But when the Gods in pity to our pain
Sent her again to cheer the youthful train,
Our former ftrength and sprightliness return,
Our fouls tranfported with new raptures burn.
May then, ye deities that guard the fair,
This beauteous nymph be your peculiar care!
Let no intruding fears her mind moleft,
Let no diforder break her pleasing reft!
And when she's wafted to your nobler fphere,
Grant her for ever to be happy there
With angels, whom in charms fhe equal'd here.
The LOVER's midnight SERENADE.
madam, fee, your fhivering lover lies
Before your door, neglected and forlorn,
The sport of raging tempefts and your scorn,
Both unrelenting enemies:
And can you still fo cruel be,
These hardships to behold, and yet not pity me?
Hark, how the north-wind blufters 'gainft the doors,
Hark, how among the bending trees it roars;
See, how the earth is cover'd o'er with fnow,
And like your heart is frozen too :
Away with this difdain, away,
For what is my cafe now, may be yours another day.
Alas! will nothing your compaffion move?
What, tho' with gifts I never brib'd your love,
Nor figh'd, nor fwore, nor languish'd, nor look'd pale,
Yet let my conftancy prevail:
What fhall I do? I cannot fure
Thefe heats and colds of love for ever thus endure.
On an EPIGRAM.
NE day in Chelsea meadows walking,
Of poetry and fuch things talking,
Says RALPH, a merry wag,
An epigram, if smart and good,
In all its circumftances fhou'd
Be like a JELLY BAG.
Your fimile, I own, is new,
But how wilt make it out, fays HUGH?
Quoth RALPH, I'll tell thee, friend:
Make it at top both wide and fit
To hold a budget-full of wit,
And point it at the end.
F trumpets, drums, guns, and the bold bloody battle
My high founding mufick most loudly should rattle,
But alas! my poor fiddle too weak would it prove,
And can play to no tune but the foft tunes of love.
T'other day with new catgut my fiddle I ftrung,
Then Britons ftrike home most heroickly fung;..
To fqueeze out high notes tho' my fiddle-stick ftrove,
My fiddle ftill tweedled and tweedled of love.
A fcraper from beauty no more will I rove,
But tune up my fiddle to fonnets of love.
RICHARDUS FIDDES S. T. P.
SEDGWICKE HARRISON M. D. et PRÆLECTORI
ATES tuarum quid potiùs canet,
Amice, laudum? quo priùs ordiar?
Quid fumet æternos loquendum
Mufa tibi meditans honores?
Vir plurimarum fcilicèt artium
Mufam fatigat præ nimio imparem
Fulgore, confunditque virtus
Attonitum numerofa vatem.
Dicetne, quercus inter & ilices
Vel ad loquacis murmura rivuli
Non indecorum te receffum
Degere, nec citharâ carentem,
Ducentis omnes immemorem lucri
Simulque famæ, quæ tamen impigra
Per rura fecretafque valles
Te petit & decorat fugacem?
At forfan urbem follicitus petis,
Cautè revolvens, quæ latet utilis
Venis metallorum poteftas,
Quæve graves fugat herba morbos:
Curefve (acutâ ne pereat febre)
Tuo poetam de grege nobilem,
Et integrum Mufis redones
Oxoniis Genioque vatem:
Oris colorem five refufcites,
Flammafque ocellis reftituas Chloes,
Quæ te renafcentes medentem
(Ah caveas!) perimant tuendo.
Aft o rapacis mox fuga temporis
Tollet genarum purpureum decus,
Nymphamque, teque unàque amores
Nil miferans rapiet vetuftas.
Non fic obibunt, hiftoricus labor
Quotquot beavit, tuque vetas mori
Donafque cœlo, fed filentis
Effugient tenebras fepulchri.
Nam nocte dignos furripis eloquens
Caliginofa, præmiaque arrogas
Vitamque virtuti, et bene acti
Perpetuas breve tempus ævi.
Dum voce pingis pleniùs aureâ,
Queis crevit olim Roma laboribus,
Et edoces, quanti Quirites
Pacis erant mediique belli;
Ut cuncta fermo vividus exhibet !
Ut audientum leniter admoves
Vim mentibus gratam, atque tecum
Corda potens animosque volvis!
Quifquis fideli fentit imagine
Romam vetuftam, nunc medio fedet
Sequax fenatu, nunc tremendi
Tutus adit per acuta belli.
Sic blandiorem dum tetigit lyram
Sciens modorum ritè Timotheus
(Quali, inter umbras tu reclinis
Et fluvios, moderare curas)
Languet procaci vir Macedo fono,
Hauritque totum corde Cupidinem,
Et Thaidem præponit orbi
Crine nigram niveamque collo.
Vates fonabat mox Phrygios modos
Majore bellum pectine concinens,
Ad arma ceffans en! ad arma
Exilit, impatienfque amoris
Prorumpit heros; mens trepidat nove
Lymphata motu; jam galeam rapit
Criftis minacem, jam vibrato
Exitium minitatur enfe.
Nullus furori terminus obftitit,
Per faxa rumpit, per medios celer
Amnes et obftantes catervas,
Dum domitum fibi fubdit orbem.
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