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TO HIS

So Ovid, when from Cæsar's rage he fled,

Thus would I further yet engage The Roman Muse to Pontus with him led;

Your gentle Muse to court the age
Where he so sung, that we, through pity's glass, With somewhat of your proper rage :
See Nero milder than Augustus was.

Since none doth more to Phæbus owe,
Hereafter, such, in thy behalf, shall be
Th' indulgent censure of posterity.

Or in more languages can show
To banish those, who with such art can sing,

Those arts, which you so early know.
Is a rude crime, which its own curse doth bring :
Ages to come shall ne'er know how they fought,
Nor how to love their present youth be taught.
This to thyself.-Now to thy matchless book,
Wherein those few that can with judgment look,

WORTHY FRIEND MASTER EVELYN, May find old love in pure fresh language told;

UPON HIS TRANSLATION OP LUCRETIUS, Like new-stamp'd coin, made out of angel-gold:

LUCRETIUS (with a stork-like fate, Such truth in love, as th' antique world did know,

Born and translated in a state) In such a style, as courts may boast of now;

Comes to proclaim, in English verse, Which no bold tales of gods or monsters swell,

No monarch rules the universe: But human passions, such as with us dwell.

But chance and atoms make this ALL Man is thy theme; his virtue, or his rage,

In order democratical; Drawn to the life in each elaborate page.

Where bodies freely run their course, Mars, nor Bellona, are not named here,

Without design, or fate, or force. But such a Gondibert as both might fear:

And this in such a strain he sings, Venus had here, and Hebe, been outshin'd,

As if his Muse, with angels' wings, By thy bright Birtha, and thy Rhodalind.

Had soar'd beyond our utmost sphere, Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds,

And other worlds discover'd there. Betwixt thy worthies, and the Grecian gods !

For his immortal, boundless wit, Whose deities in vain had here come down,

To Nature does no bounds permit; Where mortal beauty wears the sovereign crown:

But boldly has remov'd those bars Such as, of flesh compos'd, by flesh and blood,

Of heaven, and earth, and seas, and stars,
Though not resisted, may be understood.

By which they were before suppos'd,
By narrow wits, to be inclos'd;
Till his free muse threw down the pale,
And did at once dispark them all.

So vast this argument did seem,
WORTHY FRIEND MR. WASE,

That the wise author did esteem

The Roman language (which was spread
THE TRANSLATOR OF GRATIUS.

O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
Thus, by the music, we may know

A tongue too narrow to unfold When noble wits a-hunting go,

The wonders which he would have told.

This speaks thy glory, noble friend ! Through groves, that on Parnassus grow.

And British language does commend : The Muses all the chase adorn;

For here Lucretius whole we find, My friend on Pegasus is borne:

His words, his music, and his mind. And young Apollo winds the horn.

Thy art has to our country brought

All that he writ, and all he thought. Having old Gratius in the wind,

Ovid translated, Virgil too, No pack of critics e'er could find,

Show'd long since what our tongue could do : Or he know more of his own mind.

Nor Lucan we, nor Horace spar'd; Here huntsmen with delight may read

Only Lucretius was too hard. How to choose dogs, for scent or speed,

Lucretius, like a fort, did stand And how to change or mend the breed :

Untouch'd, till your victorious hand

Did from his head this garland bear, What arms to use, or nets to frame,

Which now upon your own you wear. Wild beasts to combat, or to tame;

A garland ! made of such new bays, With all the mysteries of that game.

And sought in such untrodden ways,

As no man's temples e'er did crown,
But, worthy friend! the face of war

Save this great author's, and your own.
In ancient times doth differ far,
From what our fiery battles are.
Nor is it like, since powder known,
That man, so cruel to his own,
Should spare the race of beasts alone.

WORTHY FRIEND SIR THOS. HIGGONS,

UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF THE VENETIAN TRIUMPH. No quarter now: but with the gun Men wait in trees from sun to sun,

The winged lion's 9 not so fierce in fight, And all is in a moment done.

