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Your style has such an ill complexion,
That from your breath I fear infection,
That even your mouth needs an injec-

tion.

You that were once so economic,
Quitting the thrifty style laconic,
Turn prodigal in makeronic.

Yet be of comfort, I shall send-a
Person of knowledge, who can mend-a
Disaster in your nether end-a-

Two kings like Saul, much taller than the rest,
Their equal armies draw into the field:
Till one take th' other prisoner they contest;
Courage and fortune must to conduct yield.
This game the Persian Magi did invent,

The force of Eastern wisdom to express ;
From thence to busy Europeans sent,

And styl'd by modern Lombards pensive Chess.
Yet some that fled from Troy to Rome report,
Penthesilea Priam did oblige;

Her Amazons, his Trojans taught this sport,
To pass the tedious hours of ten years' siege.
There she presents herself, whilst kings and

peers

Look gravely on whilst fierce Bellona fights;
Yet maiden modesty her motion steers,
Nor rudely skips o'er bishops' heads like
knights.

THE

PASSION OF DIDO FOR ENEAS.

HAVING at large declar'd Jove's embassy,
Cyllenius from Æneas straight doth fly:
He loth to disobey the god's command,
Nor willing to forsake this pleasant land,
Asham'd the kind Eliza to deceive,
But more afraid to take a solemn leave;
He many ways his labouring thoughts revolves,
But fear o'ercoming shame at last resolves
(Instructed by the god of thieves ) to steal
Himself away, and his escape conceal.
He calls his captains, bids them rig the fleet,
That at the port they privately should meet;
And some disembled colour to project,
That Dido should not their design suspect:

But you that are a man of learning,
So read in Virgil, so discerning,
Methinks towards fifty should take But all in vain he did his plot disguise;

warning.

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No art a watchful lover can surprise.
She the first motion finds; love though most
Yet always to itself seems unsecure.
That wicked fame which their first love pro-
claim'd,

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Into my horders now Iarbus falls,

And my revengeful brother scales my walls;
The wild Numidians will advantage take,
For thee both Tyre and Carthage me forsake.
Hadst thou before thy flight but left with me
A young Æneas, who, resembling thee,
Might in my sight have sported, I had then
Not wholly lost, nor quite deserted been ;
By thee, no more my husband, but my guest,
Betray'd to mischiefs, of which death's the
least."

With fixed looks he stands, and in his breast By Jove's command, his struggling care supprest.

"Great queen, your favours and desert so great,
Though numberless, I never shall forget;
No time, until myself I have forgot,
Out of my heart Eliza's name shall blot :
But my unwilling flight the gods inforce,
And that must justify our sad divorce.
Since I must you forsake, would Fate permit,
To my desires I might my fortune fit;
Troy to her ancient splendour I would raise,
And where I first began, would end my days.
But since the Lycian lots, and Delphic god
Have destin'd Italy for our abode;

Since you proud Carthage (fled from Tyre) enjoy,

Why should not. Latium us receive from
Troy?

As for my son, my father's angry ghost
Tells me his hopes by my delays are crost,
And mighty Jove's ambassador appear'd
With the same message, whom I saw and

heard;

We both are griev'd when you or I complain, But much the more when all complaints are vain:

I call to witness all the gods, and thy
Beloved head, the coast of Italy
Against my will I seek."

[eyes,

Whilst thus he speaks, she rolls her sparkling
Surveys him round, and thus incens'd replies;
"Thy mother was no goddess, nor thy stock
From Dardanus, but in some horrid rock,
Perfidious wretch, rough Caucasus thee bred,
And with their milk Hyrcanian tigers fed.
Dissimulation I shall now forget,
And my reserves of rage in order set,
Could all my prayers and soft entreaties force
Sighs from his breast, or from his look remorse.
Where shall I first complain? can mighty Jove
Or Juno such impieties approve?
The just Astræa sure is fled to Hell;

Nor more in Earth, nor Heaven itself will dwell.
Oh Faith! him on my coasts by tempest cast,
Receiving madly, on my throne I plac'd ;
His men from famine, and his fleet from fire
I rescued: Now the Lycian lots conspire
With Phoebus; now Jove's envoy though the
air

Brings dismal tidings; as if such low care
Could reach their thoughts, or their repose dis-
turb!

