By a fad lamenting throng,
That bleft him, and about him hung.
A weight his generous heart could hardly bear;
But for the comfort that was near,
His beauteous Mate, the fountain of his joys,
That fed his foul with love;
The cordial that can mortal pains remove,
To which all worldly bleffings elfe are toys.
I faw them ready for departure ftand;
Juft when approach'd the Monarch of our
land,
[hand:
And took the charming Mourner by the,
T'exprefs all nobleft offices he ftrove,
Of royal goodness, and a brother's love.
Then down to the shore fide,
Where to convey them did two royal barges ride,
With folemn pace they pafs'd,
And there fo tenderly embrac'd.
All griev'd by fympathy to fee them part, And their kind pains touch'd each by-ftander's heart.
Then hand in hand the pity'd pair Turn'd round to face their fate; She ev'n amidst afflictions fair, He, though oppreft, ftill great. Into th' expecting boat with hafte they went, Where, as the troubled Fair-one to the fhore fome wishes fent
For that dear pledge fh'ad left behind,
And as her paffion grew too mighty for her mind,
She of fome tears her eyes beguil'd,
Which, as upon her cheek they lay,
The happy hero kifs'd away,
And, as he wept, blush'd with disdain, and smil’d.
Strait forth they launch into the high-fwoln
Thames;
The well-ftruck oars lave up the yielding streams.
All fix'd their longing eyes, and wishing food,
Till they were got into the wider flood;
Till leffen'd out of fight, and seen no more,
Then figh'd, and turn'd into the hated fhore.
TRANSLATED OUT OF OVID.
The Argument. Thefeus, the fon of Ægeus, having flain the Minotaur, promised to Ariadne, the daughter of Minos and Pafiphae, for the affiftance which fhe gave him, to carry her home with him, and make her his wife; fo together with her fifter Phædra they went on board and failed to Chios, where being warned by Bacchus, he left Ariadne, and married her fifter Phædra, who afterwards, in Thefeus her husband's abfence, 'fell in love with Hippolytus her fon-in-law, who had vow'd celibacy, and was a hunter; wherefore, fince the could not conveniently otherwife, the chofe by this epiftle to give him an account of her paffion.
I thou'rt unkind I ne'er fhall health enjoy,
Yet much I wish to thee, my lovely boy:
Read this, and reading how my foul is feiz'd,
Rather than not, be with my ruin pleas'd:
Thus fecrets fife to farthest shores may move;
By letters foes converfe, and learn to love.
Thrice my fad tale, as I to tell it try'd,
Upon my faultering tongue abortive dy'd:
Long Shame prevail'd, nor could be conquer'd
quite,
But what I blufh'd to speak, Love made me write.
'Tis dangerous to refift the power of Love,
The gods obey him, and he's king above;
He clear'd the doubts that did my mind confound,
And promis'd me to bring thee hither bound:
Oh may he come, and in that breast of thine
Fix a kind dart, and make it flame like mine!
Yet of my wedlock vows I'll lofe no care,
Search back through all my fame, thou'lt find it
fair.
But Love long breeding to worst pain does turn;
Outward unharm'd, within, within 1 burn!
As the young bull or courfer yet untam'd,
When yok'd or bridled first, are pinch'd and
maim'd;
So my unpractis'd heart in love can find
No reft, th' unwonted weight so toils my mind:
When young, Love's pangs by arts we may
But in our riper years with rage we love.
To thee I yield then all my dear renown,
And pr'ythee let's together be undone. [rofe,
Who would not pluck the new-blown blufhing
Or the ripe fruit that courts him as it grows?
But if my virtue hitherto has gain'd
Efteem for fpotlefs, fhall it now be stain’d?
Oh, in thy love I shall no hazard run;
'Tis not a fin, but when 'tis coarsely done.
And now fhould Juno leave her Jove to me,
I'd quit that Jove, Hippolytus, for thee:
Believe me too, with ftrange defires I change,
Amongst wild beasts I long with thee to range.
