The hare in paftures or in plains is found,
Emblem of human life, who runs the round;
And, after all his wandering ways are done,
His circle fills, and ends where he begun,
Just as the fetting meets the rifing fun.
Thus princes cafe their cares; but happier he,
Who leeks not pleasure through neceffity,
Than fuch as once on flippery thrones were
plac'd;

And, chafing, figh to think themselves are chas'd.
So liv'd our fires, e'er doctors learn'd to kill,
And multiply'd with theirs the weekly bill.
The first physicians by debauch were made :
Excels began, and floth fuftains the trade :
Pity the generous kind their cares bestow
To fearch forbidden truths; (a fin to know :)
To which if human science could attain,
The doom of death, pronounc'd by God, were
In vain the leech would interpofe delay;
Fate faftens first, and vindicates the prey.
What help from art's endeavours can we have?"
Gibbons but gueffes, nor is fure to fave:
But Maurus Tweeps whole parishes, and peoples

every grave;

[vain.

And no more mercy to mankind will use,
Than when he robb'd and murder'd Maro's Mufe.
Wouldst thou be foon dispatch'd, and perish whole,
Truft Maurus with thy life, and Milbourn with
thy foul.

By chace our long-liv'd fathers earn'd their food;
Toil ftrung the nerves, aud purify'd the blood :
But we their fons, a pamper'd race of men,
Are dwindled down to threefcore years and ten.
Better to hunt in fields for health unbought,
Than fee the doctor for a naufeous draught.
The wife, for cure, on exercife depend;
God never made his work for man to meud.
The tree of knowledge, once in Eden plac'd,
Was eafy found, but was forbid the taste:
O, had our grandfire walk'd without his wife,
He first had fought the better plant of life!
Now both are loft: yet, wandering in the dark,
Physicians, for the tree, have found the bark;
They, labouring for relief of human kind,
With fharpen'd fight fome remedies may find;
Th' apothecary train is wholly blind.
From files a random recipe they take,
And many deaths of one prefcription make,
Garth, generous as his Mufe, prescribes and
gives;

The fhopman fells; and by deftruction lives:
Ungrateful tribe! who, like the viper's brood,
From medicine iffuing, fuck their mother's blood!
Let thefe ebey; and let the learn'd prescribe;
That men may die, without a double bribe:
Let them, but under their fuperiors, kill;
When doctors first have fign'd the bloody bill:
He fcapes the best, who nature to repair,
Draws phyfic from the fields, in draughts of vi-
tal air.

You hoard not health, for your own private ufe,
But on the public fpend the rich produce.
When, often urg'd, unwilling to be great,
Your country calls yon from your lov'd retreat,

And fends to fenates, charg'd with common care, Which none more fhuns; and none can better bear;

Where could they find another form'd fo fit,
To poife, with folid sense, a sprightly wit!
Were these both wanting, as they both abound,
Where could fo firm integrity be found?
Well born, and wealthy, wanting no support,
You fteer betwixt the country and the court:
Nor gratify whate'er the great defire,
Nor grudging give, what public needs require.
Part must be left, a fund when foes invade;
And part employ'd to roll the watery trade:
Ev'n Canaan's happy land, when worn with toil,
Requir'd a fabbath-year to mend the meagre foil.

Good fenators (and fuch as you) so give, That kings may be fupply'd, the people thrive. And he, when want requires, is truly wife, Who flights not foreign aids, nor over-buys; But on our native ftrength, in time of need, relies.

Munster was bought, we boaft not the fuccefs; Who fights for gain, for greater makes his peace. Our foes, compell'd by need, have peace em

brac'd:

The peace both parties want, is like to laft:
Which, if fecure, fecurely we may trade;
Or, not fecure, fhould never have been made.
Safe in ourselves, while on ourfelves we ftand,
The fea is ours, and that defends the land-
Be, then, the naval ftores the nation's care,
New fhips to build, and batter'd to repair.