Thou art a false impostor, and a fourbe;
Go, go, pursue thy kingdom through the main,
I hope, if Heaven her justice still retain,
Thou shalt be wreck'd, or cast upon some rock,
Where thou the name of Dido shalt invoke:

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I'll follow thee in funeral flames, when dead
My ghost shall thee attend at board and bed,
And when the gods on thee their vengeance
show,

That welcome news shall comfort me below.”
This saying, from his hated sight she fled,
Conducted by her damsels to her bed;
Yet restless she arose, and, looking out,
Beholds the fleet and hears the seamen shout,
When great Æneas pass'd before the guard,
To make a view how all things were prepar'd.
Ah, cruel Love, to what dost thou inforce
Poor mortal breasts! Again she bath recourse
To tears and prayers, again she feels the sinart
Of a fresh wound from his tyrannic dart.
That she no ways nor means may leave untry'd,
Thus to her sister she herself apply'd ;
"Dear sister, my resentment had no been
So moving, if this fate I had foreseen;
Therefore to me this last kind office do,
Thou hast some interest in our scornful foe,
He trusts to thee the counsels of his mind,
Thou his soft hours, and free access canst find;
Tell him I sent not to the Ilian coast
My fleet to aid the Greeks; his father's ghost
I never did disturb; ask him to lend
To this, the last request that I shall send,
A gentle ear; I wish that he may find
A happy passage, and a prosperous wind.
The contract I don't plead, which he betray'd,
Nor that his promis'd conquest be delay d;
All that I ask is but a short reprieve,
Till I forget to love, and learn to grieve;
Some pause and respite only I require,
Till with my tears I shall have quench'd my fire.
If thy address can but obtain one day
Or two, my death that service shall repay."
Thus she entreats; such messages with tears
Condoling Anne to him, and from him, bears,
But him no prayers, nor arguments can move;
The Fates resist, his ears are stopt by Jove.
As when fierce northern b'asts from th' Alps
descend,

From his firm roots with struggling gusts to
An aged sturdy oak, the rattling sound [rend
Grows loud, with leaves and scatter'd arms the
Is over-laid; yet he stands fixt, as high [ground
As his proud head is rais'd towards the sky,
So low towards Hell his roots descend. With

prayers

And tears the hero thus assail'd, great cares
He smothers in his breast, yet keeps his post,
All their addresses and their labour lost.
Then she deceives her sister with a smile:
"Anne, in the inner court erect a pile;
Thereon his arms and once-lov'd portrait lay,
Thither our fatal marriage-bed convey;
All cursed monuments of him with fire
We must abolish (so the gods require.")
She gives her credit for no worse effect
Than from Sichæus' death she did suspect,
And her commands obeys.

Aurora now had left Tithonus' bed,
And o'er the world her blushing rays did spread;
The queen beheld, as soon as day appear'd,
The navy under sail, the haven clear'd;
Thrice with her hand her naked breast sha

knocks,

And from her forehead tears her golden locks

“O Jove," she cry'd, "and shall he thus delude
Me and my realm! why is he not pursued?
Arm,arm," she cry'd," and let our Tyrians board
With ours his fleet, and carry fire and sword;
Leave nothing unattempted to destroy
That perjur'd race, then let us die with joy.
What if th' event of war uncertain were?
Nor death, nor danger, can the desperate fear.
But, oh, too late! this thing I should have done,
When first I plac'd the traitor on my throne,
Behold the faith of him who sav'd from fire
His honour'd household gods, his aged sire
His pious shoulders from Troy's flames did bear;
Why did I not his carcase piece-meal tear,
And cast it in the sea? why not destroy
All his companions, and beloved boy
Ascanius; and his tender limbs have drest,
And made the father on the son to feast?
Thou Sun, whose lustre all things here below
Surveys; and Juno, conscious of my woe;
Revengeful Furies, and queen Hecate,
Receive and grant my prayer? if he the sea
Must needs escape, and reach th' Ausonian land,
If Jove decree it, Jove's decree must stand;
When Janded, may he be with arms opprest
By his rebelling people, be distrest
By exile from his country, be divorc'd
From young Ascanius' sight, and be enforc'd
To implore foreign aids, and lose his friends
By violent and undeserved ends!
When to conditions of unequal peace
He shall submit, then may he not possess
Kingdom nor life, and find his funeral

I' th' sands, when he before his day shall fall!
And ye, oh Tyrians, with immortal hate
Pursue this race, this service dedicate
To my deplored ashes, let there be
'Twixt us and them no league nor amity.
May from my bones a new Achilles rise,
That shall infest the Trojan colonies
With fire, and sword, and famine, when at length
Time to our great attempts contributes strength;
Our seas, our shores, our armies theirs oppose,
And may our children be for ever foes!"
A ghastly paleness death's approach portends,
Then trembling she the fatal pile ascends ;
Viewing the Trojan reliques, she unsheath'd
Æneas' sword, not for that use bequeath'd;
Then on the guilty bed she gently lays
Herself, and softly thus lamenting prays:
"Dear reliques, whilst that Gods and Fates give
leave,

