The Mufe came in more cheerful than before,
And bad me quarrel with her now no more.
"Lo, thy reward! look here and fee,

"What I have made," said fhe,

45

My lover, and belov'd, my Broghill! do for thee. "Tho' thy own verse no lasting fame can give, 50 "Thou shalt at leaft in his for ever live.

"What criticks, the great Hectors now in wit, "Who rant and challenge all men that have writ, "Will dare t' oppose thee, when

54

[pen?"

Broghill in thy defence has drawn his conqu'ring I rofe, and bow'd my head, And pardon afk'd for all that I had faid; Well fatisfy'd and proud,

I ftraight refolved, and folemnly I vow'd,

That from her fervice now I ne'er would part;
So ftrongly large rewards work on a grateful heart.
IV.

Nothing fo foon the drooping fp'rits can raife,
As praises from the men whom all men praise:
'Tis the beft cordial, and which only those
Who have at home th' ingredients can compose: 65
A cordial that reftores our fainting breath,
And keeps up life even after death:
The only danger is, left it should be

Too ftrong a remedy;

Left, in removing cold it fhould beget
Too violent a heat,

And into madness turn the lethargy.

Ah! gracious God! that I might fee
A time when it were dangerous for me

To be o'erheat with praise!

But I within me bear, alas! too great allays.

V.

"Tis faid Apelles, when he Venus drew,
Did naked women for his pattern view,
And with his pow'rful fancy did refine
Their human shapes into a form divine;
None who had fat could her own picture see,

75

80

Or fay one part was drawn for me.

So tho' this nobler painter, when he writ,

Was pleas'd to think it fit

That my Book should before him fit,

85

Not as a caufe, but an occafion to his wit;
Yet what have I to boaft, or to apply,

To my advantage out of it, fince I,
Inftead of my own likeness, only find

The bright idea there of the great writer's mind? 90

ODE. MR. COWLEY'S BOOK

prefenting itself to the

UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF OXFORD.

1.

HAIL, Learning's Pantheon! hail, the sacred Ark!

Where all the world of Science does embark!

Which ever fhall withstand, and haft so long withstood Infatiate Time's devouring flood.

Hail! tree of Knowledge! thy leaves fruit! which well Doft in the midst of Paradife arife,

Oxford! the Mafes' Paradife,

From which may never fword the bless'd expel.
Hail! Bank of all paft ages! where they lie
T'enrich with interest posterity!

Hail! Wit's illuftrious Galaxy!

Where thoufand lights into one brightness spread;

Hail! living University of the dead!

II.

Unconfus'd Babel of all tongues, which e'er

6

10

14

The mighty linguist, Fame, or Time, the mighty

That could fpeak, or this could hear;

[traveller,

Majeftick monument and pyramid,

Where ftill the shapes of parted fouls abide,
Embalm'd in verfe, exalted Souls! which now

Enjoy thofe arts they woo'd fo well below;
Which now all wonders plainly fee

29

That I a place among you claim,

The humbleft deacon of her train?

Will you allow me th' honourable chain?
The chain of ornament which here

Your noble prisoners proudly wear;

A chain which will more pleasant seem to me
Than all my own Pindarick liberty?

૩૦

35.

Will ye to bind me with those mighty names submit,
Like an Apocrypha with Holy Writ?

Whatever happy book is chained here,
No other place or people need to fear;
His chain's a passport to go ev'ry where.

As when a feat in heav'n

IV.

Is to an unmalicious finner giv'n,

40

Who cafting round his wond'ring eye,

Does none but patriarchs and apostles there espy,
Martyrs who did their lives bestow,

45

And faints who martyrs liv'd below;

With trembling and amazement he begins

To recollect his frailties paft, and fins;

He doubts almost his station there,

His Soul fays to itself, How came I here?

૩૦

No labour I, nor merits, can pretend;

I think Predeftination only was my friend.

V.

Ah! that my author had been ty'd like me
To fuch a place and such a company!
Inftead of fev'ral countries, fev'ral men,
And business which the Muses hate,

He might have then improv'd that small eftate
Which Nature fparingly did to him give:

He might, perhaps, have thriven then,

60

And settled upon me, his child, fomewhat to live. 65 It had happier been for him as well as me;

For when all, alas! is done,

We books, I mean, you Books, will prove to be

The best and noblest conversation:

For tho' fome errours will get in,
Like tinctures of orig'nal fin,

Yet, fure, we from our fathers' wit

Draw all the strength and spirit of it,

Leaving the groffer parts for conversation,

70

As the best blood of man's employ'd in generation. 75

ODE.

Sitting and drinking in the Chair made out of the relick of Sir Francis Drake's sbip.

I.

CHEER up, my Mates! the wind does fairly blow; Clap on more fail, and never spare;