, great son of Rhea! say have, in these two Odes of Pindar, taken, left The firm word, which forbids things to decay! out, and added, what I please; nor make it so If in Ołyınpus' top, where thou much my aim to let the reader kuow precisely

Sitt'st to behold thy sacred show; what he spoke, as what was his way and manner

If in Alpheus' silver flight; of speaking; which has not been yet (that I If in my verse, thou dost delight, know of) introduced into English, though it be My verse, o Rhea's son ! which is the noblest and highest kind of writing in verse; Lofty as that, aud smooth as this. and which might, perhaps, be put into the list of Pancirolus, among the lost inventions of anti

For the past sufferings of this noble race quity. This essay is but to try how it will look (Since things unce past, and Aed out of thire in an English habit: for which experiment 1

hand, bare chosen one of his Olympic, an ancther of

Hearken no more to thy command) his Neinæan (rles; which are as followeth.

Let present joys fill up their plae,
And with Oblivion's silent stroke cheface
Cf foregone ills the very trace,

In no illustrious line

Do these happy changes shine
THE SECOND OLYMPIC ODE OF More brightly, Theron! than in thing,

So, in the crystal palaces

Of the blue-ey'd Nereides,

Ino her endless youth does please, Written in praise of Theron, prince of Agrigen- And thanks her fall into the seas.

tum, (a famous city in Sicily, built by his an- Beauteous Semele does no less cestors) who, in the seventy-seventh Olympic, Her cruel midwife, Thunder, bless; won the chariot-prize. Ile is commended Whilst, sporting with the gods on high, from the nobility of his race, (whose story is She enjoys secure their company'; often toucht on) from his great ricres, (an Plays with lightnings as they fiy, ordinary common-place in Pindar) from his Nor trembles at the bright embraces of the Deity hospital y, munificence, and other virtues. The Ode (according to the constant custom But death did them from future dangers frce; of the poet) consists more in digressions, than What god, alas! will caution be in the main subject: and the reader must not For living man's security, be eboqued to hear him speak so often of his Or will ensure our vessel in this faithless sca?

Nerer did the Sun as yet

There silver rivers through enameli'd meadows
So healthful a fair-day beget,
That travelling mortals might rely on it.

And golden trees enrich their side;
But Fortune's favour and her spite

Th’illustrious leaves no dropping autumn fear, Roll with alternate waves, like day and night: And jewels for their fruit they bear, Vicissitudes which thy great race pursue,

Which by the blest are gathered E'er since the fatal son his father slew,

For bracelets to the arm, and garlands to the And did old oracles fulfil

head. Of gods that cannot lie, for they foretell but Here all the heroes, and their poets, live; their own will.

Wise Rhadamanthus did the sentence give,

Who for his justice was thought fit Erynnis saw 't, and made in her own seed

With sovereign Saturn on the bench to sit. The innocent parricide to bleed;

Peleus here, and Cadınus, reign; She slew his wrathful sons with mutual blows:

Here great Achilles, wrathful now no more, But better things did then succeed,

Since his blest mother (who before And brave Thersander, in amends for what was

Had try'd it on his body in vain) past, arose. Brave Thersander was by none,

Dipt now his soul in Stygian lake,

Which did from thence a divine hardness take, In war, or warlike sports, out-done.

That does from passion and from vice invulnera. Thou, Theron, his great virtues dost revive;

ble make. He in my verse and thee again does live. Loud Olympus, happy thee,

To Theron, Muse! bring back thy wandering Isthmus and Nemæa, does twice happy see;

song, For the well-natur'd honour there,

Whom those bright troops expect impatiently; Which with thy brother thou didst share,

And may they do so long;! Was to thee double grown

How, noble archer! do tlıy wanton arrows fly By not being all thine own;

At all the game that does but cross thine eye: And those kind pious glories do defaco

Shoot, and spare not, for I see The old fraternal quarrel of thy race.

Thy sounding quiver can ne'er emptied be:

Let Art use method and juod-husbandry, Greatness of mind, and fortune too,

Art lives on Nature's alm s, is weak and poor; Th’ Olympic trophies shew:

Nature herself has unexh austed store, Both their several parts must do

Wallows in wealth, and 1 uns a turning maze, In the noble chase of fame; [lame.

That no vulgar eye canı trace. This without that is blind, that without this is

Art, instead of mountiiog high, Nor is fair Virtue's picture seen aright

About her humble food does hovering fly; But in Fortune's golden light.

Like the ignoble crow, rapine and noise does Riches alone are of uncertain date,

love; And on short man long cannot wait;

Whilst Nature, like the sacred bird of Jove, The virtuous make of them the best,

Now bears loud' thunder; and anon with silent And put them out to Fame for interest;

joy With a frail good they wisely buy

The beauteous Phrygian boy The solid purchase of eternity:

Defeats the strong, o’ertak.es the flying prey, They, whilst life's air they breathe, consider well, And sometimes basks in th'open flames of day; and know

And sometimes too he slurowds Th’account they must hereafter give below;

His soaring wings among the clouds.
Whereas th’unjust and covetous above,

Leave, wanton Muse! tlıy roving flight;
In deep unlovely vaults,
By the just decrees of Jove,

To thy loud string the wer'l-fetcht arrow put;
Unrelenting torments prove,

Let Agrigentum be the butt,

And Theron be the white. The heavy necessary effects of voluntary faults.

And, lest the name of verse should give Whilst in the lands of unexhausted light,

Malicious men pretext to i nisbelieve, O'er which the god-like Sun's unwearied sight By the Castalian waters swear,

Ne'er winks in clouds, or sleeps in night, (A sacred oath no poets daie An endless spring of age the good enjoy,

To take in vain,
Where neither Want does pinch, nor Plenty No more than gods do that of Styx prophane)

Swear, in no city e'er befo re,
There neither earth nor sea they plough, A better man, or greater-sou I'd, was born ;
Nor aught to labour owe

Swear, that Theron sure his sworn
For food, that whilst it nourishes does decay, *No man near him should he poor!
And in the lamp of life consumes away.

Swear, that none e'er had such a graceful art
Thrice had these men through mortal bodies past, | Fortune's free gifts as freely to impart,
Did thrice the trial undergo,

With an unenvious hand, and an unbounded
Till all their little dross was purg'd at last,

heart, The furnace had no more to do.

But in this thankless world the givers Then in rich Saturn's peaceful state

Are envied ev'n by the receivers: Were they for sacred treasures plac'd,

Tis now the cheap and frugal fa-hion, The Muse-discover'd world of Islands Fortunate. Rather to hide, than pay, the obligation: Soft-footed winds with tumeful voices there

Nay, 'tis much worse than so i Dance through the perfum'd air:

It now an artifice does grow,

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