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But, worthy friend! the face of war

In antient times doth differ far,
From what our fiery battels are.

Nor is it like, fince powder known,
That man, fo cruel to his own,
Should fpare the race of beafts alone.

No quarter now, but with the gun
Men wait in trees, from fun to fun';
And all is in a moment done.

And therefore we expect your next
Should be no comment, but a text;
To tell how modern beafts are vext.

Thus would I further yet engage
Your gentle Muse to court the age
With fomewhat of your proper rage:

Since none doth more to PH QE BUS Owe,

Or in more languages can fhow

Thofe arts, which you fo early know.

To his worthy Friend Mafter EVELYN, upon his Tranflation of LUCRETIUS.

a

UCRETIUS, (with a ftork-like fate,
Born, and tranflated, in a ftate)

Comes to proclaim in ENGLISH verse,
No monarch rules the universe :

But

But chance, and atoms, make This ALL
In order democratical;

Where bodies freely run their course,
Without defign, or fate, or force.
And this in fuch a ftrain he fings,
As if his Mufe, with Angel's wings,
Had foar'd beyond our utmoft fphere,
And other worlds difcover'd there.
For his immortal, boundless wit,
To nature does no bounds permit ;
But boldly has remov'd those bars.
Of heav'n, and earth, and feas, and stars,
By which they were before fuppos'd,
By narrow wits, to be inclos'd;

'Till his free Mufe. threw down the pale,
And did at once difpark them all.
So vaft this argument did feem,
That the wife author did esteem

The ROMAN language (which was fpread
O'er the whole world, in triumph led)
A tongue too narrow, to unfold
The wonders which he would have told.
This fpeaks thy glory, noble friend!
And BRITISH language does commend:
For here, LUCRETIUS whole we find,
His words, his mufic, and his mind.
Thy art has to our country brought
All that he writ, and all he thought.
OVID tranflated, VIRGIL too,

Shew'd long fince what our tongue, could do:
Nor LU CAN we, nor HORACE fpar'd;
Only LUCRETIUS was too hard.

Lu

LUCRETIUS, like a Fort, did ftand,
Untouch'd; 'till your victorious hand
Did from his head this garland bear,
Which now upon your own you wear.
A garland! made of fuch new bays,
And fought in fuch untrodden ways;
As no man's temples e'er did crown,
Save this great author's, and your own.

To bis Worthy Friend Sir THOMAS HIGGONS, upon bis Tranflation of the VENETIAN TRIUMPH.,

HEwinged lion's not fo fierce in fight,

TH

AS LIBERI's hand prefents him to our fight: Nor would his pencil make him half so fierce, Or roar fo loud, as BUSINELLO's verse: But your translation does all three excel, The fight, the piece, and lofty BUSINEL. As their small gallies may not hold compare With our tall fhips, whofe fails employ more air: So does th' ITALIAN to your genius vail,

Mov'd with a fuller, and a nobler, gale.

Thus, while your Mufe fpreads the VENETIAN ftory,
You make all EUROPE emulate her glory:
You make them blush, weak VENICE fhould defend
The cause of heav'n, while they for words contend;
Shed Chriftian blood, and populous cities rase,
Because they're taught to use fome diff'rent phrase.
If, lift'ning to your charms, we could our jars
Compose, and on the TURK discharge these wars;
*The Arms of Venice.

Our

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Our BRITISH arms the facred 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.

CHLORIS and HYLAS. Made to a Saraband.

H

CHLOR IS.

YLAS, oh HYLAS! why fit we mute,

Now that each bird faluteth the spring? Wind up the flacken'd ftrings of thy lute,

Never can't thou want matter to fing: For love thy breast does fill with such a fire, That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy defire.

HYLAS.

Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of things
Of various flow'rs the bees do compose;
Yet no particular tafte it brings

Of violet, wood-bine, pink, or rofe:
So love the 'refult is of all the graces
Which flow from a thousand feveral faces.

CHLORIS.

HYLAS! the birds which chant in this grove,
Could we but know the language they use,
They would inftruct us better in love,

And reprehend thy inconftant Muse:

For love their breasts does fill with fuch a fire,

That what they once do chuse, bounds their defire.

HYLAS.

HYLAS.

CHLORIS! this change the birds do approve,
Which the warm season hither does bring:
TIME from your felf does further remove

You, than the winter from the gay spring:

She that like lightning fhin'd while her face lafted, The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted.

In Anfwer of Sir JOHN SUCKLING'S

ST

Verses.

CON.

TAY here fond youth, and ask no more; be wife;
Knowing too much, long fince loft Paradife.

PRO.

And, by your knowledge, we should be bereft
Of all that Paradise which yet is left.

CON.

The virtuous joys thou haft, thou wouldst should fill
Laft in their pride: and wouldft not take it ill
If rudely from fweet dreams, and for a toy,
Thou wak'd? he wakes himself that does enjoy.
PRO.

How can the joy, or hope, which you allow
Be ftyled virtuous, and the end not fo?

Talk in your fleep, and shadows still admire!
'Tis true, he wakes that feels this real fire;
But — to fleep better: for who-e'er drinks deep
Of this NEPENTHE, rocks himself asleep.

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