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The Infirmary, or Difeafes.

NIGH the Recefs of Chaos and dull Night,

Where Death maintains his dread tyrannick fway In the clofe Covert of a Cypress Grove, Where Goblins frisk, and airy Spectres rove, Yawns a dark Cave, moft formidably wide; And there the Monarch's Triumphs are defcry'd. Confus'd, and wildly huddl'd to the Eye, The Beggar's Pouch, and Prince's Purple Aye. Dim Lamps with fickly Rays fcarce feem to glow, Sighs heave in mournful Moans, and Tears o'erflow. Old mouldring Urns, pale Fear, and dark Diftrefs, Make up the frightful Horror o'the Place. Within its dreadful Jaws thofe Furies wait, Which execute the harfh Decrees of Fate. *Febris is firft. The Hag relentless Hears, The Virgin's Sighs, and fees the Infant's Tears. In her parch'd Eye-balls fiery Meteors reign; And reftlefs Ferments revel in each Vein. Then † Hydrops next appears amongst the throng, Bloated, and big, fhe flowly fails along. But like a Mifer, in excefs fhe's poor; And pines for Thirst amidft her wat'ry Store. Now loathfom | Lepra, that offenfive Spright, With foul Eruptions ftain'd, offends the Sight. Still deaf to Beauty's foft perfuading Pow'r, Nor can bright Hebe's Charms her Bloom fecure. Whilft meager ‡ Phthifts gives a filent blow; Her Stroaks are fure; but her advances flow.

* Feaver, † Dropsy, || Leprofy, ‡ Consumption.


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No loud Alarms, nor fierce Affaults are fhown:
She ftarves the Fortress first; then takes the Town.
Behind ftood Crouds of much inferior Name,
Too num'rous to repeat, too foul to Name;
The Vaffals of their Monarch's Tyranny:
Who, at his Nod, on fatal Errands fly.

Dr. Garth


Colonel Codrington to Sir Samuel Garth, on his

ASK me not, Friend, what I approve or blame,
Perhaps I know not why I like, or danın;
I can be pleas'd; and I dare own I am.
I read thee over with a Lover's Eye,
Thou haft no Faults, or I no Faults can fpy;
Thou art all Beauty, or all Blindness I.
Criticks, and aged Beaux of Fancy chafte;
Who ne'er had Fire, or elfe whofe Fire is paft,
Muft judge by Rules what they want force to taste.
I wou'd a Poet, like a Mitrefs, try,
Not by her Hair, her Hand, her Nose, her Eye;
But by fome Nameless Pow'r to give me Joy, &c.


Of Love.

ANGER in hafty Words or Blows,

It felf Discharges on our Foes,
And forrow too finds fome Relief
In Tears, which wait upon our Grief:

So ev'ry Paffion, but fond Love,
Unto its own Redress does move;
But that alone the Wretch inclines
To what prevents his own Defigns;
Makes him lament, and figh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn and creep;
Poftures which render him defpis'd,
Where he endeavours to be priz'd.
For Women, born to be controul'd,
Stoop to the forward and the bold;
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolick, and the loud.
Who first the gen'rous Steed oppreft,
Not kneeling did falute the Beaft;
But with high Courage, Life and Force
Approaching, tam'd th' unruly Horfe.
Unwifely we the wifer Eaft
Pity, fuppofing them oppreft
With Tyrants Force, whofe Law is will,
By which they govern, fpoil and kill:
Each Nymph but moderately fair,
Commands with no lefs Rigor here.

Shou'd fome brave Turk, that walks among
His Twenty Laffes bright and young,
And beckons to the willing Dame
Prefer'd to quench his prefent Flame,
Behold as many Gallants here,
With modeft Guife, and filent Fear,
All to one Female Idol bend,
While her high Pride does scarce defcend
To mark their Follies, he would swear
That thefe her Guard of Eunuchs were:
And that a more Majestick Queen,
Or humbler Slaves, he had not feen.

All this with Indignation fpoke,
In vain I ftruggled with the Yoke


Of mighty Love, that conqu'ring Look,
When next beheld, like Lightning ftrook
My blafted Soul, and made me bow
Lower than thofe I pity'd now.
So the tall Stag upon the brink
Of fome fmooth Stream about to drink,
Surveying there his armed Head,
With Shame remembers that he fled
The fcorned Dogs, refolves to try
The Combat next, but if their Cry
Invades again his trembling Ear,
He ftrait re fumes his woated Care;
Leaves the untafted Spring behind,
And, wing'd with Fear, out-flies the Wind.



On Mr. Milton, by Mr. Dryden.

HREE Poets, in three diftant Ages born,
1 Greece, 2 Italy, and 3 England did adorn.
The first in loftinefs of Thought furpafs'd,
The next in Majefty, in both the last.
The force of Nature could no farther go,
To make a Third fhe joyn'd the former Two.

1. Homer, 2. Virgil, 3. Milton.




Creation of the World.
Of Light.

LE ET there be Light, faid God, and forthwith Light
Ethereal, firft of Things, quinteffence pure
Sprung from the deep, and from her Native East
To Journey through the airy Gloom began,
Spher'd in a radiant Cloud, for yet the Sun
Was not; fhe in a cloudy Tabernacle
Sojourn'd the while. God faw the Light was good;
And Light from Darkness by the Hemisphere
Divided Light the Day, and darkness Night
He nam'd. Thus was the firft Day Ev'n and Morn:
Nor paft uncelebrated, nor unfung
By the Celestial Choirs, when Orient Light
Exhaling first from Darkness they beheld;,

Birth day of Heav'n and Earth; with joy and Shout
The hollow univerfal Orb they fill'd,

And touch'd their Golden Harps,and Hyming prais'd
God and his Works, Creator him they fung,
Both when first Evening was, and when first Morn.


Of the Firmament.

A Gain, God faid, let there be Firmament

Amid the Waters, and let it divide

The Waters from the Waters: and God made
The Firmament, expanse of Liquid, pure,
Transparent, Elemental Air, diffus'd

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