11.

Nor Savage Centaurs, mad with Wine;
Nor Earth's enormous Rebel Brood,
That fhook with Fear the Pow'rs divine,
Till by Alcides Arms fubdu'd..

III.

Better, Mecanas, thou in Profe,

Shalt Cafar's Glorious Battles tell,
With what bold Heat the Victor glows,
What captive Kings his Triumphs fwell.
IV.

Thy Mistress all my Mufe employs,
Licinia's Voice, her fprightly Turns,
The Fire that fparkles in her Eyes,
And in her faithful Bosom burns.

V.

When she adorns Diana's Day,

And all the beauteous Choirs advance,

With sweetest Airs, divinely gay,
She fhines diftinguifh'd in the Dance.

VI.

Not all Arabia's Spicy Fields

compare,

Can with Licinia's Breath
Nor India's felf a Treasure yields,

To purchase one bright flowing Hair.

1

VII.

When the with bending Neck complies,
To meet the Lover's eager Kiss,
With gentle Cruelty denies,
Or fnatches firft the fragrant Blifs.

ODE

A

ODE XIV.

Imitated by Mr. CONGREVE.

Ebeu Fugaces, Pofthume, Pofthume,
Labuntur Anni, &c.

In the Third Mifcellany, Page 139.

I.

H! No, 'tis all in vain, believe me 'tis :
This Pious Artifice!

Not all thefe Pray'rs and Alms can buy
One Moment tow'rd Eternity;

Eternity! That boundless Race,

Which Time himself can never run: (Swift, as he flies, with an Unweary'd Pace) Which, when Ten Thousand Thousand Years are done, Is ftill the fame, and still to be begun!

Fix'd are thofe Limits which prescribe

A fhort Extent to the most lafting Breath,

And though thou couldft for Sacrifice lay down

Millions of other Lives to fave thine own;

'Twere fruitlefs all; not all would bribe One fupernumerary Gafp from Death.

II.

In vain's thy inexhaufted Store Of Wealth, in vain thy Power, Thy Honours, Titles, all muft fail,

Where Piety it felf does nought avail.

The Rich, the Great, the Innocent and Juft,.. Muft all be huddl'd to the Grave,

With the most vile and ignominious Slave,

And undistinguish'd lye in Duft.

M

In vain the Fearful flies Alarms,

In vain he is fecure from Wounds of Arms,

In vain avoids the faithlefs Seas,

And is confin'd to Home and Eafe,

Bounding his Knowledge to extend his Days..
In vain are all thofe Arts we try,
All our Evafions, and Regret to die :
From the Contagion of Mortality,
No Clime is pure, no Air is free:
And no Retreat.

Is fo obfcure, as to be hid from Fate.

Thou muft, alas! Thou muft, my Friend,
(The very Hour that thou doft spend
In ftudying to avoid, brings on thine End)
Thou must forego the dearest Joys of Life,
Leave the warm Bofom of thy tender Wife,
And all the much lav'd Offspring of her Womb,
To moulder in the cold Embraces of a Tomb.
All must be left, and all be loft;

Thy Houfe, whofe ftately Structure fo much coft,
Shall not afford

Room for the flinking Carcass of its Lord.

Of all thy pleasant Gardens, Grots, and Bowers,
Thy coftly Fruit, thy far-fetch'd Plants and Flowers,
Nought fhalt thou fave

Unless a Sprig of Rosemary thou have,

To wither with thee in the Grave,

The reft shall live and flourish, to upbraid
Their Tranatory Mafter dead.

IV.

Then fhall thy long expecting Heir

A joyful Mourning wear,

}

And

And riot in the Waste of that Estate,

Which thou haft taken fo much Pains to get:
All thy hid Stores he fhall unfold,

And fet at large thy Captiv❜d Gold.
That precious Wine condemn'd by thee
To Vaults and Prisons, fhall again be free,
Buried alive tho' now it lies,

Again't fhall rife,

Again its sparkling Surface fhow,

And free as Element, profufely flow,

With fuch choice Food he fhall fet forth his Feafts,

That Cardinals fhall wish to be his Guests;

And pamper'd Prelates fee

Themselves out-done in Luxury.

In the Second Part of Mifcellany Poems, Page 96.

I.

AH! Friend, the pofting Years how faft they fly!

Nor can the ftrictest Picty
Defer encroaching Age,

Or Death's refiftless Rage;
If you each Day

A Hecatomb of Bulls fhou'd flay,
The fmoaking Hoft cou'd not fubdue

The Tyrant to be kind to you.

From Geryon's Head he fnatch'd the tripple Crown,
Into th' Infernal Lake the Monarch tumbl❜d down.
The Prince and Peasant of this World must be
Thus wafted to Eternity.

II.

In vain from bloody Wars are Mortals free,
Or the rough Storms of the tempestuous Sea.
In vain they take such care

To fhield their Bodies from Autumnal Air,

Difmal Cocytus they muft ferry o'er,

Whofe languid Stream moves dully by the Shore;
And in their Paffage we fhall fee

Of Tortur'd Ghofts the various Misery.
III.

Thy ftately House, thy pleafing Wife,
And Children (Bleffings dear as Life)
Muft all be left, nor fhalt thou have

Of all thy grafted Plants one Tree,
Unless the difmal Cyprefs follow thee,
The short-liv'd Lord of all, to thy cold Grave.
But the imprifon'd Burgundy

Thy jolly Heir fhall ftrait fet free.

Releas'd from Lock and Key, the spakling Wine
Shall flow, and make the drunken Pavement fhine.

Printed in the First Part of Mifcellany Poems, Pag. 179.

I.

HEN this unwieldy factious Town

THE

To fuch prodigious Bulk is grown