To thy delights and Delia I incline,
Make her my goddefs too, because she's thine :
I long to know the woods, to drive the deer,
And o'er the mountain's tops my hounds to cheer,
Shaking my dart; then, the chafe ended, lie [by?
Stretch'd on the grafs; and would'st not thou be
Oft in light chariots I with pleasure ride,
And love myself the furious feeds to guide.
Now like a Bacchanal more wild I stray,
Or old Cybele's priests, as mad as they
When under Ida's hills they offerings pay:
Ev'n mad as those the deities of night
And water, Fauns and Dryads, do affright.
But ftill each little interval I gain,
Easily find 'tis love breeds all my pain.
Sure on our race love like a fate does fall,
And Venus will have tribute of us all.
Jove lov'd Europa, whence my father came,
And, to a bull transform'd, enjoy'd the dame :
She, like my mother, languish'd to obtain,
And fill'd her womb with fhame as well as pain.
The faithlefs Thefeus by my fifter's aid
The monfter flew, and a safe conquest made:
Now, in that family my right to fave,
I am at last on the fame terms a flave:
'Twas fatal to my fifter and to me,
She lov'd thy father, but my choice was thee.
Let monuments of triumph then be shown
For two unhappy nymphs by you undone.
When first our vows were to Eleufis paid,
Would I had in a Cretan grave been laid;
'Twas there thou didst a perfect conquest gain,
Whilft love's fierce fever rag'd in every vein
White was thy robe, a garland deck'd thy head,
A modeft blush thy comely face o'erfpread :
That face, which may be terrible in arms,
But graceful feem'd to me, and full of charms :
I love the man whofe fashion's leaft his care,
And hate my fex's coxcombs fine and fair;
For whilft thus plain thy careless locks let fly,
Th' unpolifh'd form is beauty in my eye.
If thou but ride, or thake the trembling dart,
I fix my eyes, and wonder at thy art:
To fee thee poife the javelin moves delight,
And all thou doft is lovely in my fight:
But to the woods thy cruelty refign,
Nor treat it with fo poor a life as mine.
Muft cold Diana be ador'd alone,
Must she have all thy vows, and Venus none?
That pleasure pails, if 'tis enjoy'd too long;
Love makes the weary firm, the feeble strong.
For Cynthia's fake unbend and ease thy bow,
Elfe to thy arm 'twill weak and useless grow.
Famous was Cephalus in wood and plain,
And by him many a boar and pard was flain,
Yet to Aurora's love he did incline,
Who wifely left old age for youth like thine.
Under the spreading fhades her amorous boy,
The fair Adonis, Venus could enjoy;
Atalanta's love too Meleager fought,
And to her tribute paid of all he caught:
Be thou and I the next bleft fylvan pair;
Where love's a stranger, woods but deferts are.
With thee, through dangerous ways unknown
before,
I'll rove, and fearless face the dreadful boar.
Between two feas a little isthmus lies,
Where on each fide the beating billows rife,
There in Trazena I thy love will meet,
More bleft and pleas'd than in my native Crete.
As we could wifh, old Thefeus is away
At Theffaly, where always let him stay
With his Perithous, whom well I fee
Preferr'd above Hippolytus or me.
Nor has he only thus expreft his hate;
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Nor need we fear our fault fhould be reveal'd;
'Twill under near relation be conceal'd, [crown
And all who hear our loves, with praise fhall
A mother's kindness to a grateful fon.
No need at midnight in the dark to stray,
T'unlock the gates, and cry, My love, this way!
No bufy fpies our pleasures to betray.
But in one house, as heretofore, we'll live;
In public, kiffes take; in public, give:
Though in my bed thou'rt seen, 'twill gain applaufe
From ali, whilst none have sense to guess the cause:
Only make haste, and let this league be fign'd;
So may my tyrant Love to thee be kind,
For this I am a humble fuppliant grown;
Now where are all my boafts of greatness gone?
I fwore I ne'er would yield, refolv'd to fight,
Deceiv'd by Love, that's feldom in the right;
Now on my own I crawl to clasp thy knees;
What's decent no true lover cares or fees:
Shame, like a beaten foldier, leaves the place,
But beauty's blushes still are in my face.