Obferve the war, in ever annual courfe;
What has been done, was done with British force:
Namur fubdued, is England's palm alone;
The reft befieg'd; but we constrain'd the town:
We faw th' event that follow'd our fuccefs;
France, though pretending arms, purfued the
Oblig'd, by one fole treaty, to restore [peace;
What twenty years of war had won before.
Enough for Europe has our Albion fought:
Let us enjoy the peace our blood has bought.
When once the Perfian king was put to flight,
The weary Macedons refus'd to fight:
Themfelves their own mortality confefs'd;
And left the fon of Jove to quarrel for the rest.
Ev'n victors are, by victories undone;

Thus Hannibal, with foreign laurels won,
To Carthage was recall'd, too late to keep his

own.

While fore of battle, while our wounds are green,
Why should we tempt the doubtful dye again?
In wars renew'd, uncertain of fuccefs;
Sure of a fhare as umpires of the peace.

A patriot both the king and country ferves:
Prerogative, and privilege, preferves:
Of each our laws the certain limits fhew;
One must not ebb, nor t' other overflow:
Betwixt the prince and parliament we ftand;
The barriers of the ftate on either hand:
May neither overflow, for then they drown the
land.

When both are full, they feed our blefs'd abode;
Like those that water'd once the Paradise of God,

Some overpoife of fway, by turns, they share; In peace the people, and the prince in war: Confuls of moderate power in calms were made: When the Gauls came, one fole dictator fway'd.

Patriots in peace, affert the people's right;
With noble stubbornness refifting might:
No lawless mandates from the court receive,
Nor lend by force, but in a body give.

Such was your generous grandfire; free to grant
In parliaments, that weigh'd their prince's want:
But fo tenacious of the common cause,
As not to lend the king against his laws.
And in a loathfome dungeon doom'd to lie,
In bonds retain'd his birthright liberty,
And fham'd oppreffion, till it fet him free.

O true defcendant of a patriot line, [thine,
Who, while thou shar'ft their luftre, lend'ft them
Vouchsafe this picture of thy foul to see;
'Tis fo far good, as it refembles thee.
The beauties to th' original I owe;

Which when I mifs, my own defects I fhew;
Nor think the kindred Muses thy disgrace:
A poet is not born in every race.
Two of a houfe few ages can afford;
One to perform, another to record.
Praife-worthy actions are by thee embrac'd;
And 'tis my praise, to make thy praises laft.
For ev'n when death diffolves our human frame,"
The foul returns to heaven from whence it came;
Earth keeps the body, verse preserves the fame.

ONCE I beheld the fairest of her kind,
And still the fweet idea charms my mind:
True, fhe was dumb: for nature gaz'd fo long,
Pleas'd with her work, that she forgot her tongue;
But, fmiling, faid, She still fhall gain the prize;
I only have transferr'd it to her eyes.
Such are thy pictures, Kneller; fuch thy fkill,
That nature feems obedient to thy will;
Comes out, and meets thy pencil in the draught;
Lives there, and wants but words to speak her
thought.

At least thy pictures look a voice; and we
Imagine founds, deceiv'd to that degree,
We think 'tis fomewhat more than just to fee.

Shadows are but privations of the light;
Yet, when we walk, they fhoot before the fight;
With us approach, retire, arife, and fall;
Nothing themselves, and yet expreffing all.
Such are thy pieces, imitating life

So near, they almost conquer in the ftrife;
And from their animated canvass came,
Demanding fouls, and loofen'd from the frame.
Prometheus, were he here, would caft away
His Adam, and refuse a foul to clay;
And either would thy noble work inspire,
Or think it warm enough without his fire.

But vulgar hands may vulgar likeness raise;
This is the leaft attendant on thy praife;
From hence the rudiments of art began;
A coal, or chalk, first imitated man :
Perhaps the fhadow, taken on a wall,
Gave outlines to the rude original;
E'er canvass yet was ftrain'd, before the grace
Of blended colours found their use and place,
Or cypress tablets first receiv'd a face.

