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BY CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET

DORINDA's fparkling wit and eyes,

United, caft too fierce a light,

Which blazes high, but quickly dies; Pains not the heart, but hurts the fight;

Love is a calmer, gentler joy,

Smooth are his looks, and foft his pace;

Her Cupid is a black-guard boy,
That runs his link full in your face.

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* Born 1657; dyed 1706.

WRITTEN AT ALTHROP, IN A BLANK LEAF OF WALLER'S POEMS, UPON SEEING VANDYKE'S PICTURE OF THE

OLD LADY SUNDERLAND.

VAND

BY CHARLES MONTAGUE, EARL

OF HALIFAX.*

ANDYKE had colours, foftness, fire, and art, When the fair Sunderland inflam'd his heart.

Waller had numbers, fancy, wit, and fire,
And Sachariffa was his fond defire.

Why then at Althrop feems her charms to faint, 5
In these sweet numbers, and that glowing paint?
This happy feat a fairer mistress warms;
This fhining offspring has eclips'd her charms:
The different beauties in one face we find;

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Soft Amoret with bright' Sacharifla join'd.

As high as Nature reach'd, their art could foar; But she ne'er made a finish'd piece before.

Born 1661; dyed 1715.

V. 10. brightest.

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HORACE, Book IV. ODE III. IMITATED,

BY FRANCIS ATTERBURY, BISHOP
OF ROCHESTER.*

THIS MUSE, BY WHOSE FAVOUR HE ACQUIRES IMMORTAL FAME.

HE, on whofe birth the lyric queen
Of numbers fmil'd, shall never grace
The Ifthmian gauntlet, nor be feen
First in the fam'd Olympic race:
He shall not, after toils of war,

And taming haughty monarchs pride,
With laurell'd brows, confpicuous far,
To Jove's Tarpeian temple ride.
But him the streams that warbling flow
Rich Tyber's flowery meads along,
And shady groves (his haunts) fhall know
The master of th' Æolian song.
The fons of Rome, majestic Rome!
Have fix'd me in the poets choir,
And, envy now, or dead or dumb,
Forbear to blame what they admire.

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* Born 1662; dyed (in exile) 1731.

Goddefs of the fweet-founding lute,

Which thy harmonious touch obeys, Who canft the finny race, tho' mute,

To cygnets dying accents raife; Thy gift it is, that all with ease My new unrival'd honours own; That I ftill live, and living please, O goddefs, is thy gift alone.

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EPIGRAM,

WRITTEN ON A WHITE FAN BORROWED FROM MISS OSBORNE, AFTER

WARDS HIS WIFE.

BY THE SAME.

prove

FLAVIA the leaft and slightest toy
Can, with refiftlefs art, employ:
This Fan, in meaner hands, would
An engine of small force in love;
Yet fhe, with graceful air and mien, 5
Not to be told, or fafely seen,

Directs its wanton motions fo,

That it wounds more than Cupid's bow:
Gives coolness to the matchlefs dame,
To every other breast a flame.

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A REPLY TO A COPY OF VERSES MADE IN IMITATION OF BOOK III. ODE II.

OF HORACE.

Anguftam, amice, pauperiem pati, &c.

AND SENT BY MR. TITLEY

TO THE AUTHOR.'

BY RICHARD BENTLEY, LL. D.*

WHO ftrives to mount Parnaffus' hill,
And thence poetick laurels bring,
Must first acquire due force, and skill,
Muft fly with fwan's, or eagle's wing.

Who nature's treasures wou'd explore,
Her myfteries and arcana know,
Muft high, as lofty Newton, foar,
Must stoop, as delving Woodward, low.

Who ftudies ancient laws and rites,

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Tongues, arts, and arms and history, 10 Muft drudge like Selden days and nights, And in the endless labour die.

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