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Thy felf without the leaft remaining Signs,
Of ancient Virtue fo deprav'd,
As ev'n they wifh'd to be enflav'd:
What more than humane aid

Could raise thee from a ftate fo low,
Protect thee from thy felf, thy greatest Foe?
Something Celeftial fure, a Heroine,

Of matchlefs Form, and a majestick Mien;
By all refpected, fear'd, but more belov'd,
More than her Laws, her great Example mov'd;
The Bounds that in her Godlike mind
Were to her Paffions fet, feverely fhin'd,
But that of doing good was unconfin'd.
So juft, that abfolute Command,
Deftructive in another Hand,

In hers had chang'd its Nature, had been ufeful made.
Oh! had the longer ftaid,

Lefs fwiftly to her Native Heaven retir'd,
For her the Harps of Albion had been ftrung,
Th' Harmonious Nine could never have afpir'd
To a more lofty and immortal Song.


Epitaphium Vivi Auctoris.

HIC, Ó Viator, fub Lare parvulo,

Couleius hic eft Conditus, hic jacet Defunctus bumani laboris

Sorte, fupervacuaque vita,

Non indecora pauperie Nitens,
Et non inerti nobilis otio,
Vanoque dilectis popello
Divitiis animofus hoftis.

Pofis ut illum dicere mortuum,
En Terra jam nunc Quantula fufficit?
Exemta fit curis, viator,

Terra fit illa Levis, precare.`

Hic fparge Flores, fparge breves Rofas,
Nam Vita gaudet mortua Floribus,
Herbifque Odoratis Corona

Vatis adhuc Cinerem Calentem.

Thus Tranflated into English.

Mr. Cowley's Epitaph on himself, yet Alive.


HERE, Traveller, under this Cott
Is Cowley buried; here he lies
Difcharg'd of Man's painful Lot,
And Life's fupervacuities.


Shining in comely Poverty,

Renowned for his active Eafe,

Riches deadly Enemy,

Which the vain People fo much please,


That you may fay I'm dead alive,
Lo! what a fpot of Ground I have,.
Wish it may quiet be and thrive,

For 'tis no larger than a Grave.


Strow Flow'rs here, ftrow fhort-liv'd Rofes,
For thus dead Life is pleas'd befet,

And Crown with fragrant Pofes
The Poets Afhes vigorous yet.


A Paftoral Dialogue.

By Sir Charles Sedley.

STrephen! O Strephon! once the Jollieft Lad,
That with fhrill Pipe did ever Mountain glad,
Whilome the foremoft at our rural Plays,
The Pride and Glory of our Holidays:
Why doft thou now fit mufing all alone,
Teaching the Turtles yet a fadder Groan?
Well'd with thy Tears, why does the Neighb'ring

Bear to the Ocean what she never took?
Why do our Woods, fo us'd to hear thee Sing,
With nothing now but with thy Sorrows Ring?
Thy Flocks are well and fruitful, and no Swain
Than thee more welcome, to the Hill or Plain.

No Lofs of thefe, or Care of thofe are left,
Hath wretched Strephon of his Peace bereft;
I could invite the Wolf, my cruel Gueft,
And play unmov'd, while he on all did feaft:
I could endure that every Swain out-run,
Out-threw, out-wreftled, and each Nymph fhould

The hapless Strephon: But the Gods, I find
To no fuch Trifles have this Heart defign'd.
A feller Grief, and fadder Lofs, I plain,
Than ever Shepherd, or did Prince fuftain:
Bright Galatea, in whofe matchless Face
Sat rural Innocence with heavenly Grace,]

In whofe no lefs to be adored Mind,

With equal Light, even diftant Virtues fhin'd;
Chafte, without Pride; tho' gentle, yet not foft,
Not always cruel, nor yet kind too oft:
Fair Goddess of thefe Fields, who for our Sports,
'Tho' fhe might well become defpifed Courts,
Belov'd of all, and loving one alone,

Is from my Sight, I fear, for ever gone.
Now I am fure thou wonder'ft not I grieve,
But rather art amazed that I live.


Thy Cafe indeed is pitiful, but yet Thou on thy Lofs too great a Prize doft fet; Women, like Days are, Strephon, fome be far More bright and glorious than others are: Yet none fo wonderful were ever seen, But by as fair they have fucceeded been.


Others as fair, and may as worthy prove,. But fure I never fhall another love : Her bright Idea wanders in my Thought, At once my Poifon, and my Antidote. The Stag fhall fooner with the Eagle foar, Seas leave their Fishes naked on the Shore ; The Wolf fhall fooner by the Lambkin die, And from the Kid the hungry Lyon fly; Than I forget her Face: What once I love, May from my Eyes, but not my Heart remove..


The parting of Hector with his Princess Andro mache, and only Son Aftyanax, when he went upon his laft Expedition, in which he was flain by Achilles.

Done out of the Greek of Homer, Iliad. 6.

By Mr. Knightly Chetwood..

HECTOR, tho' warn'd by an approaching Cry
That to Troy'sWalls the conqu'ringGreeks drew nigh
T'his Princefs one fhort Vifit pays in hafte,
Some Damon told him this would be his laft:
Her, fwiftly paffing thro' the fpacious Streets,
He nor at Home, nor in the Circle meets,
Nor at Minerva's, where the beauteous Train
Made Prayers and Vows to angry Powers in Vain.
She, half diftracted with the loud Alarms,
(The Prince was carry'd in his Nurfe's Arms)
Runs to a Turret, whofe commanding Height
Prefented all the Battle to her Sight,
Advancing Grecians, and the Trojans Flight..
Here Hector finds her, with a Lover's Pace,
She fpeeds, and breathlefs Sinks, in his Embrace;
The Nurse came after with her Princely Care,
As Hefperus fresh, promifing, and fair;
Hector in little, with Paternal Joy,
He bleft in filent Smiles, the lovely Boy.
The Princess, at his Sight compos'd again,
Preffing his Hand, does gently thus complain.

* At Minerva's Temple.



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