Loud Menaces were heard, and foul Difgrace,
And bawling Infamy in Language bafe,
'Till Senfe was loft in Sound, and Silence fled the
The Slayer of himself yet faw I there,
The Gore congeal'd was clotted in his Hair;
With Eyes half-clos'd, and gaping Mouth he lay,
And grim, as when he breath'd his fullen Soal away.
In midst of all the Dome Misfortune fate,
And gloomy Difcontent, and fell Debate:
And Madness laughing in his ireful Mood;
And arm'd Complaint of Theft; and Cries of Blood.
There was the murther'd Corps in Covert laid,
And vi'lent Death in thoufand Shapes difplay'd.
The City to the Soldiers Rage refign'd;
Succefslefs Wars, and Poverty behind.
Ships burnt in Fight, or forc'd on rocky Shores,
And the rafh Hunter ftrangled by the Boars.
The new-born Babe by Nurfes over-laid,
And the Cook caught within the raging Fire he made,
All Ills of Mars's Nature; Flame, and Steel';
The gafping Charioteer, beneath the Wheel
Of his own Car; the ruin'd House that falls
And intercepts her Lord betwixt the Walls.
The whole Divifion that to Mars pertains,
All Trades of Death, that deal in Steel for Gains,
Were there; the Butcher, Armourer, and Smith,
Who forges fharpen'd Fauchions or the Scythe,
The fcarlet Conqueft on a Tow'r was plac'd,
With Shouts and Soldiers Acclamations grac❜d.
There faw I Mars's Ides, the Capitol,
The Seer in vain foretelling Cafar's Fall;
The last Triumvirs, and the Wars they move,
And Anthony, who loft the World for Love.
Thefe, and a thousand more the Fane adorn,
Their Fates were painted e'er the Men were born.
All copy'd from the Heav'ns, and ruling Force
Of the red Star, in his revolving Courfe.
The Form of Mars high on a Chariot stood,
All sheath'd in Arms, and groffly look'd the God. (Dryd. Pal, & Arc.
MASTIFF.
Like as a Mastiffe, having at a bay
A falvage Bull, whoes cruel Hornes doe threat
Defperate danger, if he them affay,
Traceth his ground, and round about doth beat
To fpy where he may fome advantage get;
The whilst the beast doth rage and loudly roar.
Matter not long the fame Appearafice makes, But shifts her old, and a new Figure takes. If now the lyes in Winter's rigid Arms Dishonour'd, and defpoil'd of all her Charms, Soft vernal Airs will loofe th' unkind Embrace, And genial Dews renew, her wither'd Face. Like fable Nymphs transform'd flie's now a Tree, Now weeps into a Flood, and ftreaming feeks the Sea. She's now a gaudy Fly, before a Worm,
Below a Vapour, and above a Storm.
This Ouze was late a Monster of the Main,
That Turf a lowing Grazer of the Plain,
A Lyon this did o'er the Forest reign.
Regard that fair, that branching Laurel Plant,
Behold that lovely blufhing Amarant";
One might have William's broken Frame affum'd,
And one from bright Maria's Duft have bloom'd.
For thee, fweet Month, the Groves green Liv'ries If not the first, the fairest of the Year.
For thee the Graces lead the dancing Hours;
And Nature's ready Pencil paints the Flowers:
When thy fhort Reign is past, the feav'rish Sun
The filtry Tropick fears, and moves more flowly on.
May's fprightly Month commands our Youth to keep The Vigils of her Night, aud breaks their fluggard (Sleep: Each gentle Breaft with kindly Warmth fhe moves, Infpires new Flames, revives extinguish'd Loves. (Dryd. Pal. Arc.
Of fecond Sifter, who did far excel The other two; Medina was her name, A fober, fad, and comely courteous Dame; Who rich arrayd, and yet in modest guize, In goodly garments, that her well became, Faire marching forth in honourable wife, Him at the threshold met, and well did enterprize,
She led him up into a goodly bowre,
And comely courted with meet modeftie,
Ne in her fpeech, ne in her haviour,
Was lightness feene, or loofer vanitie,
But gratious womanhood, and gravitie,
Above the reafon of her youthful years
Her golden locks the roundly did uptie
In brayded tramells, that no loofer hares
Did out of order ftray about her dainty eares.
Betwixt them both the faire Medina fate,
With fober grace, and goodly cariage :
With equall measure fhe doth moderate
The ftrong extremities of their outrage;
That forward paire the ever would affwage,
When they would strive due reason to exceed,
But that fame froward twaine would accourage,
And of her plenty adde unto their need:
So kept the them in order, and her felf in heed. Spen
Pleasures abroad the Sport of Nature yields:
Her living Fountains, and her fmiling Fields:
And then at Home what Pleasure is't to fee
A little, cleanly, chearful Family!
Which if a chafte Wife crown, no less in her,
Than Fortune, I the golden Mean prefer.
Too noble, nor too wife fhe fhould not be,
No nor too rich, too fair, too fond of me.
Thus let my Life flide filently away,
With Sleep all Night, and Quiet all the Day.
He does not Palaces nor Mannors crave,
Would be no Lord, but lefs a Lord would have:
The Ground he owns, if he his own can call,
He quarrels not with Heav'n becaufe 'tis fmail.
Let gay and toilfom Greatnefs others please,
He loves of homely Littleness the Eafe.
He's no fmall Prince, who every Day
Thus to himself can say:
Now will I fleep, now eat, now fit, now walk,
Now meditate alone, now with Acquaintance talk
This will I do, here will I ftay,
Or if my Fancy calleth me away,
My Man and I will prefently go ride,
For we have nothing to provide.
If thou but a fhort Journey take,
As if thy last thou wert to make,
Bus'nefs must be difpatch'd e'er thou canst go,
Nor canft thou ftir unless there be
A hundred Horfe and Men to wait on thee,
And many a Mule, and many a Cart :
What an unwieldy Man thou art!
The Rhodian Coloffus fo
A Journey too might go.
If thou be wife, no glorious Fortune chufe; Which 'tis but vain to keep, yet Grief to lose ;
For, when we place ev'n Trifles in the Heart,
With Trifles too unwillingly we part.
An humble Roof, plain Bed, and homely Board,
More clear, untainted Pleasures do afford,
Than all the Tumult of vain Greatnefs brings
To Kings, or to the Favourites of Kings. Cowl, Hor.
Then might I live by my own furly Rules,
Not forc'd to worship Knaves, or flatter Fools;
And thus fecur'd of Eafe by fhunning Strife,
With Pleasure would I fail down the fwift Stream of
(Life. Har. Juv.
MELANCHOLY.
A Kind of Weight hangs heavy at my Heart,
My flagging Soul flies under her own Pitch,
Like Fowl in Air too damp, and lags along
As if he were a Body in a Body,
And not a mounting Subftance, made of Fire;
My Senfes too are dull and ftupify'd,
Their Edge rebated: fure fome Ill approaches,
And fome kind Spirit knocks foftly at my Breaft
To tell me Fate's at Hand.
This Melancholy flatters, but un-mans you:
What is it elfe but Penury of Soul?
A lazy Froft, a Numbness of the Mind,
That locks up all the Vigour to attempt,
By barely crying, 'tis impoffible!
They, paffing by, were guided by degree
Unto the preffance of that gratious Queen :
Who fate on high, that she might all men fee,
And might of all men royally be feene,
Upon a Throne of gold full bright and sheene;
Adorned all with gemmes of endless price,
As either might for wealth have gotten been,
Or could be fram'd by workmans rare device;
And all emboft with Lyons and with Flour-de-lice,
|