By flow degrees the godlike art advanc'd;
As man grew polish'd, picture was inhanc'd:
Greece added posture, shade, and perspective;
And then the mimic piece began to live.
Yet perspective was lame, no diftance true,
But all came forward in one common view:
No point of light was known, no bounds of

art;

When light was there, it knew not to depart;
But glaring on remoter objects play'd;
Not languifh'd, and infenfibly decay'd.

Rome rais'd not art, but barely kept alive, And with old Greece unequally did strive: Till Goths and Vandals, a rude northern race, Did all the matchless monuments deface. Then all the Muses in one ruin lie,

And rhyme began t' enervate poetry.

Thus, in a stupid military state,
The pen and pencil find an equal fate.
Flat faces, fuch as would difgrace a skreen,
Such as in Bantam's embaffy were feen,
Unrais'd, unrounded, were the rude delight
Of brutal nations, only born to fight.

Long time the fifter arts, in iron fleep,
A heavy fabbath did fupinely keep :
At length, in Raphael's age, at once they rife,
Stretch all their limbs, and open all their eyes.
Thence rofe the Roman, and the Lombard
line:

One colour'd beft, and one did beft defign.
Raphael's, like Homer's, was the nobler part,
But Titian's painting look'd like Virgil's art.
Thy genius gives thee both; where true defign,
Poftures unforc'd, and lively colours join.
Likeness is ever there; but ftill the best,
Like proper thoughts in lofty language drest:
Where light, to fhades defcending, plays, not
ftrives,

Dies by degrees, and by degrees.revives.
Of various parts a perfect whole is wrought:
Thy pictures think, and we divine their thought.
Shakespeare, thy gift, I place before my fight:
With awe, I ask his bleffing ere I write;
With reverence look on his majestic face;
Proud to be lefs, but of his godlike race.
His foul infpires me, while thy praise I write,
And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight.

Bids thee, through me, be bold; with dauntless breaft

Contemn the bad, and emulate the best.
Like his, thy critics in th' attempt are loft:
When most they rail, know then, they envy moft.
In vain they fnarl aloof; a noify croud,
Like women's anger, impotent and loud.
While they their barren industry deplore,
Pafs on fecure, and mind the goal before.
Old as the is, my Mufe fhall march behind,
Bear off the blaft, and intercept the wind.
Our arts are fifters, though not twins in birth:
For hymns were fung in Eden's happy earth:
But oh, the painter Mufe, though last in place,
Has feiz d the bleffing first, like Jacob's race.
Apelles' art an Alexander found;

And Raphael did with Leo's gold abound;
But Homer was with barren laurel crown'd.
Thou hadst thy Charles a while, and so had I;
But pafs we that unpleafing image by.
Rich in thyfelf, and of thyself divine;
All pilgrims come and offer at thy fhrine.
A graceful truth thy pencil can command;
The fair themselves go mended from thy hand.
Likeness appears in every lineament;
But likeness in thy work is eloquent.
Though nature there her true resemblance bears,
A nobler beauty in thy piece appears.

So warm thy work, fo glows the generous frame.
Flesh looks lefs living in the lovely dame.

Thou paint'ft as we defcribe, improving still, When on wild nature we ingraft our skill; But not creating beauties at our will.

But' poets are confin'd in narrower space, To speak the language of their native place: The painter widely ftretches his command: Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land. From hence, my friend, all climates are your own, Nor can you forfeit, for you hold of none. All nations all immunities will give To make you theirs, where'er you please to live; And not seven cities, but the world, would strive.

Sure fome propitious planet then did smile,
When first you were conducted to this isle:
Our genius brought you here, t' enlarge our fame;
For your good stars are every where the fame;
Thy matchlefs hand, of every region free,
Adopts our climate, not our climate thee.