Forgive this fond confeffion which I make,
And then fome pity on my sufferings take.
What though 'midst seas my father's empire lies;
Though my great grandfire thunder from the fkies;
What though my father's fire in beams dreft gay
Drives round the burning chariot of the day;
Their honour all in me to Love's a flave,
Then, though thou wilt not me, their honour fave,
Jove's famous ifland, Crete, in dower I'll bring,
And there shall my Hippolytus be king:
For Venus' fake then hear and grant my prayer,
So may'it thou never love a fcornful fair;
In fields so may Diana grace thee ftill,
And every wood afford thee game to kill;
So may the Mountain Gods and Satyrs all
Be kind, fo may the boar before thee fall;
So may the Water-nymphs in heat of day,
Though thou their fex defpife, thy thirst allay.
Millions of tears to these my prayers I join,
We both have fuffer'd wrongs of mighty weight: Which as thou read'ft with those dear eyes of
My brother first he cruelly did flay,
Then from my fifter falfly ran away,
And left expos'd to every beast a prey:
A warlike queen to thee thy being gave,
A mother worthy of a fon fo brave,
From cruel Thefeus yet her death did find,
Nor, though the gave him thee, could make him
Unwedded too he murder'd her in fpight,
To bastardize, and rob thee of thy right:
And if, to wrong thce more, two fons I've brought,
Believe it his, and none of Phædra's fault :
Rather, thou fairest thing the earth contains,
I wish at first I'd dy'd of mother's pains.
[mine. Think that thou fee't the ftreams that flow from
Or if e'er flumbers and my eyes agree, [thee.
'Tis when they're crown'd with pleafing dreams of
Laft night methought (heaven make the next as
kind!
Free as first innocence, and unconfin'd
As our first parents in their Eden were,
Ere yet condemn'd to eat their bread with care;
We two together wander'd through a grove,
'Twas green beneath us, and all fhade above,
Mild as our friendship, fpringing as our love;
Hundreds of cheerful birds fill'd every tree,
And fung their joyful fongs of liberty;
While through the gladfome choir well pleas'd we
walk'd,
And of our prefent valued ftate thus talk'd:
How happy are we in this sweet retreat? Thus humbly bleft, who'd labour to be great? Who for preferments at a court would wait, Where every gudgeon's nibbling at the bait? What fish of fenfe would on that fhallow lie, Amongst the little starving wriggling fry, That throng and crowd each other for a tafte Of the deceitful, painted, poifon'd paste; When the wide river he behind him fees, Where he may launch to liberty and cafe? No cares or business here disturb our hours, While, underneath thefe fhady peaceful bowers, In cool delight and innocence we stray, And midft a thousand pleasures waste the day; Sometimes upon a river's bank we lie, Where fkimming fwallows o'er the surface fly, Juft as the fun, declining with his beams, Kiffes and gently warms the gliding streams; Amidst whofe current rifing fishes play, And roll in wanton liberty away. Perhaps hard by there grows a little bush, On which the linnet, nightingale, and thrush, Nightly their folemn orgies meeting keep, And fing their vefpers e'er they go to fleep: There we two lie, between us may be's fpread Some books, few understand, though many read. Sometimes we Virgil's facred leaves turn o'er, Still wondering, and still finding caufe for more. How Juno's rage did good Æneas vex, Then how he had revenge upon her fex In Dido's ftate, whom bravely he enjoy'd, And quitted her as bravely too when cloy'd; He knew the fatal danger of her charms, And icorn'd to melt his virtue in her arms. Next Nifus and Euryalus we admire, Their gentle friendship, and their martial fire; We praife their valour, 'cause yet match'd by none, And love their friendship, so much like our own. But when to give our minds a feast indeed, Horace, best known and lov'd by thee, we read, Who can our tranfports, or our longings tell, To tafte of pleafures, prais'd by him fo well? With thoughts of love and wine by him we're fir'd, Two things in fweet retirement much defir'd: A generous bottle and a lovefome fhe, Are th' only joys in nature next to thee: To which retiring quietly at night, If (as that only can) to add delight, When to our little cottage we repair,
We find a friend or two, we'd with for there,
| Dear Beverly, kind as parting lovers tears;
Adderly, honeft as the fword he wears,
Wilfon, profeffing friendship yet a friend,
Or Short, beyond what numbers can commend,
Finch, full of kindness, generous as his blood,
Watchful to do, to modeft merit, good;
Who have forfook the vile tumultuous town,
And for a taste of life to us come down;
With eager arms, how clofely we embrace!