Free me from care, and my glad soul receive.
That date which Fortune gave, I now must end;
And to the shades a noble ghost descend.
Sichæus' blood, by his false brother spilt,
I have reveng'd, and a proud city built.
Happy, alas; too happy I had liv'd,
Had not the Trojan on my coast arriv'd.
But shall I die without revenge? yet die
Thus, thus with joy to thy Sichæus fly.
My conscious foe my funeral fire shall view
From sea, and may that omen him pursue !"
Her fainting hand let fall the swor'd besmear'd
With blood, and then the mortal wound ap-
pear'd;

Through all the court the fright and clamours rise,

Which the whole city fills with fears and cries

| As loud as if her Carthage, or old Tyre
The foe had entered, and had set on fire.
Amazed Anne with speed ascends the stairs
And in her arms her dying sister rears:
"Did you for this, yourself and me beguile?"
For such an end did I erect this pile?
Did you so much despise me, in this fate
Myself with you not to associate?
Yourself and me, alas! this fatal wound
The senate, and the people, doth confound.
I'll wash her wound with tears, and at her
death

My lips from hers shall draw her parting breath."

Then with her vest the wound she wipes and dries;

Thrice with her arm the queen attempts to rise,

But her strength failing, falls into a swound,
Life's last efforts yet striving with her wound;
Thrice on her bed she turns, with wandering
sight

Seeking, she groans when she beholds the light.
Then Juno pitying her disastrous fate,
Sends Iris down, her pangs to mitigate.
(Since, if we fall before th' appointed day,
Nature and Death continue long their fray.)
Iris descends; "This fatal lock (says she)
To Pluto I bequeath, and set thee free;"
Then clips her hair: cold numbness straight be-

reaves

Her corpse of sense, and th' air her soul receives.

OF PRUDENCE.

Going this last summer to visit the Wells, I took an occasion (by the way) to wait upon an ancient and honourable friend of mine, whom I found diverting his (then solitary) retirement with the Latin original of this translation, which (being out of print) I had never seen before: when I looked upon it, I saw that it had formerly passed through two learned hands not without approbation; which were Ben Johnson and Sir Kenelm Digby; but I found it (where I shall never find myself) in the service of a better master, the earl of Bristol, of whom I shall say no more; for I love not to improve the honour of the living by impairing that of the dead; and my own profession hath taught me not to erect new superstructures upon an old ruin, He was pleased to recommend it to me for my companion at the Wells, where I liked the entertainment it gave me so well, that I undertook to redeem it from an obsolete English disguise, wherein an old monk had clothed it, and to make as becoming a new vest for it as I could. The author was a person of quality in Italy, his name Mancini, which family matched since with the sister of cardinal Mazarine; he was contemporary to Petrarch and Mantuan, and not long before Torquato Tasso; which shows that the age they lived in was not so unlearned as that which preceded, or that which followed.

The author wrote upon the four cardinal vir

tues; bnt I have translated only the two first, not to turn the kindness I intended to him into an injury; for the two last are little more than repetitions and recitals of the first; and (to make a just excuse for him) they could not well be otherwise, since the two last virtues are but descendants from the first; Prudence being the true mother of Temperance, and true Fortitude the child of Justice.

WISDOM's first progress is to take a view
What's decent or indecent, false or true.
He's truly prudent, who can separate
Honest from vile, and still adhere to that;
Their difference to measure, and to reach,
Reason well rectify'd must Nature teach.
And these high scrutinies are subjects fit
For man's all-searching and inquiring wit;
That search of knowledge did from Adam flow;
Who wants it, yet abhors his wants to show.
Wisdom of what herself approves, makes choice,
Nor is led captive by the common voice.
Clear-sighted Reason, Wisdom's judgment leads,
And Sense, her vassal, in her footsteps treads.
That thou to Truth the perfect way may'st
know,

To thee all her specific forms I'll show;
He that the way to honesty will learn,
First what's to be avoided must discern.
Thyself from flattering self-conceit defend,
Nor what thou dost not know, to know pretend.
Some secrets deep in abstruse darkness lie;
To search them thou wilt need a piercing eye.
Nor rashly therefore to such things assent,
Which undeceiv'd, thou after may'st repent;
Study and time in these must thee instruct,
And others old experience may conduct.
Wisdom herself her ear doth often lend
To counsel offer'd by a faithful friend.
In equal scales two donbtful matters lay,
Thou may'st choose safely that which most doth
weigh;