Great Rome and Venice early did impart
To thee th' examples of their wondrous art.
Those masters then, but feen, not understood,
With generous emulation fir'd thy blood:
For what in nature's dawn the child admir'd,
The youth endeavour'd, and the man acquir'd.

If yet thou haft not reach'd their high degree,
'Tis only wanting to this age, not thee.
Thy genius, bounded by the times, like mine,
Drudges on petty draughts, nor dare defign
A more exalted work, and more divine.
For what a fong, or fenfelefs opera,
Is to the living labour of a play;
Or what a play to Virgil's work would be,
Such is a fingle piece to hiftory.

But we, who life bestow, ourselves must live: Kings cannot reign, unless their subjects give; And they, who pay the taxes, bear the rule: Thus thou, fometimes, art forc'd to draw a fool: But fo his follies in thy pofture fink, The fenfelefs ideot feems at laft to think.

Good heaven! that fots and knaves should be fo

I.

,

FAREWELL, too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think, and call my own;
For fure our fouls were near allied, and thine
Caft in the fame poetic mould with mine.
One common note on either lyre did ftrike,
And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike.
To the fame goal did both our ftudies drive;
The laft fet out, the fooneft did arrive.
Thus Nifus fell upon the flippery place,
Whilft his young friend perform'd, and won the
O early ripe! to thy abundant store
What could advancing age have added more?
It might (what nature never gives the young)
Have taught the smoothnefs of thy native tongue.

[race.

But fatire needs not thofe, and wit will thing
Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line.
A noble error, and but seldom made,
When poets are by too much force betray'd,
Thy generous fruits, though gather'd ere their
prime,

Still fhew'd a quickness; and maturing time But mellows what we write, to the dull fweets of rhyme.

Once more, hail, and farewel; farewel, thou young,
But ah too fhort, Marcellus of our tongue!
Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound;
But fate and gloomy night encompals thee around.

II.

1.

Taos youngek virgin-daughter of the skies,
Made in the last promotion of the bleft;
Whose palms, new pluck'd from paradise,
In fpreading branches more fublimely rife,
Rich with immortal green above the rest:
Whether, adopted to fome neighbouring star,
Thou roll'ft above us, in thy wand'ring race,
Or, in proceffion fix'd and regular,
Mov'd with the heaven majestic pace;
Or, call'd to more fuperior bliss,
Thou treadft, with seraphims, the vast abyss:
Whatever happy region is thy place,
Ceafe thy celeftial fong a little space;

Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine,
Since heaven's eternal year is thine.
Hear then a mortal Mufe thy praise rehearse,
In no ignoble verse;

But fuch as thy own voice did practise here,
When thy first fruits of Poefy were given;
To make thyfelf a welcome inmate there :
While yet a young probationer,
And candidate of heaven.

II.

If by traduction came thy mind, Our wonder is the lefs to find A foul fo charming from a stock so good; Thy father was transfus'd into thy blood: So wert thou born into a tuneful strain, An carly, rich, and inexhausted vein.

But if thy pre-existing foul

Was form'd, at firft, with myriads more, It did through all the mighty poets roll, Who Greek or Latin laurels wore,

And was that Sappho last, which once it was before. If fo, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind! Thou haft no drofs to purge from thy rich ore: Nor can thy foul a fairer mansion find,

Than was the beauteous frame fhe left behind: Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celestial kind.

111.

May we prefume to say, that, at thy birth, New joy was fprung in heaven, as well as here on earth.

For fure the milder planets did combine
On thy aufpicious horofcope to fhine,
And ev'n the most malicious were in trine.
Thy brother-angels at thy birth

Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high,
That all the people of the sky
Might know a poetefs was born on earth.
And then, if ever, mortal ears
Had heard the mufic of the spheres.
And if no clustering fwarm of bees
On thy sweet mouth distill'd their golden dew,
"Twas that fuch vulgar miracles

Heaven had not leisure to renew :

For all thy bleft fraternity of love [day above. Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holy

Kiiij