What joys in every heart, and every face!
The moderate table's quickly cover'd o'er,
With choiceft meats at least, though not with store:
Of bottles next fucceeds a goodly train,
Full of what cheers the heart, and fires the brain :
Each waited on by a bright virgin glass,
Clean, found, and fhining like its drinker's lafs.
Then down we fit, while every genius tries
T'improve, till he deferves his facrifice :
No faucy hour prefumes to stint delight,
We laugh, love, drink, and when that's done 'tis
Well warm'd and pleas'd, as we think fit we'll part,
Each takes th' obedient treasure of his heart,
And leads her willing to his filent bed,
Where no vexatious cares come near his head,
But every sense with perfect pleasure's fed ;
Till in full joy diffolv'd, each falls afleep
With twining limbs, that still love's posture keep;
At dawn of morning to renew delight,
So quiet craving Love, till the next night :
Then we the drowsy cells of fleep forfake,
And to our books our earliest visit make;
Or else our thoughts to their attendance call,
And there, methinks, Fancy fits queen of all;
While the poor under-faculties resort,
And to her fickle majefty make court;
The understanding first comes plainly clad,
But usefully; no entrance to be had.
Next comes the will, that bully of the mind,
Follies wait on him in a troop behind;
He meets reception from the antic queen,
Who thinks her majesty's most honour'd, when
Attended by thofe fine-dreft gentlemen.
Reason, the honeft counsellor, this knows,
And into court with refolute virtue goes;
Lets Fancy fee her loose irregular sway,
Then how the flattering follies fneak away!
This image, when it came, too fiercely fhook
My brain, which its foft quiet ftraight forfook;
When waking as I caft my eyes around,
Nothing but old loath'd vanitics I found;
No grove, no freedom, and, what's worfe to me,
No friend; for I have none compar'd with thee.
Soon then my thoughts with their old tyrant Care
Were feiz'd; which to divert, I fram'd this prayer:
Gods! life's your gift, then season't with fuch
That what ye meant a bleffing prove no weight. Let me to the remoteft part be whirl'd,
Of this your play-thing made in hafte, the world;
But grant me quiet, liberty, and peace,
By day what's needful, and at night fost ease;
The friend I truft in, and the fhe I love,
Then fix me; and if e'er I with remove,
Make me as great (that's wretched) as ye can,
Set me in power, the woefull'ft flate of man ;
To be by fools misled, to knaves a prey,
But make life what I afk, or tak't away.
TRANSLATION OF LUCRÉTIUS.
SIR, when your book the first time came abroad,
I must confefs I ftood amaz'd and aw'd;
For, as to fome good-nature I pretend,
I fear'd to read, left I fhould not commend.
Lucretius English'd! 'twas a work might shake
The power of English verfe to undertake.
This all men thought; but you are born, we find,
T'outdo the expectations of mankind;
Since you've fo well the noble task perform'd,
Envy's appeas'd, and prejudice difarm'd:
For when the rich original we peruse,
And by it try the metal you produce,
Though there indeed the pureft ore we find,
Yet fill in you it fomething feems refin'd:
Thus when the great Lucretius gives a loose,
And lafhes to her speed his fiery Mufe;
Still with him you maintain an equal pace,
And bear full stretch upon him all the race;
But when in rugged way we find him rein
His verle, and not fo smooth a stroke maintain;
There the advantage he receives is found,
By you taught temper, and to choose his ground.
Next, his philofophy you've fo exprest
In genuine terms, so plain, yet neatly dreft,
Thofe murderers that now mingle it all day
In fchools, may learn from you the easy way
To let us know what they would mean and say
If Ariftotle's friends will fhew the grace
To wave for once that ftatute in their cafe.
