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As when a Whirlwind, rufhing to the Shore,
From the mid Ocean drives the Waves before;
The painful Hind with heavy Heart forefees
The flatted Fields, and Slaughter of the Trees.

As when loud Boreas, with his bluft'ring Train,
Stoops from above, incumbent on the Main ;
Where'er he flies, he drives the Rack before,
And rouls the Billows on the Egean Shore.
Like Boreas in his Race, when rushing forth
He sweeps the Skies, and clears the cloudy North:
The waving Harvest bends beneath his Blaft,

Dryd. Virg.

Dryd. Virg.

The Foreft fhakes, the Groves their Honours caft:
He flies aloft, and with impetuous Roar

Purfues the foaming Surges to the Shore.

Dryd. Virg.

Fierce Boreas flies

To puff away the Clouds, and purge the Skies:
Serenely while he blows, the Vapours driv'n
Difcover Heav'n to Earth, and Earth to Heav'n.

Dryd. Ovid.

The South Wind Night and Horrour brings,
And Fogs are fhaken from his flaggy Wings.
From his divided Beard two Streams he pours,
His Head and rheumy Eyes diftill in Show'rs:
With Rain his Robe and heavy Mantle flow,
And lazy Mifts are louring on his Brow.

Dryd. Ovid;

So Winds, while yet unfledg'd in Woods they lie,

In Whispers firft their tender Voices try :

Then iffue on the Main with bell'wing Rage,
And Storms to trembling Mariners prefage.

Dryd. Virg.

As wintry Winds, contending in the Sky,
With equal Force of Lungs their Titles try,
They rage, they roar; the doubtful Rack of Heav'n
Stands without Motion, and the Tide undriv'n:
Each bent to conquer, neither Side to yield,

They long fufpend the Fortune of the Field.

Dryd. Virg.

WINTER. See Year.

No Grafs the Fields, no Leaves the Forefts wear,

The Frozen Earth lies bury'd there below

A hilly Heap, feven Cubits deep in Snow,
And all the Weft Allies of ftormy Boreas blow.
The Sun from far peeps with a fickly Face,
Too weak the Clouds and mighty Fogs to chafe,
When up the Skies he fhoots his rofy Head,
Or in the ruddy Ocean feeks his Bed.
Swift Rivers are with fudden Ice conftrain'd,
And ftudded Wheels are on its Back fuftain'd;
An Hoftry now for Waggons, which before
Tall Ships of Burthen on its Bofom bore.

The

The brazen Cauldrons with the Froft are flaw'd,
The Garment, ftiff with Ice, at Hearths is thaw'd;
With Axes firft they cleave the Wine, and thence
By Weight the folid Portions they difpence;'
From Locks uncomb'd, and from the frozen Beard,
Long Ificles depend, and crackling Sounds are heard:
Mean time perpetual Sleet, and driving Snow,
Obfcure the Skies, and hang on Herds below.
The ftarving Cattle perifh in their Stalls,
Huge Oxen ftand enclos'd in wintry Walls

Of Snow congeal'd; whole Herds are bury'd there
Of mighty Stags, and fcarce their Horns appear.
The dextrous Huntfman wounds not these afar,
With Shafts or Darts, or makes a distant War
With Dogs, or pitches Toils to stop their Flight,
But clofe engages in unequal Fight;

And while they ftrive in vain to make their Way
Thro Hills of Snow, and pitifully bray,

Affaults with Dint of Swords or pointed Spears,
And homeward on his Back the joyful Burthen bears.
The Men to fubterranean Caves retire,

Secure from Cold, and crowd the chearful Fire;
With Trunks of Elms and Oaks the Hearth they load,
Nor tempt th' Inclemency of Heav'n abroad.
Their jovial Nights in Frolicks and in Play
They pals, to drive the tedious Hours away;

And their cold Stomachs with crown'd Goblets chear
Of windy Cyder, or of barmy Beer:

Such are the cold Riphean Race, and fuch
The Savage Scythian, and unwarlike Dutch;

Where Skins of Beafts the rude Barbarians wear,

The Spoils of Foxes, and the furry Bear.

Then when the fleecy Skies new-cloath the Wood,

Dryd. Virg.

(Virg.

And Cakes of ruftling Ice come rowling down the Flood. Dryd.
When gagg'd with Ice the Waves no longer roar,
But with ftiff Arms embrace the filent Shore.
When naked Hills in frozen Armour stand.

Behold yon Mountains hoary Height,
Made higher with new Mounts of Snow;
Again behold the Winter's Weight
Oppress the lab'ring Woods below;
And Streams with icy Fetters bound,
Benumb'd and cramp'd to folid Ground.
With well-heap'd Logs diffolve the Cold,

And feed the genial Heat with Fires ;
Produce the Wine, that makes us bold,
And fprightly Wit and Love infpires:

Ii 4

Blac.

For

For what hereafter fhall betide, .

God, if 'tis worth his Care, provide.

WISDOM. See Prudence.

Wifdom's too froward to let any find

Truft in himself, or Pleasure in his Mind;

She takes by what the gives; her Help deftroys:

Dryd, Hor.

She thakes our Courage, and disturbs our Joys. How. Ind. Queen.

Wisdom's an Evennefs of Soul,

A fteddy Temper which no Cares controul,
No Paffions ruffle, no Defires inflame;
Still conftant to it self, and still the same.

The Wife and A&tive conquer Difficulties
By daring to attempt them : Sloth and Folly
Shiver and fhrink at Sight of Toil and Hazard,
And make th'Impoffibility they fear.

But Wisdom is to Sloth too great a Slave, None are fo bufy as the Fool and Knave.