As Liberi's hand presents him to our sight;

Nor would his pencil make him half so fierce, And therefore we expect your next

Or roar so loud, as Businello's verse:
Should be no comment, but a text,
To tell how modern beasts are vext.

9 The arms of Venice.

TO MY

TO HIS

VERSES TO DR. ROGERS...CHLORIS AND HYLAS.

57 But your translation does all three excel,

CHLO. Hylas! the birds which chaunt in this grove, The fight, the piece, and lofty Businel.

Could we but know the language they use,
As their small gallies may not hold compare They would instruct us better in love,
With our tall ships, whose sails employ more air; And reprehend thy inconstant Muse:
So does th' Italian to your genius vail,

For love their breasts does fill with such a fire, Mov'd with a fuller and a nobler gale.

That what they once do choose, bounds their desire. Thus, while your Muse spreads the Venetian story, You make all Europe emulate her glory:

HYL. Chloris! this change the birds do approve, You make thema blush, weak Venice should defend

Which the warm season hither does bring:
The cause of Heaven, while they for words contend; Time from yourself does further remove
Shed Christian blood, and populous cities rase,

You, than the winter from the gay spring : Because they're taught to use some different phrase. She that like lightning shin'd while her face lasted, If, listening to your charms, we could our jars

The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted. Compose, and on the Turk discharge these wars; Our British arms the sacred tomb might wrest From pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East : And then you might our own high deeds recite, And with great Tasso celebrate the fight.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S VERSES.

IN ANSWER OF

CON.

VERSES TO DR. GEORGE ROGERS,

ON HIS TAKING THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR IN PHYSIC AT

PADUA, IN THE YEAR 1664.

WAEN, as of old, the Earth's bold children strove,
With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove,
Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side,
And their bright arms in his defence employ'd;
While the wise Phoebus, Hermes, and the rest,
Who joy in peace, and love the muses best,
Descending from their so distemper'd seat,
Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat.
There first Apollo try'd the various use
Of herbs, and learn'd the virtues of their juice,
And fram'd that art, to which who can pretend
A juster title than our noble friend,
Whom the like tempest drives from his abode,
And like employment entertains abroad?
This crowns him here; and in the bays so earn'd,
His country's honour is no less concer'd;
Since it appears not all the English rave,
To ruin bent; some study how to save:
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His sacred art, whole cities to amend ;
So we, brave friend, suppose that thy great skill,
Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will

,
At thy return, reclaim frantic isle,
Thy spirits calm, and peace again shall smile.

EDM. WALLER, Anglus.

Stay here, fond youth, and ask no more; be wise;
Knowing too much long since lost Paradise.

PRO. And, by your knowledge, we should be bereft
Of all that Paradise, which yet is left. [should still

con. The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst
Last in their pride; and wouldst not take it ill
If rudely, from sweet dreams, and for a toy,
Thou wak'd: he wakes himself that does enjoy.

PRO. How can the joy, or hope, which you allow,
Be styled virtuous, and the end not so?
Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire!
'Tis true, he wakes, that feels this real fire,
But-to sleep better: for whoe'er drinks deep
Of this Nepenthe, rocks himself asleep.

con. Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys;
And while it pleaseth much, yet still it cloys.
Who thinks he should be happier made for that,
As reasonably might hope he might grow fat
By eating to a surfeit: this once past,
What relishes ? ev'n kisses lose their taste.

PRO. Blessings may be repeated, while they cloy;
But shall we starve, 'cause surfeitings destroy?
And if fruition did the taste impair
Of kisses, why should yonder happy pair,
Whose joys just Hymen warrants all the night,
Consume the day too in this less delight?

cox. Urge not 'tis necessary; alas! we know
The homeliest thing that mankind does is so.
The world is of a large extent we see,
And must be peopled, children there must be:-
So must bread too: but since there are enough
Born to that drudgery, what need we plough?

