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XVIII.

The drunkard now fupinely fnores,

His load of ale fweats through his pores, 70

Yet when he wakes the fwine fhall find
A cropola remains behind.

XIX.

The fober now and chaft are blest

With fweet, and with refreshing reft,

And to found fleepst hey've best pretence 75 Who've greatest share of innocence.

XX.

We should fo live then that we may
Fearless put off our clotts and clay,
And travel through death's shades to light,
For every day must have its night.

V. 76. Have.

THEODORE AND HONORIA.

[A TRANSLATION FROM BOCCACE.]

BY JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ.

POET LAUREAT.*

Of all the cities in Romanian lands,

The chief, and most renown'd, Ravenna ftands,
Adorn'd in ancient times with arms and arts,
And rich inhabitants, with gen'rous hearts.
But Theodore the brave, above the rest,
With gifts of fortune and of nature bless'd,
The foremost place for wealth and honor held,
And all in feats of chivalry excell’d.

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This noble youth to madness lov'd a dame Of high degree, Honoria was her name; Fair as the faireft, but of haughty mind, And fiercer than became so soft a kind; Proud of her birth (for equal she had none) The rest she scorn'd, but hated him alone; His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing gain'd; For fhe, the more he lov'd, the more difdain'd. He liv'd with all the pomp he could devise, At tilts and tournaments obtain'd the prize; But found no favour in his ladys eyes :

Born 1631; dyed 1701.

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Relentless as a rock, the lofty maid

Turn'd all to poison, that he did or faid:

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Nor pray'rs, nor tears, nor offer'd vows, could

move;

The work went backward; and the more he ftrove T'advance his fuit, the farther from her love.

Weary'd, at length, and wanting remedy, 25 He doubted oft, and oft resolv’d to die. But pride stood ready to prevent the blow, For who would die to gratify a foe? His gen'rous mind disdain'd so mean a fate; That pafs'd, his next endeavour was to hate. 30 But vainer that relief than all the rest,

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The lefs he hop'd, with more defire possess'd;
Love ftood the fiege, and would not yield his breaft.
Change was the next, but change deceiv'd his care;
He fought a fairer, but found none fo fair.
He would have worn her out by flow degrees,
As men by fasting starve th' untam'd disease:
But prefent love requir'd a prefent ease.
Looking he feeds alone his famish'd eyes,
Feeds ling'ring death, but looking not he dies.
Yet still he chose the longest way to fate,
Wafting at once his life, and his eftate.

His friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain,
For what advice can ease a lovers pain!
Absence, the best expedient they could find,
Might fave the fortune, if not cure the mind:

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This means they long propos'd, but little gain'd,
Yet, after much pursuit, at length obtain❜d.
Hard you may think it was to give consent,
But ftruggling with his own defires he went,

With large expence, and with a pompous train,
Provided as to vifit France and Spain,

Or for some distant voyage o'er the main.

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But love had clipp'd his wings, and cut him short,
Confin'd within the purlieus of the court.
Three miles he went, nor farther could retreat;
His travels ended at his country-feat:
To Chaffis' pleafing plains he took his way,
There pitch'd his tents, and there refolv'd to ftay.
The spring was in the prime; the neighbouring

grove

Supply'd with birds, the chorifters of love:
Mufic unbought, that minifter'd delight

To morning walks, and lull'd his cares by night:
There he discharg'd his friends; but not th❜expence
Of frequent treats, and proud magnificence. 65
He liv'd as kings retire, tho more at large
From public business, yet with equal charge;
With house and heart still open to receive;
As well content as love would give him leave:
He would have liv'd more free; but many a guest,
Who could forfake the friend, pursu'd the feast. 71

It happ'd one morning, as his fancy led,
Before his usual hour he left his bed;

To walk within a lonely lawn, that stood
On every fide furrounded by a wood:

Alone he walk'd, to please his penfive mind,
And fought the deepest folitude to find;

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'Twas in a grove of spreading pines he stray'd;]
The winds within the quiv'ring branches play'd,
And dancing trees a mournful mufic made.
The place itself was fuiting to his care,
Uncouth and favage, as the cruel fair.

He wander'd on, unknowing where he went,
Loft in the wood, and all on love intent:

The day already half his race had run,
And fummon'd him to due repast at noon,
But love could feel no hunger but his own.

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While lift'ning to the murm'ring leaves he stood, More than a mile immers'd within the wood, At once the wind was laid; the whisp'ring found Was dumb; a rifing earthquake rock'd the ground; With deeper brown the grove was overspread ; A fudden horror feiz'd his giddy head, And his ears tinkled, and his color fled; Nature was in alarm; fome danger nigh Seem'd threaten'd, tho unfeen to mortal eye. Unus'd to fear, he fummon'd all his foul, And food collected in himself, and whole; Not long for foon a whirlwind rofe around, And from afar he heard a fcreaming found, As of a dame diftrefs'd, who cry'd for aid, And fill'd with loud laments the secret shade,

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