Vain Boast of Wisdom,

Oldh

Row. Amb. Stepm.

That with fantaftick Pride, like bufy Children,
Builds Paper-Towns and Houses, which at once

Dryd. Med.

The Hand of Chance o'erturns, and loosely scatters, Row. Amb.
WISHES. See Content.

Look round the habitable World, how few
Know their own Good, or knowing it, purfue!
How void of Reafon are our Hopes and Fears!
What in the Conduct of our Life appears
So well defign'd, fo luckily begun,

But when we have our Wifh, we wifh undone ?
Whole Houses of their whole Defires poffefs'd,
Are often ruin'd at their own Requeft."

In Wars and Peace things hurtful we require,
When made obnoxious to our own Defire.

Dryd. Juu.

(Mode.

That what we most defire, proves moft our Pain. Dryd, Mar. Ala

So blind we are, our Wishes are fo vain,

With Lawrels fome have fatally been crown'd,

Some, who the Depths of Eloquence have found,

In that unnavigable Stream were drown'd.

Some ask for envy'd Pow'r, which publick Hate
Purfues, and hurries headlong to their Fate.

All with the dire Prerogative to kill;

Ev'n they would have the Pow'r, who want the Will. Dryd. Juv. 'Tis plain from hence, that what our Vows requeß,

Are hurtful Things, or ufelefs at the best.
Such is the gloomy State of Mortals here,

We know not what to wifh, nor what to fear.

Dryd. Juo.

Dryd.

We

We go aftray

In ev'ry Wish, and know not how to pray:
For he, who grafp'd the World's exhaufted Store,
Yet never had enough, but wifh'd for more;
Rais'd a Top-heavy Tow'r of monftrous Height,

(Juri
Which mould'ring crufh'd him underneath the Weight. Dryd.
What then remains; are we depriv'd of Will?
Muft we not wifh, for fear of wishing Ill?
Receive my Counsel, and fecurely move :
Intruft thy Fortune to the Pow'rs above;
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant
What their unerring Wisdom fees thee want.
In Goodness as in Greatness they excel;

Oh! that we lov'd our felves but half fo well!

WIT.

A thousand different Shapes it bears,
Comely in thousand Shapes appears.
'Tis not a Tale, 'tis not a Jeft,

Admir'd with Laughter at a Feaft,

Nor florid Talk, which can this Title gain,
The Proofs of Wit for ever must remain.
'Tis not to force fome lifelefs Verses meet,

With their five gouty Feet;
All ev'ry where, like Man's, must be the Soul,
And Reason the inferiour Pow'rs controul.
Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each Part;

That fhews more Coft than Art:
'Tis not when two like Words make up one Noife,
(Jefts for Dutch Men, and English Boys,)

In which who finds out Wit, the fame may fee
In Anagrams and Acroftick Poetry.

Much lefs can that have any Place,

At which a Virgin hides her Face:
Such Drofs the Fire muft purge away:
'Tis juft

The Author blush, there where the Reader muft,
'Tis not fuch Lines as almoft crack the Stage,
When Bajazet begins to rage:
Nor a tall Metaphor in the bombaft Way,
Nor the dry Chips of fhort-lung'd Seneca:
Nor upon all things to intrude

And force fome odd Similitude.
What is it then, which, like the Pow'r divine,
We only can by Negatives define?

In a true Piece of Wit all things must be,
Yet all things there agree:

Dryd. Jup.

A

As in the Ark, joyn'd without Force or Strife,
All Creatures dwelt, all Creatures that had Life.
Or as the Primitive Forms of all,

Which without Difcord and Confufion lie,
In that ftrange Mirrour of the Deity.

'Tis not a Flash of Fancy, which fometimes

Dazling our Minds, fets off the flightest Rhymes.
Bright as a Blaze, but in a Moment done;

Wit like a luxuriant Vine,

Unless to Virtue's Prop it joyn,

Firm and erect tow'rd Heav'n bound,

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True Wit is everlasting, like the Sun.

Norm.

Tho' it with beauteous Leaves and pleafant Fruit be crown'd,

crown'd?

It lies deform'd and rotting on the Ground.
Wit, like Beauty, triumphs o'er the Heart,

Cenl,

When more of Nature's feen, and lefs of Art.

Prior.

Wit, like Tierce Claret, when't begins to pall,
Neglected lies, and's of no Ufe at all;
But in its full Perfection of Decay,
Turns Vinegar, and comes again in Play.
Unequally th'impartial Hand of Heav'n,
Has all but this one only Blefling giv'n.
In Wit alone't has been munificent,
Of which so just a Share to each is fent,
That the moft avaricious are content.

For none e'er thought, the due Divifion's fuch,
His own too little, or his Friend's too much:
Great Wits are fure to Madness near ally'd,

Roch.

}

Rech.

And thin Partitions do their Bounds divide. Dryd. Abs.& Achit.
Great Wits and Valours, like great States,
Do fometimes fink with their own Weights.
Th'Extreams of Glory and of Shame,
Like East and Weft become the fame.
No Indian Prince has to his Palace

More Foll'wers, than a Thief to th'Gallows.
WITCH. See Defpair, Necromancer.
What are thefe

So wither'd, and fo wild in their Attire,

That look not like th'Inhabitants of the Earth,

And yet are on it? Live you, or are you ought

That Man may queftion? You feem to understand me,
By each at once her choppy Fingers laying

Upon her skinny Lips.

If you can look into the Seeds of Time,

And fee which Grain will grow, and which will not;
I conjure you by that which you profess,

To answer me,

Hud.

The

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