PRO. I need not plough, since what the stooping
Gets of my pregnant land must all be mine: [hine
But in this nobler tillage, 'tis not so;
For when Anchises did fair Venus know,
What interest hail poor Vulcan in the boy,
Famous Æneas, or the present joy?

con. Women enjoy'd, whate'er before they've been,
Are like romances read, or scenes once seen:
Fruition dulls or spoils the play much more,
Than if one read or knew the plot before.

Pro. Plays and romances, read and seen, do fall
In our opinions : yet, not seen at all,
Whom would they please? To an heroic tale
Would you not listen, lest it should grow stale?

con. 'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear; Heaven were not Heaven, if we knew what it were.

PRO. If 'twere not Heaven, if we knew what it were, 'Twould not be Heaven to those who now are there.

CHLORIS AND HYLAS.

MADE TO A SARABAND

CULORIS.

Hylas, oh Hylas! why sit we mute,

Now that each bird saluteth the spring ?
Wind up the slacken'd strings of thy lute,

Never canst thou want matter to sing :
For love thy breast does fill with such a fire,
That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire.
HYL. Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of things

Of various flowers the bees do compose;
Yet no particular taste it brings

Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose:
So, love the result is of all the graces,
Which flow from a thousand several faces.

Con. And as in prospects we are there pleas'd most, To man, that was in th' evening made,
Where something keeps the eye from being lost, Stars gave the first delight;
And leaves us rooin to guess: so here, restraint Admiring, in the gloomy shade,
Holds up delight, that with excess would faint. Those little drops of light:

PRO. Restraint preserves the pleasure we have got, Then, at Aurora, whose fair band
But he ne'er has it, that enjoys it not.

Remor'd them from the skies,
In goodly prospects, who contracts the space, He gazing toward the east did stand,
Or takes not all the beauty of the place?

She entertain'd his eyes.
We wish remov'd what standeth in our light, But when the bright sun did appear,
And Nature blame for limiting our sight;

All those he 'gan despise;
Where you stand wisely winking, that the view His wonder was determin'd there,
Of the fair prospect may be always new.

And could no higher rise: con. They, who know all the wealth they have, are

He neither might, nor wish'd to know He's only rich, that cannot tell his store. [poor; A more refulgent light:

PRO. Not he that knows the wealth he has is poor; For that (as mine your beauties now) But he that dares not touch, nor use his store.

Employ'd his utmost sight.

TO A FRIEND,

TO ZELINDA. OF THE DIFFERENT SUCCESS OF THEIR LOVES. Fairest piece of well-form'd earth! THRICE happy pair! of whom we cannot know

Urge not thus your haughty birth : Which first began to love, or loves most now :

The power which you have o'er us, lies

Not in your race, but in your eyes.
Fair course of passion ! where two lovers start,
And run together, heart still yok'd with heart:

None but a prince !--Alas! that voice
Successful youth! whom love has taught the way

Confines you to a narrow choice.

Should you no honey vow to taste,
To be victorious, in the first essay.

But what the master-bees have plac'd
Sure love's an art best practised at first,
And where th' experienced still prosper worst !

In compass of their cells, how small 1, with a different fate, pursued in vain

A portion to your share would fall! The haughty Cælia; till my just disdain

Nor all appear, among those few, Of her neglect, above that passion borne,

Worthy the stock from whence they grew : Did pride to pride oppose, and scorn to scom.

The sap, which at the root is bred, Now she relents; but all too late, to move

In trees, through all the boughs is spread; A heart directed to a nobler love:

But virtues, wbich in parents shine, The scales are tum'd, her kindness weighs no more

Make not like progress through the line. Now, than my vows and service did before.