Tis not secure this place or that to guard,
If any other entrance stand unbarr'd;
He that escapes the serpent's teeth may fail,
If he himself secures not from his tail.
Who saith, Who could such ill events expect?
With shame on his own counsels doth reflect.
Most in the world doth self-conceit deceive,
Who just and good, whate'er they act believe;
To their wills wedded, to their errours slaves,
No man (like them) they think himself behaves.
This stiff-neck'd pride nor art nor force can bend,
Nor high-flown hopes to Reason's lure descend.
Fathers sometimes their children's faults re-
gard

With pleasure, and their crimes with gift reward.

Ill painters, when they draw, and poets write,
Virgil and Titian (self-admiring) slight;
Then all they do, like gold and pearl appears,

And other actions are but dirt to theirs.
They that so highly think themselves above
All other men, themselves can only love; 50
Reason and virtue, all that man can boast
O'er other creatures, in those brutes are lost.
Observe (if thee this fatal error touch,
Thou to thyself contributing too much)

Those who are generous, humble, just, and wise, Who not their gold, nor themselves idolize; To form thyself by their example learn (For many eyes can more than one discern); But yet beware of counsels when too full, Number makes long disputes and graveness dull;

Though their advice be good, their counsel wise,

Yet length still loses opportunities:.
Debate destroys dispatch; as fruits we see
Rot, when they hang too long upon the tree;
In vain that husbandman his seed doth sow,
If he his crop not in due season mow.
A general sets his army in array

In vain, unless he fight, and win the day.
'Tis virtuous action that must praise bring forth,
Without which slow advice is little worth.
Yet they who give good counsel, praise deserve,
Though in the active part they cannot serve:
In action, learned counsellors their age,
Profession, or disease, forbids t' engage.
Nor to philosophers is praise deny'd,
Whose wise instructions after-ages guide;
Yet vainly most their age in study spend;
No end of writing books, and to no end:
Beating their brains for strange and hidden
things,

Whose knowledge, nor delight nor profit brings:
Themselves with doubt both day and night per-

plex,

Nor gentle reader please, or teach, but vex.
Books should to one of these four ends conduce,
For wisdom, piety, delight, or use.
What need we gaze upon the spangled sky?
Or into matter's hidden causes pry,
To describe every city, stream, or hill

I' th' world, our fancy with vain arts to fill?
What is 't to hear a sophister, that pleads,
Who by the ears the deceiv'd audience leads?
If we were wise, these things we should not mind,
But more delight in easy matters find.
Learn to live well, that thou may'st die so too;
To live and die is all we have to do:
The way (if no digression's made) is even,
And free access, if we but ask, is given.
Then seek to know those things which make us
blest,

And having found them, lock them in thy breast;

Inquiring then the way, go on, nor slack,
But mend thy pace, nor think of going back.
Some their whole age in these inquiries waste,
And die like fools before one step they've past.
'Tis strange to know the way, and not t' advance,
That knowledge is far worse than ignorance.
The learned teach, but what they teach, not do,
And standing still themselves, make others go.
In vain on study time away we throw,
When we forbear to act the things we know.
The soldier that philosopher well blam'd,
Who long and loudly in the schools declaim'd;
"Tell" (said the soldier)" venerable sir,
Why all these words, this clamour, and this stir?
Why do disputes in wrangling spend the day?
Whilst one says only yea, and t'other nay."
"Oh," said the doctor, "we for wisdom toil'd,
For which none toils too much": the soldier
smil'd;

100

"You're grey and old, and to some pious use
This mass of treasure you should now reduce:
But you your store have hoarded in some bank,
For which the infernal spirits shall you thank."
Let what thou learnest be by practice shown,
"Tis said that Wisdom's children make her known.
What's good doth open to th' inquirer stand,
And itself offers to th' accepting hand;
All things by order and true measures done,
Wisdom will end, as well as she begun.
Let early care thy main concerns secure,
Things of less moment may delays endure:
Men do not for their servants first prepare,
And of their wives and children quit the care;
Yet when we 're sick, the doctor's fetcht in haste,
Leaving our great concernment to the last.
When we are well, our hearts are only set
(Which way we care not) to be rich or great :
What shall become of all that we have got?
We only know that us it follows not;
And what a trifle is a moment's breath,
Laid in the scale with everlasting death!
What's time, when on eternity we think?
A thousand ages in that sea must sink;
Time's nothing but a word, a million
Is full as far from infinite as one.