Go on then, Sir, and fince you could afpire,
And reach this height, aim yet at laurels higher :
Secure great injur'd Maro from the wrong
He unredeem'd has labour'd with fo long
In Holbourn rhyme, and, left the book should
fail,
Expos'd with pictures to promote the fale:
So tapfters fet out figns, for muddy ale.
You're only able to retrieve his doom,
And make him here as fam'd as once at Rome:
For fure, when Julius first this ifle fubdued,
Your ancestors then mixt with Roman blood;
Some near ally'd to that whence Ovid came,
Virgil and Horace, those three fons of Fame;
Since to their memory it is so true,
And fhews their poetry fo much in you.
Go on in pity to this wretched ifle,
Which ignorant poetafters do defile
With loufy madrigals for lyric verfe;
Inftead of comedy with nafty farce.
Would Plautus, Terence e'er, have been so lewd
have dreft Jack-pudding up to catch the crowd?
Or Sophocles five tedious acts have made,
To fhew a whining fool in love betray'd
By fome falfe friend or flippery chambermaid,
Then, e'er he hangs himfelf, bemoans his fall
In a dull speech, and that fine language call?
No, fince we live in fuch a fulfome age, [lage;
When nonfenfe loads the prefs, and chokes the
When blockheads will claim wit in nature's fpight,
And every dunce, that ftarves, prefumes to write,
Exert yourfelf, defend the Mufe's caufe,
Proclaim their right, and to maintain their laws
Make the dead ancients (peak the British tongue;
That fo each chattering daw, who aims at fong,
In his own mother tongue may humbly read
What engines yet are wanting in his head
To make him equal to the mighty dead,
For of all Nature's works we most should scorn
The thing who thinks himself a poet born,
Unbred, untaught, he rhymes, yet hardly spells,
And fenfelessly, as fquirrels jangle bells.
Such things, Sir, here abound; may therefore you
Be ever to your friends, the Muses, true!
May our defects be by your powers supply'd,
Till, as our envy now, you grow our pride;
Till by your pen reftor'd, in triumph borne,
The majefty of poetry return!
His Royal Highness the DUKE OF YORK,
Coming to the Theatre, Friday, April 21, 1682.
WHEN too much plenty, luxury, and ease,
Had furfeited this ifle to a difeafe;
When noifome blains did its beft parts o'erfpread,
And on the reft their dire infection shed;
Our great Physician, who the nature knew
Of the distemper, and from whence it grew,
Fix'd, for three kingdoms' quiet, Sir, on you;
He caft his fearching eyes o'er all the frame,
And finding whence before one fickness came,
How once before our mischiefs fofter'd were,
Knew well your virtue, and apply'd you there:
Where fo your goodness, so your justice sway'd,
You but appear'd, and the wild plague was stay'd
When, from the filthy dunghill-faction bred,
New-form'd rebellion duri rear up its head,
Answer me all: Who ftruck the monster dead?
Sce, fee, the injur'd prince, and blefs his name,
Think on the martyr from whofe loins he came;
Think on the blood was shed for you before,
And curfe the parricides that thirst for more.
His foes are yours, then of their wiles beware:
Lay, lay him in your hearts, and guard him there,
Where let his wrongs your zeal for him improve;
He wears a fword will justify your love.
With blood still ready for your good t' expend,
And has a heart that ne'er forgot his friend.
His duteous loyalty before you lay,
And learn of him, unmurmuring to obey.
Think what he 'as borne, your quiet to reflore 5
Repent your madness, and rebel no more.
No more let Boutefeus hope to lead petitions,
Scriveners to be treasurers; pedlars, politicians;
Nor every fool, whose wife has tript at court,
Pluck up a spirit, and turn rebel for 't.
In lands where cuckolds multiply like ours, What prince can be too jealous of their powers, Or can too often think himself alarm'd? They're mal-contents that every where go arm'd: And when the horned herd's together got, Nothing portends a commonwealth like that.