'Tis not from whom, but where, we live : So, in some well-wrought hangings, you may see

The place does oft those graces give. How Hector leads, and how the Grecians flee :

Great Julius, on the mountains bred, Here, the fierce Mars his courage so inspires,

A flock perhaps, or herd, had led :
That with bold hands the Argive fleet he fires :

He ?, that the world subdued, had been
But there, from Heaven the blue-ey'd virgin' falls, But the best wrestler on the green.
And frighted Troy retires within her walls :

'Tis art, and knowledge, which draw forth

The hidden seeds of native worth :
They that are foremost in that bloody race
Turn head anon, and give the conquerors chase.

They blow those sparks, and make them rise

Into such flames as touch the skies.
So like the chances are of love and war,
That they alone in this distinguish'd are;

To the old heroes hence was given
In love, the victors from the vanquish'd fly,

A pedigree, which reach'd to heaven:

Of mortal seed they were not held,
They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.

Which other mortals so excell'd.
And beauty too, in such excess

As your's, Zelinda! claims no less.
AN APOLOGY

Smile but on me, and you shall scorn,

Henceforth, to be of princes born.
FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE.

I can describe the shady grove,
They, that never had the use

Where your lov'd mother slept with Jove, Of the grape's surprising juice,

And yet excuse the faultless dame, To the first delicious cup

Caught with her spouse's shape and name: All their reason render up;

Thy matchless form will credit bring
Neither do, nor care to know,

To all the wonders I shall sing.
Whether it be best or no.
So they, that are to love inclin'd,
Sway'd by chance, not choice or art,

TO MY LADY MORTON,
To the first that's fair or kind,

ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY, AT THE LOUVRE IN PARIS, Make a present of their heart: 'Tis not she that first we love,

Madam! new years may well expect to find But whom dying we approve.

Welcome from you, to whom they are so kind; ' Minerva.

& Alexander

OR A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK

Still as they pass, they court and smile on you, Take heed, fair Eve! you do not make
And make your beauty, as themselves, seem new. Another tempter of this snake:
To the fair Villars we Dalkeith prefer,

A marble one, so warm'd, would speak.
And fairest Morton now as much to her:
So like the Sun's advance your titles show,
Which, as he rises, does the warmer grow.

THE NIGHT-PIECE:
But thus to style you fair, your sex's praise,
Gives you but myrtle, who may challenge bays:
From armed foes to bring a royal prize 3,

DARKNESS, which fairest nymphs disarms,
Shows your brave heart victorious as your eyes. Defends us ill from Mira's charms :
If Judith, marching with the general's head, Mira can lay her beauty by,
Can give us passion when her story's read; Take no advantage of the eye,
What may the living do, which brought away Quit all that Lely's art can take,
Though a less bloody, yet a nobler prey;

And yet a thousand captives make.
Who, from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand, Her speech is grac'd with sweeter sound,
Snatch'd her fair charge, the princess, like a brand ? Than in another's song is found :
A brand! preserv'd to warm some prince's heart, And all Ler well-plac'd words are darts,
And make whole kingdoms take her brother's 4 part. Which need no light to reach our hearts.
So Venus, from prevailing Greeks, did shrowd As the bright stars, and milky way,
The hope of Romes, and sav'd him in a cloud. Show'd by the night, are hid by day:

This gallant act may cancel all our rage, So we, in that accomplish'd mind,
Begin a better, and absolve this age.

Help'd by the night, new graces find,
Dark shades become the portrait of our time; Which, by the splendour of her view
Here weeps Misfortune, and there triumphs Crime! Dazzled before, we never knew.
Let him that draws it hide the rest in night;

While we converse with her, we mark
This portion only may endure the light, (shape, No want of day, nor think it dark:
Where the kind nymph, changing her faultless Her shining image is a light
Becomes unhandsome, handsomely to scape, Fixt in our hearts, and conquers night.
When through the guards, the river, and the sea, Like jewels to advantage set,
Faith, Beauty, Wit, and Courage, made their way. Her beauty by the shade does get :
As the brave eagle does with sorrow see

There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,
The forest wasted, and that lofty tree,

All that our passion might restrain,
Which holds her nest, about to be o'erthrown, Is hid, and our indulgent mind
Before the feathers of her young are grown ; Presents the fair idea kind.
She will not leave them, nor she cannot stay, Yet, friended by the night, we dare
But bears them boldly on her wings away :

Only in whispers tell our care:
So fled the dame, and o'er the ocean bore

He, that on her his bold hand lays, Her princely burthen to the Gallic shore.

