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So Ovid, when from Cæsar's rage he fled,
Thus would I further yet engage
Your gentle Muse to court the age
Since none doth more to Phoebus owe,
Or in more languages can show
Those arts, which you so early know.
WORTHY FRIEND MASTER EVELYN, May find old love in pure fresh language told;
UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF LUCRETIUS.
Born and translated in a state)
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,
By which they were before suppos'd,
So vast this argument did seem,
That the wise author did esteem
The Roman language (which was spread
O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
A tongue too narrow to unfold When noble wits a-hunting go,
The wonders which he would have told. Through groves, that on Parnassus grow.
This speaks thy glory, noble friend !
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,
Save this great author's, and your own.
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,
Or roar so loud, as Businello's verse:
9 The arms of Venice.
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 them blush, weak Venice should defend
Which the warm season hither does bring:
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
VERSES TO DR. GEORGE ROGERS,
ON HIS TAKING THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR IN PHYSIC AT
PADUA, IN THE YEAR 1664.
When, as of old, the Earth's bold children strove,
EDM. Waller, Anglus.
Stay here, fond youth, and ask no more; be wise;
PRO. And, by your knowledge, we should be hereft
con. The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst
PRO. How can the joy, or hope, which you allow,
Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire!
Con. Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys;
PRO. Blessings may be repeated, while they cloy;
cox. Urge not 'tis necessary; alas! we know
PRO. I need not plough, since what the stooping
con. Women enjoy'd, whate'er before they've been,
PRO. Plays and romances, read and seen, do fall
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.
Hylas, oh Hylas! why sit we mute,
Now that each bird saluteth the spring ?
Never canst thou want matter to sing :
Of various flowers the bees do compose;
Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose:
CON. And as in prospects we are there pleas'd most, To man, that was in th' evening made,
PRO. Restraint preserves the pleasure we have got, | Then, at Aurora, whose fair band
Remor'd them from the skies,
She entertain'd his eyes.
All those he 'gan despise;
And could no higher rise : con. They, who know all the wealth they have, are
He neither might, nor wish'd to know
A more refulgent light:
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:
The power which you have o'er us, lies
Not in your race, but in your eyes.
None but a prince !--Alas! that voice
Confines you to a narrow choice.
Should you no honey vow to taste,
But what the master-bees have plac'd
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 scorn.
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;
But virtues, wbich in parents shine,
Make not like progress through the line.
The place does oft those graces give.
Great Julius, on the mountains bred,
A flock perhaps, or herd, had led :
He ?, that the world subdued, had been But there, from Heaven the blue-ey'd virgin' falls, 'Tis art, and knowledge, which draw forth
But the best wrestler on the green.
The hidden seeds of native worth:
They blow those sparks, and make them rise
Into such flames as touch the skies.
To the old heroes hence was given
A pedigree, which reach'd to heaven:
Of mortal seed they were not held,
Which other mortals so excell'd.
As your's, Zelinda! claims no less.
Smile but on me, and you shall scorn,
I can describe the shady grove,
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
To all the wonders I shall sing.
TO MY LADY MORTON,
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.
FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE.
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
A marble one, so warm'd, would speak.
which fairest nymphs disarms,
And yet a thousand captives make.
This gallant act may cancel all our rage, So we, in that accomplish'd mind,
Help'd by the night, new graces find,
While we converse with her, we mark
There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,
All that our passion might restrain,
He, that on her his bold hand lays,
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 liké 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 1 But which rules most, his sceptre, or her eyes. The haven, or the rock, of love.
So we th' Arabian coast do know
By the rich odour taught to steer,
Though neither day nor stars appear.
PLAYING WITH A SNAKE.
PART OF THE
STRANGE! that such horrour, and such grace,
3 Henrietta Maria, youngest daughter to king Charles I. 4 King Charles II.
Beginning at verse 437.
Talesque miserrima fletus
And ending with
All this her weeping sister does repeat
As, when loud winds a well-grown oak would rend She loudly calls, besprinkling all the room
A cake of leaven in her pious hands
Holds the devoted queen, and barefoot stands : No less on every side the hero prest,
One tender foot was bare, the other shod,
Which takes regard of ill-requited love!
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 afilicts her soul: What shall I do? A marble temple which she much ador'd,
With fate inverted, shall I humbly won ? With snowy feeces 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 so, 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 whom 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 fiy. 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 fight 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 soe'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 flowery 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 deep l'pon 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.