To whom thou much dost owe, thou much must
pay,

Think on the debt against th' accompting-day;
God, who to thee reason and knowledge lent,
Will ask how these two talents have been spent.
Let not low pleasures thy high reason blind,
He's mad, that seeks what no man e'er could
find.

Why should we fondly please our sense, wherein
Beasts us exceed, nor feel the stings of sin?
What thoughts man's reason better can become,
Than th' expectation of his welcome home?
Lords of the world have but for life their lease,
And that too (if the lessor please) must cease.
Death cancels Nature's bonds, but for our deeds
(That debt first paid) a strict account succeeds;
If herenot clear'd, no suretyship can bail
Condemned debtors from th' eternal jail.
Christ's blood's our balsam; if that cure us
here,

Him, when our judge, we shall not find severe;
His joke is easy when by us embrac'd,
But loads and galls, if on our necks 'tis cast.
Be just in all thy actions; and if join'd
With those that are not, never change thy mind
If aught obstruct thy course, yet stand not still,
But wind about, till you have topp'd the hill;
To the same end men several paths may tread,
As many doors into one temple lead;
And the same hand into a fist may close,
Which instantly a palm expanded shows:
Justice and faith never forsake the wise,
Yct may occasion put him in disguise;
Not turning like the wind, but if the state
Of things must change, he is not obstinate;
Things past, and future, with the present weighs,
Nor credulous of what vain rumour says.
Few things by wisdom are at first believ'd:
An easy ear deceives, and is deceiv'd:
For many truths have often past for lies,
And lies as often put on truth's disguise:
As flattery too oft like friendship shows,

So them who speak plain truth we think cur foes.

No quick reply to dubious questions make,
Suspense and caution still prevent mistake.
When any great design thou dost intend,
Think on the means, the manner, and the end :
All great concernments must delays endure;
Rashness and haste make all things unsecure ;
And if uncertain thy pretensions be,
Stay till fit time wear out uncertainty;
But if to unjust things thou dost pretend,
Ere they begin let thy pretensions end.
Let thy discourse be such, that thou may'st give
Profit to others, or from them receive :
Instruct the ignorant; to those that live
Under thy care, good rules and patterns give ;
Nor is 't the least of virtues, to relieve

Those whom afflictions or oppressions grieve.
Commend but sparingly whom thou dost love:
But less condemn whom thou dost not approve;
Thy friend, like flattery, too much praise doth

wrong,

And too sharp censure shows an evil tongue :
But let inviolate truth be always dear
To thee; e'en before friendship, truth prefer.
Than what thou mean'st to give, still promise less;
Hold fast thy power thy promise to increase.
Look forward what 's to come, and back what's
past,

Thy life will be with praise and prudence
grac'd:

What loss or gain may follow thou may'st guess,
Thou then wilt be secure of the success;
Yet be not always on affairs intent,
But let thy thoughts be easy and unbent:
When our minds' eyes are disengag'd and free,
They clearer, farther, and distinctly see;
They quicken sloth, perplexities untie,
Make roughness smooth, and hardness mollify;
And though our hands from labour are releas'd,
Yet our minds find (ev'n when we sleep) no rest.
Search not to find how other men offend,
But by that glass thy own offences mend;
Still seek to learn, yet care not much from whom,
(So it be learning) or from whence it come.
Of thy own actions others' judgments learn;
Often by small, great matters we discern.
Youth, what man's age is like to be, doth show; ́
We may our ends by our beginnings know.
Let none direct thee what to do or say,
Till thee thy judgment of the matter sway.
Let not the pleasing many thee delight,

[right.

| First judge, if those whom thou dost please, judge
Search not to find what lies too deeply hid,
Nor to know things, whose kuowledge is for-
bid;

Nor climb on pyramids, which thy head turn
round

Standing, and whence no safe descent is found:
In vain his nerves and faculties he strains
To rise, whose raising unsecure remains :
They whom desert and favour forwards thrust,
Are wise, when they their measures can adjust,
When well at ease, and happy, live content,
And then consider why that life was lent.
When wealthy, show thy wisdom not to be
To wealth a servant, but make wealth serve thee.
Though all alone, yet nothing think or do,
Which nor a witness nor a judge might know,
The highest hill is the most slippery place,
And Fortune mocks us with a smiling face;

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