With Cupid's pointed arrows plays; Born in the storms of war, this royal fair,

They with a touch (they are so keen!) Produc'd like lightning in tempestuous air,

Wound us unshot, and she unseen.
Though now she flies her native isle (less kind, All near approaches threaten death,
Less fafe for her than either sea or wind!)

We may be shipwreck'd by her breath :
Shall, when the blossom of her beauty's blown, Love, favour'd once with that sweet gale,
See her great brother on the British throne : Doubles his haste, and fills his sail,
Where peace shall smile, and no dispute arise, Till he arrive where she must prove
But which rules most, his sceptre, or her eyes. The haven, or the rock, of love.

So we th' Arabian coast do know
At distance, when the spices blow;

By the rich odour taught to steer,
TO A FAIR LADY,

Though neither day nor stars appear.

PLAYING WITH A SNAKE.

PART OF TUE

FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S ÆNEIS

TRANSLATED.

STRANGE! that such horrour, and such grace,
Should dwell together in one place;
A fury's arın, an angel's face !
'Tis innocence, and youth, which makes
In Chloris' fancy such mistakes,
To start at love, and play with snakes.
By this, and by her coldness, barr'd,
Her servants have a task too hard :
The tyrant has a double guard!
Thrice happy snake! that in her sleeve
May boldly creep; we dare not give
Our thoughts so unconfin'd a leave.
Contented in that nest of snow
He lies, as he his bliss did know,
And to the wood no more would go.

3 Henrietta Maria, youngest daughter to king Charles I. 4 King Charles II. 5 Eneas.

Beginning at verse 437.
...... Talesque miserrima fletus
Fertque refertque soror.......

And ending with
Adnixi torquent spumas, et cærula verrunt.

V. 583.

All this her weeping sister 5 does repeat
To the stern man?, whom nothing could intreat;
Lost were her prayers, and fruitless were her tears!
Fate, and great Jove, had stopt his gentle ears.
6 Anna.

7 Æneas.

SO,

As, when loud winds a well-grown oak would rend She loudly calls, besprinkling all the room
Up by the roots, this way and that they bend With drops, suppos'd from Lethe's lake to come.
His reeling trunk, and with a boisterous sound She seeks the knot, which on the forehead grows
Scatter bis leaves, and strew them on the ground, Of new foal'd colts, and herbs by moonlight mows.
He fixed stands; as deep his roots do lie

A cake of leaven in her pious hands
Down to the centre, as his top is high:

Holds the devoted queen, and barefoot stands : No less on every side the hero prest,

One tender foot was bare, the other shod,
Feels love, and pity, shake his noble breast, Her robe ungirt, invoking every god,
And down his cheeks though fruitless tears do roll, And every power, if any be above,
Unmov'd remains the purpose of his soul.

Which takes regard of ill-requited love!
Then Dido, urged with approaching fate,

Now was the time, when weary mortals steep Begins the light of cruel Heaven to hate.

Their careful temples in the dew of sleep: Her resolution to dispatch, and die,

On seas, on earth, and all that in them dwell, Confirm’d by many a horrid prodigy!

A death-like quiet and deep silence fell; The water, consecrate for sacrifice,

But not on Dido! whose untamed mind Appears all black to her amazed eyes;

Refus'd to be by sacred night confin'd: The wine to putrid blood converted flows,

A double passion in her breast does move, Which from her none, not her own sister, knows. Love, and fierce anger for neglected love. Besides, there stood, as sacred to her lord , Thus she afflicts her soul : What shall I do? A marble temple which she much ador'd,

With fate inverted, shall I humbly won? With snowy fleeces and fresh garlands crown'd: And some proud prince, in wild Numidia born, Hence every night proceeds a dreadful sound; Pray to accept me, and forget my scorn? Her husband's voice invites her to his tomb, Or, shall I with th' ungrateful Trojan go, And dismal owls presage the ills to come.