Caft, caft your idols off, your gods of wood,
Ere yet Philistines fatten with your blood :
Renounce your pricfts of Baal with amen faces,
Your Wapping feafts, and your Mile-end high
places.
Nail all your medals on the gallows poft,'
In recompence th' original was loft:
At thefe, illuftrious repentance pay,
In his kind hands your humble offerings lay:
Let royal pardon be by him implor'd,
Th' atoning brother of your anger'd lord:
He only brings a medicine fit t' affuage
A people's folly, and rouz'd monarch's rage.
An infant prince, yet labouring in the womb,
Fated with wondrous happinefs to come,
He goes to fetch the mighty bleffings home:
Send all your wishes with him, let the air
With gentle breezes waft it safely there,
The feas, like what they'll carry, calm and fair :
Let the illuftrious mother touch our land
Mildly, as hereafter may her fon command;
While our glad monarch welcomes her to fhore,
With kind affurance the fhall part no more.
Be the majestic babe then fmiling born,
And all good figns of fate his birth adorn,
So live and grow, a constant pledge to stand
Of Cæfar's love to an obedient land.
ALL you, who this day's jubilee attend,
And every loyal Mufe's loyal friend,
That come to treat your longing wifhes here,
Turn your defiring eyes, and feast them there.
Thus falling on your knees with me implore,
May this poor land ne'er lose that prefence more!
But if there any in this circle be,
That come fo carft to envy what they fee,
From the vain fool that would be great too foon,
To the dull knave that writ the laft lampoon!
Let fuch, as victims to that beauty's fame,
Hang their vile blafted heads, and die with fhame.
Our mighty bleffing is at last return'd,
The joy arriv'd for which fo long we mourn'd:
From whom our prefent peace we expect encreas'd,
And all our future generations bleft.
Time, have a care: bring safe the hour of joy, When fome bleft tongue proclaims a royal boy:
And when 'tis born, let nature's hand be strong; Bless him with days of strength, and make thein long;
Till charg'd with honours we behold him stand,
Three kingdoms banners waiting his command,
His father's conquering fword within his hand
Then th' English lions in the air advance,
And with them roaring mufic to the dance,'
Carry a Quo Warranto into France.
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MRS. BEḤN'S CITY HEIRESS, 1682. How vain have prov'd the labours of the stage, In ftriving to reclaim a vicious age! Poets may write, the mischief to impeach; You care as little what the poets teach, As you regard at church what parfons preach. But where fuch follies and fuch vices reign, What honeft pen has patience to refrain? At church, in pews, y most devoutly fnore, And here, got dully druuk, ye come to roar; Ye go to church, to glout and ogle there, And come to meet more lewd convenient here: With equal zeal ye honour either place, And run fo very evenly your race, Y' improve in wit just as ye do in grace." It must be fo; fome dæmon has poffeft Our land, and we have never fince been bleft. Y' have seen it all, and heard of its renown, In reverend shape it ftalk'd about the town, Six yeomen tall attending on its frown. Sometimes, with humble note and zealous lore, 'Twould play the apoftolic function o'er : But heaven have mercy on us when it fwore! Whene'er it swore, to prove the oaths were true, Out of his mouth at random halters flew Round fome unwary neck, by magic thrown, Though till the cunning devil fav'd its own: For when th' enchantment could no longer laft, The fubtle Pug, most dextrously uncast, Left awful form for one more feeming pious, And in a moment vary'd to defy us; From filken doctor, home-fpun Ananias: Left the lewd court, and did in city fix, Where still by its old arts it plays new tricks, And fills the heads of fools with politics. This dæmon lately drew in many a guest, To part with zealous guinea for no feast. Who, but the most incorrigible fops, For ever doom'd in dismal cells, call'd fhops, To cheat and damn themselves to get their livings Would lay fweet money out in fham thanksgivings? Sham plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er; But who e'er paid for a fham treat before? Had you not better fent your offerings all Hither to us, than Sequeftrators' Hall?
I being your fteward, justice had been done ye; I could have entertain'd you worth your money.
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