Quit all my state, and wait upon my foe? Besides, the prophecies of wizards old

Is not enough, by sad experience! known Increas'd her terrour, and her fall foretold: The perjur'd race of false Laomedon? Scorn'd and deserted to herself she seems,

With my Sidonians shall I give them chase, And finds Æneas cruel in her dreams.

Bands hardly forced from their native place? So, to mad Pentheus, double Thebes appears,

No:-die! and let this sword thy fury tame; And furies howl in his distemper'd ears.

Nought but thy blood can quench this guilty flame. Orestes with like distraction tost,

Ah, sister! vanquish'd with my passion, thou Is made to fly his mother's angry ghost.

Betray'dst me first, dispensing with my vow. Now grief and fury to their height arrive; Had I been constant to Sichæus still, Death she decrees, and thus does it contrive. And single liv'd, I had not known this ill! Her grieved sister, with a cheerful grace,

Such thoughts torment the queen's enraged breast, (Hope well dissembled shining in her face)

While the Dardanian does securely rest She thus deceives. Dear sister! let us prove In his tall ship, for sudden flight prepard; The cure I have invented for my love.

To wbom once more the son of Jove appear'd; Beyond the land of Æthiopia lies

Thus seems to speak the youthful deity, The place where Atlas does support the skies : Voice, hair, and colour, all like Mercury. Hence came an old magician, that did keep

Fair Venus' seed! canst thou indulge thy sleep, Th' Hesperian fruit, and made the dragon sleep: Nor better guard in such great danger keep? Her potent charms do troubled souls relieve, Mad, by neglect to lose so fair a wind! And, where she lists, makes calmest minds to grieve: If here thy ships the purple morning find, The course of rivers, and of heaven, can stop, Thou shalt behold this hostile harbour shine And call trees down from th' airy mountain's top. With a new fleet, and fires, to ruin thine: Witness, ye gods! and thou, my dearest part ! She meditates revenge, resolv'd to die; How loth I am to tempt this guilty art.

Weigh anchor quickly, and her fury fly. Erect a pile, and on it let us place

This said, the god in shades of night retir'd. That bed, where I my ruin did embrace:

Amaz'd Æneas, with the warning fir'd, With all the relics of our impious guest,

Shakes off dull sleep, and rousing up his men, Arms, spoils, and presents, let the pile be drest; Behold! the gods command our flight again. (The knowing woman thus prescribes) that we Fall to your oars, and all your canvass spread: May rase the man out of our memory.

What god soc'er that thus vouchsafes to lead, Thus speaks the queen, but hides the fatal end We follow gladly, and thy will obey, For which she doth those sacred rites pretend. Assist us still, smoothing our happy way, Nor worse effects of grief her sister thought And make the rest propitious!--With that word, Would follow, than Sichæus' murder wrought; He cuts the cable with his shining sword : Therefore obeys her: and now, heaped high, Through all the navy doth like ardour reign, The cloven oaks and lofty pines do lie;

They quit the shore, and rush into the main: Hung all with wreaths and powery garlands round; Plac'd on their banks, the lusty Trojans sweep So by herself was her own funeral crown'd! Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deepUpon the top the Trojan's image lies, And his sharp sword, wherewith anon she dies. They by the altar stand, while with loose hair The magic prophetess begins her prayer:

ON THE PICTURE OF A FAIR YOUTH, On Chaos, Erebus, and all the gods, Which in th' infernal shades have their abodes,

As gather'd flowers, while their wounds are new, 8 Sichæus.

Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew,

TAKEN AFTER HE WAS DEAD.

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